I’ve been traveling for the past week, and I’ve discovered that airports are not particularly conducive to writing. Especially not when one is flying standby and has to keep track of open seats and various color coded screens to figure out whether or not to board the plane. Excellent trip, but damn, was it stressful getting back.
But, I’ve been working on scene three from the Psychic Exploration, and it’s taking some surprising new turns! I’m glad, I like it when the story can still reveal itself within the framework of an outline. There’s always that moment where you wonder if you’ve planned too far, if it’s too strict, if you’ve missed something and now you’ll have to scrap it all and start over to find that seed of inspiration again. Or at least, that’s how it is for me.
Anyway, we left off with Sabrina connecting with her brother Charlie, and now we have Sabrina’s parents meddling in her life. And even more meddling to come later this week. :D
I call Johnny on Christmas day, and try not to worry when he doesn’t pick up. He’s with his grandmother, eating a superbly roasted turkey and parrying away prying questions, same as I am. Well, maybe not so much that last – Johnny’s grandmother at least knows we’re together.
“Auntie Sabrina! Come on! Nana says we can’t start on the presents until everyone’s downstairs!” My oldest nephew grabs my hand and pulls me from my room, and I smile in spite of myself. I remember the enforced discipline of waiting for noon on Christmas day to open presents. Up at seven, sit through the longest sermon ever at nine, home by eleven and an hour of chomping at the bit before we could tear into the brightly wrapped pile. I catch a glimpse of the grandfather clock at the top of the stairs. 11:55.
The children are gathered by the doors, and the adults stand with cups of coffee between the hall and the kitchen.
“She’s here!” Matthew announces, pulling me into the melee. “Can we start now, Nana?”
I look to my grandmother, but it’s my mother who answers. “Merry Christmas! Let the chaos begin!” An apt description, I think, watching the sudden rush for the tree. I perch on the sofa next to Charlie. I’ve long since given up on getting anything I want when I come home.
Sure enough, a half hour later I have a serviceable sweater, a new pair of boots, a CD of the local church choir and an “Army Sis” t-shirt (from Charlie.) Then my grandmother approaches with an envelope and holds it out to me. “This is from your parents and me,” she says. I slip a finger along the edge and draw out a $150 gift certificate to the fanciest restaurant in town. I glance up, confused, and Nana taps her cane on the floor. “Read the note,” she says. I turn the certificate over. All the adults are staring at me. Beside me, Charlie looks befuddled. There is a post-it note stuck to the other side of the certificate. I unfold it and skim the words.
“Hi Sabrina,
I always thought you were pretty, and then when you ran away I thought you were crazy brave. I’d love to get to know you better. Would you do me the honor of dinner tomorrow at seven?
Samuel Lovett”
“So is this from you or from him?” I ask. Charlie pokes me, and I pass him the note.
“From us,” Mama says. “You’ve been too long in that big city, hon. It’s time you came home. Your father mentioned that you were coming home down at the store, and young Samuel heard him and said how he’d always admired you, and the idea just grew from there. It’ll be good for you to see someone local.”
“But I know Sam, and I didn’t much like him as a kid.”
“Oh, he’s grown up nicely since then,” Nana says. Charlie snorts, and Nana glares at him.
“We all put in the money, Sabrina,“ Father says. “Your mother, your grandmother, even your older sisters. Thank them, and enjoy yourself tomorrow.”
“I… um. Thank you.”
*
The next day, Nana and Mama fuss over me like I’m getting married, not going on a date. I can barely steal time away to see Annie and try to call Johnny from the barn. I leave a message on his phone – “It’s Sabrina, my family is trying to set me up again. Remind me why I decided to come back? Call me.”
When the time comes to leave, Mama insists that the roads are too snowy for me to drive myself, and ropes Father into taking me down. “Why do I get the feeling that she doesn’t trust me to go?” I ask, as the truck pulls from the slush in the ranch driveway to the mostly clear asphalt. Father grunts. We drive in silence for a few moments.
“You seeing anyone in that big city of yours?” he asks suddenly.
“No,” I say.
“Good.” He forces air through his nose. “Don’t want those city boys to get fresh with you.”
“It’s not your decision,” I say, though I know this argument will lead nowhere good. “I can see who I want to see.”
“As long as you’re under my roof-”
“I’m not under your roof.” I say, amazed at my nerve. “I’ve lived on my own for nine years.”
“Watch your mouth, girl. You’re under my roof now.” He pulls the truck into the restaurant parking lot. “Sam will take you home.”
I open the door and hop out, then turn back. “I’m twenty five, and I’m visiting home. I’m not a child anymore, Father.”
He looks at me for a long moment. “You’re still my daughter,” he says. Then he leans over and yanks the door shut, leaving me standing in a cloud of exhaust.
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