Beatrice woke up, rolling over to find the other side of the bed empty. This was unusual. Usually she was up before Leslie, unless Leslie had meetings. She stretched, slid to the side of the bed and sat upright, pushing her feet into her slippers on the floor beside the bed. Bea stood up, walked to the dresser and grabbed her robe, pulling it around her before heading out of the bedroom. She headed down the hall, and could smell something coming from the kitchen. Leslie never made breakfast. Sometimes she made coffee (which she could also smell), but breakfast? Unless it was Bea's birthday and she'd somehow forgotten her own birthday. As she entered the living room, she found Leslie sitting on the couch, staring into the mug cupped between her palms. Beatrice stopped and looked at her, and Leslie finally looked up, but didn't say anything.
"...this is uncomfortable," Bea finally said, "this is the sort of tension one only encounters when they're about to be dumped. You're not dumping me are you?" "No," Leslie said, laughing a little, shaking her head, "no, but I do need to talk to you about something." Bea walked towards the kitchenette, grabbed her mug and filled it with coffee before looking back at Leslie. "Um," Leslie said, wiping her eyes on her sleeve, as if she'd been crying and trying to hide the evidence, "your father called." That made Bea's stomach drop. *** Delores opened the front door to find Justine standing there. Neither one spoke, but finally Delores threw her arms around her and invited her inside. Justine stepped inside and shivered. She hadn't been in her mothers house since...well...since before the accident. It felt like walking back into a previous life of sorts. Delores shut the door and turned to watch her daughter stop and look at the photos hung on the wall. "God," Justine said, "I was such a dweeb." "You were not!" Delores said, laughing, "you were a normal kid with normal interests!" "There's nothing normal about being obsessed with art supplies," Justine said, "look at me, having an art themed birthday party. The only reason anyone even showed up was because their parents made them come. Absurd. I should've been cooler." "Well, for what it's worth, I think you were plenty cool," Delores said. "You have to say that, you're my mom," Justine replied, smiling. "Believe me, after some of the moms I've met lately, no, being your mom is not simply a prerequisite for appreciating you or being kind," Delores said, the both of them laughing as they entered the kitchen. Michelle was at work, so they had the house to themselves for the majority of the afternoon. Justine sat down at the table while Delores got them some sodas from the fridge, recalling her daughters proclivity for caffeine, and then seated herself as well. Justine's bag was on the table, and Delores's eyes were immediately drawn to it, wondering what could be inside. "What have you been working on?" Delores asked. "I've been doing watercolor illustrations for a new kids book that's coming out next fall," Justine said, "and that's been pretty entertaining. They really didn't have a specific set stylization in mind so it's really my own kind of look, and I always like when I get those projects. Other than that, nothing much. How's work?" "Same old, same old. Case workers only do so much that it doesn't offer much variety," Delores said, "but it's nice to help others find stability or a road they can go down, you know? That gives me a sense of usefulness in the world." "You have someone living here now? A girl named Michelle?" "She's living here at the moment yes," Delores said, "comes from a really bad family, works for a film studio making props. I took her in mostly because she had a very scary medical emergency and..." Delores looked down at the table. "...she reminded me of you," she whispered, "and I missed having you around, so I guess, in some way, having Michelle around was like having you around again." She wouldn't admit it, but that broke Justine's heart a little. *** Michelle dropped her pair of pliars and collapsed on her butt on the stage. She wiped her brow with her sleeved arm and exhaled deeply. She heard the door to the studio open and spotted Liam walking in. She smiled as she scooted towards the edge of the stage while he approached, reaching out and handing her coffee and a gas station sandwich. She took both, setting the seran wrapped sandwich in her lap as she lifted the coffee to her lips and took a long sip. "This is nice," she said, "it's like having my own secretary." "Alright, well, you sure know how to kill kindness," Liam remarked, making her laugh as he looked around, adjusting his glasses and adding, "Where's Casey? She's not here?" "She said she was running late, feeling sick," Michelle replied, shrugging, "whatever. I got this stuff done before without her, I can manage." "Nobody's questioning your abilities. You've more than proven yourself. My concern lies more within the realm of Beatrice giving her a job she isn't even showing up to do," Liam said, leaning against the stage and unwrapping a candy bar. "She's here on time most of the time, so what if she runs late now and then, not everyone can be perfect," Michelle said, and Liam sighed. "You're right, not everyone can be like me," he said, the both of them smirking. The more Beatrice had removed herself from hanging around production, the more Liam had taken her place, and frankly, Michelle liked this. When she was a little girl, her favorite character - aside from Bea, of course - was Liam's, and so to get to hang out with the man behind the cactus...it really brought her a sense of comfort and peace. Now here he was, bringing her coffee and snacks on the regular. This future was certainly something young, sick Michelle never could've foreseen. "Well," Liam said, finishing his candy bar and wiping his hands on a hankerchief, "if she comes in, maybe have a talk with her about her scheduling." "You're not a middle school principal," Michelle said. "Don't crush my dreams," Liam said as he began to exit, making Michelle cackle. Michelle finished her coffee, ate half her sandwich and then went back to sculpting a new prop. After a little bit, the doors to the studio opened and Casey stumbled in, her eyes red and her hair a mess. Michelle didn't judge her by appearance though, lord knows she herself was usually a mess, so. Casey climbed onto the stage and laid on her back, staring at the ceiling. "Hello," Michelle said, "you feeling okay?" "...not particularly," Casey said, "...I saw my mom this morning." "Oof. How was that?" Michelle asked as she set down her knife and picking up her pliars again. "...I'm a bad person," Casey whispered. *** "For a while it was hard, you know, to accept being so limited," Justine said, "I was always so active, so agile, even if I didn't play sports or whatever. I liked going for runs, I liked exercising, I loved riding my bike. To suddenly be stuck the way I was...it was scary. I guess I just felt...pathetic. To know this Michelle girl had it so much worse makes me feel even dumber about my issues regarding my mild time based disabilities." "They're not comparative. You were in an accident. She was born with her problems. But you both overcame them, and even if you hadn't, think of all the things you managed to both accomplish while having those issues. You didn't let that stop you. I saw how often you worked. I saw all the books you did artwork for during that time. Michelle built an entire TV set in her rental home basement. Being disabled - whether chronically or for a brief time - doesn't mean you can't do something," Delores said, and Justine nodded. "No, I...I know that. I get that. I'm not saying it would stop anyone," Justine said, picking out a cookie from the tin on the table, "I just...I don't know. It's hard to explain the terror that courses through you when you think your time has come." A moment passed as they sat and drank soda and ate cookies. After a few minutes, Justine smiled. "You always had cookies and sweets around," Justine said, "it's wild how I didn't grow up with more cavities." "Because I made you brush your teeth," Delores replied, the both of them laughing. The thing was...before the accident, Delores and Justine had the kind of relationship other mothers would kill to have with their child, regardless of gender, and after the accident, Delores never understood why Justine stopped talking to her, but she was far too scared to ask now. Really, she was just so very happy to have her back in her home right now. And, despite the break in communication, it really felt like nothing had happened between them, and they'd just fallen right back into that very same pattern they'd always had. "For what it's worth," Justine said, "Michelle is very persuasive." "What do you mean?" Delores asked, and Justine took a bite into the cookie in her hand. "She tracked down my address and came to see me with some friends of hers," Justine said, shrugging, "she just said she felt compelled to help you re-establish communication for some reason she wouldn't explain. But whatever her reason was, it was...it was nice. She's a determined, kind person, and frankly...if you had to attach yourself to someone to replace me momentarily...I'm glad you picked someone who cares so much for you, mom." Delores wanted to cry. She'd have to thank Michelle for her help when she got home that night. Maybe she'd buy a cake. She loved keeping sweets around for the sweet folks in her life, after all. *** "You're not a bad person," Michelle replied, chuckling, "I think we're all in agreement that your mom was the bad person. Just because she makes you feel like shit during your brief and rare interactions doesn't mean she's right. You need to remember that her opinion is just that, her opinion, and not objective fact." "She is right though," Casey said, still laying on her back, "I'm not defending her in any other instance, like...she's shit, you're not wrong, and you of all people would know what it's like to have a shit mom from what you've told me, but...but that doesn't mean what she thinks doesn't have validity or hold water in some instances. She's right. I'm a disgustingly bad person." Casey finally rolled over and looked at Michelle, who was now moving onto painting this current prop, a berry bush that was to be planted right beside Bea's doghouse. "Well," Michelle said, pulling her palette towards her and squeezing some different colors onto it, "for what it's worth, what we do in order to cope might be unhealthy, but it's how we get by and there's no shame in that. I didn't have a good home growing up, so instead I built a whole set in my basement, because the Beatrice Beagle set was the only place that ever felt like home. Is that normal or healthy? Absolutely fucking not." Casey and Michelle laughed a little, as Michelle cleared her throat, dipped her brush into the water can and then applied some paint. "But," she continued, "it's what kept me going completely bonkers. Between her and my health, I had to have something, you know?" "I need help," Casey whispered. "What kind of help?" Michelle asked, "Cause you've got health insurance now through this job, so you could easily get medication or some form of therapy or-" "I need help," Casey repeated, and Michelle nodded, setting her brush down and, sitting cross legged, turned to face her. "How can I help you?" she asked. "....I need to go to rehab," Casey whispered, almost embarrassed. "Then that's what we'll do," Michelle said, smiling warmly. Whatever Casey had done to suddenly be immersed in such positive genuine caring, she wasn't sure, but she sure appreciated it. Maybe the universe was finally giving her a chance to turn around. She and Michelle came from sort of the same situation, were sort of alternate ends of the spectrum of eachother, and it was nice to know that she had a friend who understood her without judgement. That was, as she knew all too well, very hard to come by. She was going to take whatever help was offered. *** Justine held her bag in front of her as she stood by the front door, waiting for her mother to come back from the kitchen. When she finally did, she pushed an entire enormous tupperware into her hands filled to the brim with home baked sweets. Justine just laughed as she clutched it, then let Delores hug her. "This was so nice," Delores said, "please come by again soon." "I wanna give you something, mom," Justine said, putting the tupperware down and opening her bag, pulling out a rectangularly shaped wrapped gift and handing it to her mother; Justine added, as she zipped her bag back up and picked up the tupperware once more, "...I made this for you. I'll call you tomorrow, yeah?" "I get off work at 7," Delores said. They hugged once more, and then Justine exited the house. Delores stood on the porch, hugging the gift to her chest and waving, and didn't go back inside until Justine's car was fully out of sight. Once she was no longer visible, Delores headed back indoors and seated herself on the couch. She slowly unwrapped the gift, and then stared at the cover; a beautiful hand painted water color and pastel colored image of a woman, who looked suspiciously similar to Delores, and a little girl who looked almost identical to Justine as a child. The title, shimmering in its glittery font, was thusly "Worlds Greatest Mom". Delores wanted to cry. She couldn't stop smiling. She began to slowly open the book, and flip through the pages, reading the story. Justine had written and illustrated and published this book specifically for her mother, and it told the true tale of a wonderful mother, and her devout dedication to her daughter. Children really were the gift that kept on giving. *** Eliza was sitting at her train set up in her bedroom when someone knocked on her door. She figured it was her father, coming to either ask her what she wanted for dinner, or tell her dinner was ready, so she pulled her noise cancelling headphones off and looked towards the door, saying they could come in. But as the door slowly opened, instead she was surprised to see, of all people, Beatrice standing there. Eliza raised her eyebrows in curiosity, as Bea entered and shut the door behind her. "Um...is there somewhere I can sit?" Bea asked, her voice sounding hoarse and strained, like she'd been yelling all day. "There's a stool over there at my desk," Eliza said, pointing across the room. Beatrice walked across the room and pulled the stool towards the tiny town table set up. She sat down on it and watched as the train headed through the town, then up into a small forest and continued round in circles like that for a bit. "You know," Bea finally said, "when I was a child-" "You don't have to talk," Eliza said, "you sound like you gargled rocks." Bea just smirked and continued, "-I used to live out in the country, and for fun, my parents would take us to a nearby train station." "Us?" Eliza asked. "My dog and I," Bea said, "I didn't have any friends growing up, just my dog. Anyway, we used to go to this small train station, and watch it come in and leave. Rarely did anybody board, it wasn't very exciting, but there was a small, sort of quiet comfort to seeing something just doing its job. I think that's where I got the notion that just doing your job was enough. That if you dedicated your time and effort to something important enough to you, then your time spent on this world was enough, regardless of what anyone else might think. You have your puppets, Michelle has her props, you all know what I mean." Eliza nodded as the train came around a small mountain pass. Silence filled the room as Bea sniffled and wiped her eyes on her palm before continuing. "...but now, I don't know. Maybe it isn't enough. Maybe there's more to it. Sure, having people you love work with you is nice. Having both important things rolled up into one thing, that's a beautiful gift not everyone gets. Most people don't get. Most people don't form close, life long bonds with their coworkers. What we do, Eliza, is very special and beautiful, and I'm so grateful for you and Michelle and Liam and everyone else I get to work with on a day to day basis." "Well, thank you, we love you too," Eliza said. More silence. Bea watched the train as it stopped a station and waited there for a bit, smoke coming from its stack. "My mother died this morning," she finally said, ending the silence, surprising Eliza. "Did...did you come to me cause my mom is dead too?" Eliza asked, and Beatrice finally broke, starting to cry. Eliza scooted her seat over towards Bea's and put her arms around her, hugging her tightly as Bea sobbed. The train started again and continued along its predetermined path. Eliza watched it move, and then shut her eyes, just listening to the sound of its wheels on the track. Eliza rested her head on top of Bea's and continued to stroke her back. It was true, though Bea wouldn't openly admit it, that she'd come to Eliza for that exact reason, but also because Eliza was bar none the most comforting person she knew. More than Michelle, more than Leslie, more than anyone else, she knew that Eliza would know, especially in this particular situation, how to help. Eliza felt like she'd inadvertantly killed her own mother, while Beatrice knew her mothers death was sudden and without warning. And yet, that one thing Beatrice couldn't shake was that feeling...the feeling she had when she awoke that morning. "It's weird," Bea said, wiping her eyes on her arm, "it's so weird, the...the tonal shift in the world around you that you can sense when something has either happened or is about to happen. Maybe it's something only really empathetic people are aware of, but...this morning, before I even knew...I knew. I could tell something was off. The air felt stale, the world was quiet. There was just a sense of...emptiness." "That's how that day with my mom felt," Eliza said, "something about the whole day felt off, and then after it happened, it sort of made sense why. So yeah, I get that." "They always say you never expect it, that it...it just happens, these moments of loss, but I disagree," Bea said, "It's like people who say they saw the person they wanted to marry and knew that was who they were meant to be with, you know? Whether you're aware or not of the life changing event, you know it when it happens. You always know it when it happens." Eliza nodded, and the two sat silently, watching the train make another complete round and coming to another stop. "My mom's dead," Beatrice whispered. "Mine too," Eliza replied. And no more needed to be said. Acknowledgement was hard enough.
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Casey didn't know if she belonged here.
She had been assigned as Michelle's assistant, which meant helping Michelle sculpt, paint and create new set pieces for the show, or doing upkeep on the set pieces they already had. But standing here, trying to coat Beatrice's doghouse in a new sheen of red, she had to wonder if this was really what she wanted to be doing. She thought, with her artistic skill, that she would be doing something more worthwhile for her time. The doors to the area where they worked opened and Liam walked inside with Leslie beside him. Leslie was drinking from a styrofoam cup of coffee, while Liam was carrying more coffee towards the stage where Michelle was. "All I'm saying is that you're spending more money buying coffee than just making your own," Leslie said in between sips. "That's hypocritical, you can't criticize the very thing you're partaking in," Liam said. "Oh to the contrary, watch me," Leslie said, "I'm a television executive, I can make all sorts of bad decisions." Liam laughed as they reached the stage and Michelle scooted herself to the edge, setting her sculpting tools down and reaching out as Liam handed her a cup. He then looked behind her towards Casey, who just hid her face even more from view. Liam shrugged and put the carry container on the stage, pulling his own cup from it. "Michelle, you don't think I'm just a complainer do you?" Leslie asked. "What are you bitching about now?" Michelle asked, making Liam laugh again. "You know, artistic immunity doesn't mean you don't have to respect your superior," Leslie said, smirking. "And how exactly are you superior to me?" Michelle asked, and Leslie opened her mouth to reply, then shrugged and shut her mouth; Michelle nodded, adding, "Exactly." "How're things going?" Liam asked, nodding towards Casey. Michelle glanced back over her shoulder and sighed, then looked back at Liam and Leslie. "It's going," she said, shrugging, "what's with all the coffee lately? You've been on some kind of kick." "Coffee's good, also it's supposed to help reduce the risk of cancer," Liam said, "what, you don't like coffee?" "I don't know that I ever really drank it much before I met you guys," Michelle said. "Look at us," Leslie said, "We're such good influences." Casey would be lying if she said she didn't want to participate, but truth be told, she'd never learned how to make friends and she sure didn't know where to start now. She knew she wanted to know these people, the people Beatrice was apparently so very close to, but she didn't know how to do that. How does one become friends? Do you just walk up, introduce yourself and invite yourself in? That seemed...rude. So instead, Casey did what she'd been doing ever since she was a little girl. Hiding in the shadows. Pretending she couldn't be seen. Hiding had long since become a defense mechanism for her, and she wasn't about to give that up just yet. *** Eliza pushed her glasses up on her face with the bottom of her palm and then stuck her needle between her lips and pushed the puppet under the sewing machine, starting to stitch it at a faster rate. Keagan was sitting in a chair a bit aways from the desk, enjoying the sounds of the machine whirring. "There's something oddly comforting about the noise of a sewing machine," Keagan said, "My grandmother sewed a ton, and I remember her sewing machine was right in the living room, and when I'd sleep over when my mom worked late, I'd fall asleep to the sound of her sewing and humming to herself." Eliza smiled. "That's a nice memory," Eliza said, and Keagan sighed. "Do you ever miss stuff like that? Really little seemingly inconsequential things that you can't get back? I mean, I know you lost your mom, so that's why I figure you of all people would understand what I mean," Keagan said, and Eliza sighed as she stopped sewing and turned to face Keagan in her chair. "I don't know," Eliza said, "I guess I think of it more like...I never leave those moments. I am always in them. That way I can't miss anything. I know that's probably not considered 'healthy' but what is? I prefer to just stay in those moments because, no matter how good my present or my future might become, they'll never top the awesome power of childhood wonderment." Keagan smirked, nodding in agreement. Everyone always talked about Eliza being mentally disabled, but the more time Keagan spent with her, the more she didn't see what they meant. Course, she also knew there was a spectrum of disability, and clearly Eliza was capable of speech and thought on an adult manner when she wanted to be. Keagan finally got up from her seat and stretched for a minute, before heading to the table where Eliza was working and looked over her work. "You think it's about finished?" she asked. "You tell me, it's your puppet," Eliza said, "if there's anything you want added, just let me know." Keagan picked up the puppet, and looked it in the face. In a weird way, she felt incredibly attached to this puppet, as if it were truly an extension of herself. She felt a pang of love in her chest, and she hugged the puppet to her chest, almost feeling as if she were going to start crying. Eliza watched, smiling weakly, as Keagan just appreciated the moment. "You know," Eliza finally said, "people don't respect puppetry anymore. Not in this age of CGI and other visual effects. Practical effects have taken a big hit, but puppetry especially. And it's weird, because as children, we saw puppets as just another living thing. We learned from them. We empathized with them. And then, at some point, we just...lose that ability. We forget the things they thought us as children, and instead become the worst versions of ourselves. Puppets are capable of doing so much for us, but we've turned out back on them. As someone who's had way too many backs turned on her...I guess I refuse to do that to something that's helped me so much." Keagan looked up from hugging the puppet, Serena, and looked at Eliza who was now looking down at her drafting table again. Eliza sighed and pushed her glasses up again, before adjusting the bow keeping her bushy hair in a bun. "I think you're the most human person on this show," Keagan said. "I'd rather be a puppet," Eliza said, smirking a little. Keagan walked up to Eliza's chair and, reaching out, engulfed her in a hug as well. "I hope Michelle knows how lucky she is, having you," Keagan said, "and I hope she never takes you for granted." "She doesn't, and she knows," Eliza said, "...I like hugs." Keagan laughed a little and hugged a bit tighter. Eliza hadn't had a lot of hugs in the last few years, until she met these people and started working for Beatrice again, and now she was being smothered in affection, and she wouldn't have it any other way. *** Michelle and Casey were sitting on the stage, unpacking their lunches. Or, rather, Michelle was unpacking the lunch Delores always made for her, while Casey was having a lunch provided by the studio because she couldn't afford food on her own. As Casey unfolded the sandwich they'd given her, and untwisted the cap on her glass soda, Michelle wiped her mouth on her sleeve and pulled open a bag of chips, then holding it out towards Casey to share, which made Casey smile weakly as she reached within it and grasped a small handful. "Thank you," Casey said softly. "You're pretty handy with these tools, I'm impressed," Michelle said. "Well," Casey said, "um, I'm good with my hands in general. That's why I draw, do art." "That's cool," Michelle said, smiling kindly as she picked up the peach Delores had packed and bit into it, speaking as she chewed, "it was nice of Bea to give you a job, especially cause I really needed help around here." "Maybe she did it more for your sake than mine," Casey said flatly. "Nah, Bea doesn't just do things for me. She only gives jobs to those she sees purpose in, and I think she saw herself in you," Michelle said, "that's why she hired me. Cause of my resiliance in getting the show back out in public consciousness and stuff. But I'm glad you're here, cause I really did need help, cause I can only do so much sculpting and painting and stuff on my own. Plus you deserve it." "Nobody's ever been glad I've ever been anywhere, so...thanks, I guess," Casey said, and Michelle looked at her with those wide, comforting eyes; Casey swallowed her sandwich bite, sighed and then said, "I mean, you heard what I told that woman we met with, what was her name? Anyway. My mom was awful. That's why I spent so much of my time watching TV, and Beatrice always felt so...comforting. Like she was a mom from another place." "She did," Michelle said, nodding in agreement as she took another bite of her peach. "That's why I started drawing, cause she said art was a way to escape and understand pain," Casey said, "so I did just that. I found ways to escape what she was doing to me, or letting others do to me." "Everyone needs an outlet," Michelle said. "I can't help but feel like I don't fit in though, but that's not surprising, I've never felt like I fit in anywhere, so why should it be any different here? Even working for Beatrice, I still feel like an outsider. You all have so much history, chemistry, and I'll never reach that level no matter how long I'm here for," Casey said, "I'll always be the outsider." Casey lifted her drink to her lips and took a very long drink, as Michelle sighed and pulled her hair back in a bushy ponytail. "Let me tell you a story," Michelle said, "I never fit in anywhere either. Even coming here, I still felt that way. I was always a weird, introverted person who couldn't do a lot cause of my medical issues. I mean, I did what I could, I didn't let that define me, but...no matter how much you try not to let something define you, it still does. If something restricts you that much, it defines you. But there's no shame in that. So I accepted I was sick, and instead turned my focus on doing my work here until my health concerns became so great they couldn't be ignored. That's what you need to do. Give all that energy, whether positive or negative, to the art. Ignore the rest." Casey nodded slowly, listening, taking it all in. She looked at her chipped nails in her lap and shut her eyes. "Do you wanna see my sketches?" Casey asked. "Absolutely!" Casey smiled and reached to her backpack, tugging it towards her. It was covered in pins and patches, for alternative bands and various underground horror movies. Casey pulled a large black sketchbook from her bag and handed it to Michelle, who took it and opened it to gruesome drawings of monsters and creatures. She was, disgusted sure, but also impressed. Casey had real talent, especially in terms of design if not handwork. Michelle flipped through it for a bit, and then handed it back to Casey. "You're exceedingly talented," Michelle said. "Each monster is designed after a person who hurt me," Casey said as she tried to stuff the book back in her backpack, only for a kids storybook with a golden spine to slide out as well. Michelle reached forward and picked it up, looking at it, before Casey snatched it away. Their eyes locked, as Casey put the book back in her backpack, and Michelle just continued smiling at her. "I think that's a very therapeutic way to handle it," Michelle said, "What's that book from?" "...I had a babysitter," Casey said, "she used to read it to me, so now I read it when I get overwhelmed. It helps keep me calm. I have really nasty panic attacks a lot of times, and...and it helps. It helps ground me. I know that's so stupid, so childish, but it works. She was the only good part of my childhood." "There's nothing stupid about that," Michelle said, "we all cling to what keeps us safe." Casey nodded, understanding but not agreeing. No matter what nice things Michelle or Bea would ever say to her, she would never believe any of it herself. She knew she was total trash, and would only hurt them somehow. She excused herself, headed to the bathroom in the hall and, after locking herself in a stall, reached into her romper pocket and pulled out a bag of pills. She knelt in front of the toilet, smashed them as best as she could and snorted them, then leaned back on the floor against the stall door and started crying. Beatrice Beagle was a place designed for safety. And Casey was anything but safe to be around. *** Lexi was standing in the kitchen over the stove, stirring some noodles, reheating Chow Mein they'd ordered in the previous night, when she felt something on her shoulder. She smiled and turned, expecting to see Keagan but instead seeing a puppet face and she screamed, half laughing as she put a hand to her chest while Keagan cracked up and sat down at the kitchen table. "That was terrifying, my god," Lexi said, "that was the start to about 18 horror movies." "Isn't Serena great?" Keagan asked, plopping the puppet on her lap as Lexi turned to face her and looked. "She's beautiful," Lexi said, smiling warmly, "Eliza did a great job. Why the name Serena?" Keagan sighed and looked at the puppet, stroking its hair as if it were a cat in her lap. "When I was in middle school," Keagan said, "there was this girl in my math class. She was a math wizard, she always helped me with my homework and stuff, and we weren't really 'friends' but we were friendly to one another. You know, that kind of friendship you can only have while being in school, in its own twisted little ecosystem. Anyway, she was way cool, way smart, real pretty. I kind of had a big crush on her. But then again, I had a crush on a ton of people cause, ya know, hormones. Boys, girls, teachers, didn't matter. Anyway, one day she doesn't come to school, and then for the next few days she doesn't come to school either so I just sorta assume she's sick or something." "Was she?" Lexi asked, turning back to tend to her noodles in the pan. "No," Keagan said, "she'd been killed by her dad. He was a nice guy, until he suddenly wasn't. It just came out of nowhere, a complete psychotic snap, and he lost it. From what I heard, when he finally realized what he'd done to her, her sister and her mother, he felt intense remorse, but I guess the weight of life got to him and he cracked. But the damage was done, and they were gone. All except her mom, who had survived and had to learn to live with half a face." "Jeez," Lexi said, whispering in shock as she turned to look back at Keagan. "Anyway," Keagan continued, "we used to talk about how there were, like, absolutely no good books or movies for young black girls featuring young black girls. Particularly ones who were smart like us. Sure we always got these ghetto girls, or the ones who were streetsmart, and there's nothing inherently bad about those portrayals exactly, but...but we wanted to see girls who were like us. Good with books. Good with sciences and arts. We never saw those. I figured this would be a nice way to make that happen, while immortalizing her." Lexi walked up to Keagan as Keagan put Serena down on the table behind her and hugged Lexi around the waist. Lexi gently stroked her hair and held her. "That's a really beautiful way to ensure horror doesn't define her," Lexi said, and Keagan nodded, crying a little as Lexi added, "and I'm sure she'd appreciate it." Keagan hadn't thought about Serena in forever, but when she was asked to help create a puppet to represent her ethnicity, that was who she immediately thought of. She just hoped that, wherever it was people wound up when they died, Serena could see what Keagan and Eliza had created, and did like it. There was only so much Keagan could realistically do, but damned if she wasn't going to try her hardest to do it. *** There was a little place near Delores's called Chick's, where they sold hot snacks and desserts and drinks. It was an outdoor eating area, and the only people allowed inside were the people working there. Michelle and Eliza had been coming here about twice a week or so, just to get ice cream cones and then sit together outside and eat and talk, almost as if impromptu dates with simplicity. Licking her plain vanilla cone with cookie bits in it, Eliza looked around at all the other people who were here as Michelle stared dead ahead at her own cone and bit into it. "Today was weird," Michelle said. "Every day isn't?" Eliza asked. "I don't know," Michelle said, "that girl, Casey, I wanna help her but I don't know if she can be helped or would even let me." "Not every person is your responsibility," Eliza said, "sometimes, um, the best thing you can do is simply be there for them when they finally ask for help." "And what if it's too late by then?" Michelle asked, and Eliza shrugged, continuing to lick. "...you don't like her the way you like me, do you?" Eliza asked, before quickly apologizing, "sorry, sorry, that was, ugh...that was so dumb." "You never have to worry about that," Michelle said, smiling and reaching across the table, touching her cheek, "nobody is ever gonna take your place. You're the only girl I wanna have ice cream dates with." Eliza blushed, and they both started laughing. There was a certain sense of finality between them. That this was how it was going to be for the foreseeable future, and that fact alone gave them both a sense of security and safety. That, no matter what else came along, they would always have this. Always have eachother. And in an industry where you were never sure if your show was going to be cancelled the next week or not, that level of continuity was something they needed. That...and ice cream. Because ice cream fixes everything. Michelle was in the car, waiting for Eliza. Eliza was still in her bedroom, getting a few things for the little road trip they were about to embark on, and Michelle didn't mind waiting one bit. She tuned the radio, playing around ping ponging from station to station until she landed on a station of nothing but classical music, and she liked that. Nice background noise. Finally the door opened, and Michelle glanced up, spying Eliza hugging her father before heading out, little backpack in hand. She opened the passenger door and climbed in, as Michelle started the car and then leaned towards her, putting her hands on Eliza's face and kissing her, making her laugh.
"Good morning," Michelle said, and Eliza giggled more. "Good morning!" she chirped back happily, "You're in a happy mood." "I am in a mood, certainly," Michelle said, as she started to back out of the driveway and head down the street, "whether it's happy remains to be seen depending on how the day unfolds. We need to stop at the studio real quick though, I need to pick something up." "Okie dokie," Eliza replied, putting one wireless earphone on and listening to her own music to keep calm. Even with Michelle, someone who clearly adored her, she needed to be calm. The companionship was nice, but Eliza constantly had bad thoughts running through her head, and she needed to distract herself no matter what, in whatever way she could. The drive to the studio was short and silent, and when they arrived, Michelle only needed to run inside because she was getting the address from her office, which she'd written down and then forgot there. As she was exiting, she bumped into Bea, and a woman standing beside her. "Oh, hi!" Michelle said, "I didn't know you'd be here on an off day." "I won't be," Beatrice replied, "I'm having a meeting, but I need you to do something for me." "Well, I...I'm having a meeting too, so I can't exactly-" "Just take Casey with you," Bea said, gesturing to the girl standing beside her, "Casey this is Michelle, Michelle this is Casey. Casey's going to be working here but until we can reconvene later today she doesn't have anything to do and anywhere to go, so I need her to tag along with you, yeah?" Michelle sighed and nodded, feeling a bit worn down, but willing to do what Bea asked. Bea hugged her, thanked her, and then looked at her watch, as if she were waiting for someone. Michelle and Casey walked back to the car and Casey climbed into the back as Michelle seated herself behind the wheel once more. Eliza pulled one earphone off and looked back at Casey, who smiled politely. "...are we dealing in human trafficking now?" she asked, and Michelle laughed as she pulled out and headed back down the road. Meanwhile, Bea stood outside the studio, smoking, tapping her foot. Today was always hard. Maybe this year, though, it'd be easier. Finally Liam's car pulled up and she stubbed out her cigarette and climbed into the passenger seat, oohing as she sat. "Wow, seat warmers," she said, "how fancy." "Look you can't be dismissive and appreciative at the same time," Liam replied. "Oh, to the contrary, watch me," Bea remarked, making him smirk as they, too, pulled away. *** Justine was sitting in home office, sipping coffee, staring at her fishtank. The bubbles were hynoptic, and the sound of the water moving ever so slightly, circulating round the tank, brought her an odd sense of calm. She leaned back in her chair and then looked down at her drafting table, where she was currently doing watercolor pages for an upcoming childrens book about a swan. She sighed, took another sip of coffee, and then finally stood up. She placed the mug on the small table beside the drafting desk and grabbed the container of fish flakes, shaking it over the aquarium top so they could feed. As she knelt down and smiled, watching them eat, all she could think about was the crash. How she'd only survived really because the plane had landed in water, and because it had landed tail first, meaning the cabin was pointed up (and the fact that it was a two person biplane), she had plenty of time to scramble out of it and swim to shore with the last of her strength before collapsing. How she managed to do that, especially with her legs as damaged as they were, always remained a mystery, but she was grateful for being alive. Especially in times like this, where she could sit and do the kind of work she loved, watching animals she liked, yes, she really understood the appreciation of life itself now. She sat back down and turned her attention back to her work. A story about a swan. Somehow she was always dragged back to the water. *** "So where are we going?" Casey asked, leaning up between the front seats. "I'm going to meet a woman that's the daughter of my social worker," Michelle said. "Is she really even your social worker anymore?" Eliza asked, "I mean...you have a job, you live with her, isn't she just kind of your friend now?" Michelle hadn't even considered this somehow. After all the years of knowing Delores, it was a bit hard to not think of her as being her social worker. Maybe Eliza was right. Maybe it was time to stop thinking of her as her social worker, and instead just think of her as her friend. Hell, she'd been more of a mother to her than her own mother had been, just in the short time she'd lived with her. They came to a red light and Casey opened up some gum and popped it in her mouth, chewing. "...are you scared?" Eliza asked. "I'm...anxious," Michelle responded, "I'm anxious. Not scared. I just worry that she's going to be mad at me for lying, for convincing her to meet with me, because what if she wants nothing to do with Delores? I mean, the fact that they've not spoken in so long kind of insinuates that she wants nothing to do with her." "But you're curious why, right?" Eliza asked, and Michelle nodded as the light changed to green and she kept driving. "Extremely," she replied, "I just feel like...for all Delores has done for me, I have to do something in return." "That's what makes you a good person," Eliza said, smiling, as she put her hand on Michelle's thigh. Regardless of how things spun out today, Michelle was happy to have Eliza by her side. Never before in her life had she had a relationship, and she certainly hadn't expected her first one to really be as strong and honest and supportive as it was. Though...she was a bit annoyed at Beatrice dumping Casey on her. "Does anyone want gum?" Casey asked. "What kind? It smells like cinnamon," Eliza said. "You have a good nose," Casey remarked, and handed her a piece, making Eliza excited, which made Michelle smile. Maybe Casey's presence wouldn't be so detrimental after all. *** "Been a while since we've been to a really nice place like this," Liam said, he and Bea seated in a lovely dimly lit steakhouse in a booth. Beatrice was looking through the menu while Liam picked up his water glass and took a long sip. He finally sighed and looked at her, then asked, "do you wanna talk about it?" "We don't do enough together," Bea said flatly, "for all the history we have, and the relationship we've got, we don't do enough together." "I mean, I agree, and I'd like to do more like this," Liam said, "doesn't have to be a strictly yearly thing." "It does, actually, because if it were more often, I'd have to think about it more," Beatrice said, "I don't mind being your friend, I don't mind having you in my life, I don't mind working with you, but to have anything more social outside of that, it...it takes me back to all that. Back to that...that moment. I found her file." Liam's eyes widened a bit and he leaned back in his side of the booth, folding his arms after adjusting his glasses. "Yeah?" he asked. "Yeah," Bea replied, "it was just in my closet with some other things. A whole life boiled down to just a few scraps of paper and a photo. Seems weird, right? Like there should be more. But that's all we get in the end, in this situation. I wanted to cry, but I just...I labeled it, hid it and went back to my day." A moment passed as a waitress took an order from a nearby booth, then passed them. "Do you ever think about it?" Bea asked quietly, looking down at her lap. "...sometimes," Liam said softly, "but...and I say this with no judgement in regards to your own way of processing things...I can't let myself regret it. If I start down that path, then I'll start opening up every decision I ever made in my life and how I, in turn, made the wrong one. I just can't do that. What's done is done. It's over." Bea nodded as a waitress finally came to their table and Liam ordered for the both of them. Sitting there, watching him, Beatrice couldn't help but feel like maybe he was right. For so long she'd mourned their life in show business, and all the things that that entailed, Claire included, but Claire was gone. There was nothing they could do to change that, so why dwell on it, especially twenty something years later? Just enjoy the now. Maybe Liam was right about them meeting more often. An anniversary just drags you back to that moment, why not create new reasons to be sociable together? She picked up her water glass and took a long drink. "So I see you hired that girl from the pizzeria," Liam said and Bea nodded. "Indeed," she replied, "I intend to take every broken young lady that I find under my wing." "...is that because you couldn't keep Claire around?" Liam asked, and Bea looked at him, blinking. She'd never even considered that, in all honesty, but he was probably right. It was probably related to that loss. Loss, after all, makes you do wacky things. But instead of recognizing that openly, and discussing it with the only person who could understand her reasoning for having been there the moment it happened, instead she just shrugged and waited for her appetizer. She hadn't had cheese sticks in a while. *** Michelle, Eliza and Casey were all standing on the large roofed porch of Justine's home, waiting anxiously. Michelle wanted to knock, but she was scared to do so, even with the cover story she'd given for her reason for showing up. She knew that the instant that cover story fell away, and Delores was brought up, that things would change drastically. Eliza held her hand, and Michelle felt her nerves melt a bit, so she nodded, shut her eyes for a moment and knocked on the door. After a few moments, it finally opened, and Justine peeked out. "Hello?" she asked. "Hi," Michelle said, smiling brightly, "My name is Michelle, I called about meeting you for a job." "Right! Come in, please," Justine said, moving aside and allowing the girls entrance. As all three passed her, she shut the door and, half chuckling, added, "I didn't realize you were going to bring an entire committee. Please, have a seat. I have some tea, if anyone is thirsty." "Tea would be nice, thank you," Eliza said, and so Justine headed to the kitchen to get some while the girls sat down. Michelle couldn't deny...this wasn't what she was expecting. This house was so...normal. She'd expected someone who'd survived a plane crash to be exciting and adventurous, not recede further into general blandness. But it did. It reeked of the mundane. Lots of seafaring art hanging from the walls - ranging from metal crab sculptures to paintings of seagulls resting on ship sails - and the most boring rugs one could conjure up in their minds. This was the daughter of Delores? Really? The two didn't seem similar at all. Justine finally returned with multiple cups on a tray and set the tray on the coffee table between them, along with a plate of cookies. "You sure know how to entertain guests," Casey said, picking up her mug of tea and, after nesting it between her thighs momentarily, reached into her coat and pulled out a flask. She unscrewed it, poured some into the tea and then started to drink. "You can drink on the job?" Justine asked. "Can I? Probably not. Will I? Definitely," Casey remarked. "Thank you very much for your hospitality," Eliza said politely, and Michelle felt humbled by having such a nice girlfriend. "So what is this book about?" Justine asked, "I always like to get to know the ins and outs of what it is I'm potentially doing artwork for before actually committing to it, if you understand. It helps me paint, not to be cute, a broader picture, a more wide scope, of what it is I'm getting involved in." "Actually, that's the thing," Michelle said, "um...we're not...we're not really with a publishing house. I lied. My name is Michelle, yes, but...but I work for a streaming network that produces mainly childrens content, and...and I was hoping you'd like to talk about the fact that I've been living with your mother now for months. I had major surgery a while back, and your mother took me in to help give me a safe place to heal and recoup, and escape my own mother who's a vile disgusting person, and once she told me she had a daughter, I just...I became curious about why you two never spoke. She told me about the accident, and-" "Why wouldn't she, she tells everyone," Justine said, interrupting, catching Michelle off guard; she sipped her tea and added, "it's her own personal sob story she can relay around to those who might give her sympathy. I didn't even WANT to visit for that holiday, but she insisted, as she does, and so her insistance put me on that plane, and put me on the brink of death." "Hardcore," Casey said. "So forgive me if I'm not immediately interested in rekindling a relationship that burned out ages ago," Justine concluded. "Listen, I know what it's like to hate your mom, I do," Michelle said, "my mother blamed me for all my health problems, told me constantly that my medical debt kept her from truly pursuing a life in the arts. I get it. I really, really get it. And I know that simply being a house guest as opposed to actually being related isn't the same, and obviously you know Delores far better than I do, but...but I think that absence has done her good. She seems...humble. I walked into the kitchen the other night and she was crying, looking at a photo album. She isn't interested in reconciling for the sake of saving face. She genuinely misses you." Justine chewed her lip and thought about this. After a moment, she shook her head. "Yeah, well," she said, taking a cookie from the plate, "either way she's sending lackies out to do her work, when I won't answer her calls, so-" "She didn't send anyone," Michelle said, "she doesn't know I'm here." That, she had to admit, threw her for a loop. Justine hadn't been expecting that one. She put her mug down on the table and looked at Michelle with earnest eyes, her hands now cupped in her lap. "So you just...took it upon yourself to find me of your own volition?" Justine asked. "I have an abusive mother, Eliza's mother died in an accident, and..." Michelle glanced at Casey, who just looked away; Michelle shrugged and continued, "I just...I feel like we can relate and-" "My mother," Casey said, interrupting, clearing her throat, "she...she used to sell me to her male friends when I was growing up. We were poor, and we didn't have a whole lot of money so my mother used to sell me to men for their...interests in me. So, I think, if anyone has any reason to hate their mother here, it's me. I'm curious to know what made you so angry at your mother, because more often than not, it's small and irrelevent. Angry words said at inopportune times, often in the heat of the moment and not said with sincerity. You don't hate your mother. You hate the moment. And it's hard to separate the moment from the mother, and look past that. But I guarantee my mother doesn't look at photo albums of me and cry. If anything, she's just mad she can't use me to make her money anymore." The room filled with an uncomfortable quiet, and Michelle felt her eyes wet with tears, but she didn't want to cry. Eliza sniffled and wiped her nose on her sweater sleeve, and then they all heard Justine start to cry. Justine stood up, walked around the coffee table and pulled Casey's head against her, holding her, petting her. "I'm so sorry," Justine said through tears, "that's so sick. You shouldn't...fuck....you're right and I'm so sorry." And after that, everything was smooth sailing. Fittingly so, considering all the seafaring related stuff in the house. *** Bea and Liam, after lunch, now found themselves sitting at the bar of the steakhouse, sipping on their respective alcoholic beverages but not saying a word. Liam continued deshelling pistachios and eating them as they sat and in a somewhat uncomfortable silence. Seemed that not having to interact with one another much recently had killed their ability to hold a conversation, but there was something Bea did want to ask...though she was scared of how Liam would react. "...could we have made it work?" Bea asked, and Liam glanced at her, raising an eyebrow as she continued to elaborate on her vagueness, adding, "like, realistically, do you think we could've made it work?" "Who knows," Liam said, "I'd like to have the confidence to say yes, but realistically speaking...I don't know. I think there would've been issues standing in the way of accomplishing that. I like to think that Claire would be proud of what we've managed to accomplish though, coming from that situation and feeling so hopeless and helpless." Beatrice nodded, sniffling, looking at her drink. "I think I need to be on anti-depressants," she said quietly, and Liam smiled. "Yeah?" "I worry far too much, think far too much," Bea said, "it isn't healthy to be this sad all the time. I need to do something about it before it truly incapacitates me in some manner or another. I need to start taking responsibility for my health." "I'm proud of you for that acknowledgment," Liam said, patting her on the back. "Here's to the 24th anniversary," Bea said, "wish she could be here." "Here here," Liam replied, both raising their glasses and clinking them before drinking. *** After getting back to the studio, Eliza headed to The Hole to work more on Keagan's puppet, while Michelle stayed in the props department with Casey - keeping her busy until Bea returned like she'd promised to - while they worked on building new pieces for upcoming episodes. Casey stopped painting for a moment and looked at Michelle, who looked up at her from her knelt position. "Everything okay?" Michelle asked, "that was...some heavy stuff." "I just figured it was a good way to shift perspective," Casey said, "not to disparage anything she went through, because, hell, surviving a plane crash regardless of her relaitonship with her mother is rough enough to live with. But I just figured maybe she should see what a truly despicable parent is like." "I'm really sorry that happened to you, for what it's worth," Michelle said. "It's just life," Casey said, shrugging, "it happened. Nothing I can do about it. And I'm sure I deserved it for some reason." Michelle shook her head as she dragged her paint brush down the fence post, wishing she knew what to say. She'd never once dealt with someone with a history of CSA. Still, she felt like maybe just giving Casey a safe space to work in and feel comfortable in was help enough. "Are you and that girl Eliza a couple?" Casey asked, and Michelle nodded, smiling. "Yes we are," she said, "we're looking to adopt a dog." "That's really cute," Casey remarked, putting down her paintbrush into a nearby can of thinner, "does a broken heart good to be around so much love." Michelle smiled more. She was right. It WAS good for a broken heart to be around so much love. That was the one thing Bea had given them all over their time together, and would now give to Casey, and all of them had healed and grown so much from that simple act of kindness. And the saddest part was that, even if Bea recognized this - which she did - she would never be able to grant herself a job well done for it, all because she hadn't been able to give Claire that very same thing. Bea never showed back up at the studio that night, instead opting to go home and be with Leslie for the evening. But she called, she left a message about what Casey could get to work on in her absence, and that they'd find something more permanent at a later date. This anniversary with Liam always messed her up, always made her aware of her failings instead of her success, and maybe he was right to suggest finally putting it to bed. And yet...and yet she couldn't even entertain that idea, because the anniversary was all that they had left of Claire. They'd already lost her. They couldn't lose that too. Yes. One day she would have to face down the past with Claire head on. But today was not that day. Maybe next year. Michelle came down the stairs, one hand clenching at the collar of her robe while the other rubbed her eyes. It was almost 5am, and she had woken up with an upset stomach, so she went in search of some crackers and water. However, as she neared the landing, she could hear the soft gentle crying of Delores in the kitchen. She approached cautiously and peered inside, only to see Delores sitting at the table, looking at a small photo album. Michelle entered and cleared her throat, giving Delores ample time to wipe her face on her robe sleeves and try to catch her breath.
"Are you okay?" Michelle asked, her voice raspy from sleep. "I'm....having a moment," Delores replied, half laughing, "are you?" "I don't feel great, I needed a snack," Michelle said, sitting down at the table, "but...if you wanna talk about it, we can-" "There's nothing to discuss, no, it's okay," Delores said, "I was just...I was thinking about my daughter was all. Some nights it gets to be too hard to ignore. There's some tea on the stove, if you're thirsty. I'm gonna try to go back to sleep, I'll see you in the morning. Sleep well." With that, Delores stood up and, taking the photo album with her, she kissed Michelle's forehead before yawning and heading back up the stairs, mug in her other hand. Michelle looked around the kitchen and sighed. She knew Delores saw her as a surrogate daughter of sorts, as she was a mother stand in to Michelle, but this incident made Michelle want to give something more to Delores than she could. She wanted to give her her family back. But how could she possibly do that? She knew next to nothing about her daughter, and wasn't sure where to begin to look. Another night of uncertainty. *** Justine didn't remember anything about the crash except for hearing her boyfriends screams. It was strange, she was so eerily calm in the face of possible eternal nothingness, and yet her boyfriend was the one screaming like a little girl. His screams, and the difference between the two of them, was the only thing she could recall. The next thing she knew, she was laying in a hospital bed and could barely move. In fact it even hurt to breath. She looked to her side and saw a glass of water, so she reached over, grasping it best she could, and pulled it to her lips where she took long, steady gulps. Once it was empty, she set it back down and coughed a little, before noticing that also on the bedside table where the glass had been was a card. She once again reached for it, struggling to do so, and after getting it in her bandaged hands, she opened it slowly - too much movement hurt - and read the inscription on the inside. It was from her mother, Delores, and it was a whole two paragraphs long. After scanning it, she felt herself tear up and put the card back on the table, face down, and promised herself she'd never speak to her mother again. And she hadn't since that day. She made a lot of promises that afternoon in that hospital bed: get back to good health, never fly again and cut her mother off, and since then...well... ...she was proud to admit she'd stuck true to all of them thus far. *** "I can find her, don't worry," Liam said, and Michelle looked at him with casual uncertainty. She heard Eliza set down a pair of scissors on the table in The Hole and looked behind her momentarily before resetting her gaze on Liam once again. "You can?" "I can find anybody," Liam said, "Michelle, you of all people should know how easy it is to actually track someone down, given what you and Keagan managed to accomplish. Just give me a few days and I can definitely get the information you need." Liam sipped from his coffee cup as he and Michelle went back to watching, from afar, Eliza create a new prop for the show. The Hole had quickly become the hide out for Eliza's immediate friend circle, and she wasn't at all bothered by this. Liam was a close friend, Bea was like a secondary mother, and Michelle was her girlfriend. Her workspace was their safe space. Michelle sighed and tossed her hair. "What if she doesn't want to be found? What if I'm...what if I'm making a huuuuuuge mistake by doing this? For all I know she and Delores hate eachother. I mean, when Delores first told me about her, she said Justine specifically cut ties, and didn't want her help or company any longer. What if I'm fucking that up by reaching out?" Michelle asked, chewing anxiously on her nails. "Your justifications are sound, regardless of the outcome. Besides, as someone who hates their mother, I think perhaps it's imperative that you two speak," Liam replied, "maybe you could both give one another some much needed insight." Michelle nodded, taking in Liam's opinion to heart. Michelle hadn't even heard so much as a peep from her mother since Beatrice confronted her in the hospital hallway. Not that she minded, the less interaction between the two of them the better, she felt. They both went back to watching Eliza as she turned on her sewing machine and began to stitch. Michelle smiled a little. At least, in the moments of sheer uncertainty, she was confident that she had someone in her life who loved her the way she needed to be loved, and she knew she was lucky in that regard. Not everyone had that. "Let me know when and if you find anything," Michelle said, and Liam nodded. "Yeah, of course, you'll be the first to hear about it, besides me obviously," Liam replied, the both of them chuckling. Michelle walked towards the table to talk to Eliza and, watching them converse, Liam thought back to his own family. He'd met Bea's parents now, he'd seen where she'd come from, but Michelle was still such an enigma to him. His own family hadn't been much better though, to be fair. He wasn't nearly as estranged from them as, say, Michelle was, but he did try to keep contact rather to a minimum. He thought back to Justine, and Michelle's inquiries about her whereabouts, and he realized he was somewhat of a hypocrite. How could he justify finding someone who so clearly didn't want to be found? But that's what he did. That's what he had. Found family. What better reason was there, really? *** Justine laid on her couch and exhaled deeply. It had been a long day. She'd done a ton of watercolors, sketches, charcoal drawings, and more for the current kids book in production, and her hands hurt and the last thing she wanted to do was more work. Right now she wanted to rest, relax, maybe watch some sort of history show where she could shut her brain halfway off. She turned the TV on, put the volume to a low rumble, and pulled a pillow over her face. But the rest didn't last long, because only a few minutes later did her landline ring. She groaned, annoyed, and rolled over, reached across the armrest of the couch and gripped the phone from its base on the table beside her and pulled it to her face. "Hello?" she asked, but nobody spoke. She sighed and spoke again, "helllloooo? Is anyone there?" This had been happening for weeks now, on and off. She waited for a few moments, and then hung up. It rang again a few minutes later, only for the same thing to occur. She was beginning to get very frustrated with this, and had even considered outright canceling her phone service or even changing her number, but she knew that wasn't logical. Justine laid there on the couch and stared at the ceiling, thinking about what she should do that evening. She didn't want to work anymore, so maybe she should go out and get something to eat. Peter had always liked going to... ...and that's when the despair set in. As soon as Peter was invited into her mind, everything else went out the door. She felt like she was being dragged down into a tar pit from which, no matter the amount she struggled to do so, she could not break free. He was gone. He had been here. He had been her best friend, her lover, possibly her future husband (they had discussed marriage on a number of occasions in fact, and neither felt remotely opposed to the idea). They'd lived together for a number of years, and to lose him, especially in the way that she had...she often wished she'd just died as well. What was the point of survival, she questioned, if it meant surviving on your own? She knew people hated the whole 'don't let someone else be half of your whole' belief of romance, but that's what they had been. Two halves of a whole. Now here she was, merely a half, and most days she barely felt like that even. She'd started writing a novel in her spare time when she wasn't working on childrens books, but she'd only gotten maybe 15k words deep, and was struggling to get further, not because it was challenging - she was nothing if incredibly artistically inclined - but because it just hurt so deeply to write about things she no longer could experience. Justine rolled onto her side, tugging the pillow into her chest, her face now touching its nose to the back cushions of the couch and she started to cry. Everything had lost its luster. Even the mundane things, like grocery shopping, were now even somehow more dull than they had been with him. Maybe she just wouldn't eat dinner tonight. She hadn't been eating as much since the accident. She was losing weight fast. But, like with everything else, she just didn't care. The next early afternoon, the phone rang again, jolting her awake on the couch, and again, when she answered, there was nobody. She knew there were a few possibilities: either her mother, Delores, calling and then hanging up out of fear, a wrong number, a faulty connection, a prank. But despite all these being such obvious reasons, the one she clung to was the hope, however bleak and ridiculous as it might've seemed, was that it was Peter trying to call her, tell her he was in fact okay wherever it was he had ended up. But she knew that was stupid. It was raining. She made some cocoa and went back to sleep. *** Casey Kochawski was sitting in the backroom of the pizzeria, alone, smoking a joint. The costumes head was sitting on the couch beside her, as she blew smoke into the air, and then waved it away with her pawed hand, dispersing it. The doorknob twisted, and Casey worried, trying to figure out what to do with the joint, but when the door opened, it was Beatrice coming in. She smiled at seeing Casey smoking, and pulled a chair over towards the couch, seating herself and watching Casey watching her nervously. "Uh...I'm...I'm sorry. I shouldn't...I shouldn't be-" Casey said, clearly anxious. "Nah, you're good," Bea said, "smoke 'em if you got 'em. I just wanted to come by and thank you for the piece of art you gave me the other week." "Oh!" Casey said, now smiling, "Yeah, yes! Of course! You're...you're so welcome! I'm so glad you liked it." "How did you even become a fan?" Bea asked, as Casey held the joint out to her and she hesitantly took it, taking a long puff as Casey adjusted herself on the couch. "This costume is so bulky," she muttered under her breath, making Bea chuckle as she added, "um...actually, I watched it when it was originally on too. I grew up poor, so...so we didn't get a lot of TV channels, cause we couldn't get cable or whatever, so I just watched whatever was available, and the channel I watched the most, our local channel, got your show. But I never...I never looked into it or anything, like that girl did, I never recorded and digitized it. I just...remembered it." Bea nodded, listening, waiting for Casey to go on. After a moment, Casey exhaled and continued. "Uh...and...uh...my house was always filled with yelling. My parents hated one another," Casey said, "I was practically ignored, like...like to the point where child services were often involved cause I didn't...I'd go to school without shoes because my shoes would wear out and nobody would get me new shoes and stuff like that. Whenever I did ask for help, my parents would just yell at me, before yelling at one another again. So having your show, someone so gentle, talk to me reassuringly...I don't know. It really helped." Bea wanted to cry. She handed the joint back to Casey and put a hand over her mouth, trying to keep herself from breaking down. Casey turned the joint around in her hand and looked at it for a long minute before continuing to smoke. "I guess, I don't know, I just wanted you to know how much good you did, even if you thought you didn't do any," Casey said, "cause I know the feeling of feeling like nothing I'm doing matters. I mean, here I am, no high school diploma, dropped out in 8th grade, and I'm working here, pretending to be you. But that's kinda exactly what I always wanted. Was to be you, you know? It's like this weird middle path between ashamed and proud." Bea nodded, as Justine took another long drag. Bea finally reached across and put her hand on Casey's knee, the both of them looking into one anothers eyes. "...do you want a job?" Bea asked. "I have a job," Casey said, laughing. "Come work with me," Bea said. "You mean for you?" "No," Bea said, shaking her head, "I mean with me." Casey smiled, and wanted to cry. Even now, as an adult, here was the dog, always looking out for her. *** "Tada," Liam said, leaning over Michelle's current prop in the making - a new rose bush made from plastic - holding out a piece of paper towards her. Michelle got up from her knees and cautiously took it, looking at him as he stayed leaning there. "Okay first of all, you can only say that if you're a magician," Michelle replied, "secondly that's wet paint." "Ah!" Liam shouted, recoiling, now noticing the wet paint on his coats elbows, "god, you couldn't have told me that sooner?!" Michelle cracked up and unfolded the paper, looking at it, before looking back at Liam. "Seriously? That fast?" she asked. "Now I gotta get this dry cleaned, you know you're paying for this right?" Liam asked. "Yeah yeah, sure, whatever, seriously though? It's been like two days, how did you-" "Because, Michelle, I'm good at what I do," Liam said, "dammit, this was my favorite jacket!" Michelle thanked him again and turned to exit. She entered the hall, headed for Bea's office and the landline within it. As she walked past a vending machine, Eliza rose up from her kneeling position, bag of cookies in her hand and started following her. Once within the room, Michelle told Eliza to shut the door, and she did just that. Michelle grabbed the phone from the base, then dialed the number on the paper as Eliza stood and watched, eating from her bag of cookies. A few rings, and then finally an answer. "Hello?" Michelle asked, the excitement in her voice incapable of being masked, a grin spreading across her face, "Hello , my name is Michelle. I'm calling for Justine Stiltskon? Yes, okay hi! Hello Justine. I'm from..." Michelle glanced around and looked at Michelle, who just held up her cookie bag. "...Famous Amos Publishing," Michelle said, both of them trying to stifle their laughter as she continued, "I want to speak to you about a possible illustration job for an upcoming...yes...Yes! Okay, well when do you think we could meet? I would gladly come to your home." Michelle scrambled for a pen and a piece of paper, tucking the phone under her chin as she jotted it down. "Okay, thank you so much, I'll see you then," Michelle said, hanging up and looking at Eliza. Michelle was about to attempt to do something, and she was just hoping she wouldn't regret it. |
About
Beatrice Beagle follows a young woman obsessed with a defunct pizzeria and kids show featuring a dog mascot. As she uncovers more about its mysterious past, she becomes sucked into the life of the woman who played the mascot, they both discover just how much they need eachother. Archives
April 2024
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