No Parking

by Valentine Wheeler

  She didn’t usually stay up to watch the returns anymore, not the way she and Kevin had when they were young and certainly not the way they had when he was running for City Council. But tonight was different. The polls had to be wrong. He had sway, and he had connections, but people knew him. Swanley wouldn’t elect Luke Leventi to represent them. There was no way.

  As the returns began to trickle in, Marianne clutched her mug and pulled her blanket tighter around her. She’d voted early, dropping off her ballot weeks ago at city hall with each of the bubbles neatly filled in. That had been right when she and Rana had first been getting to know each other before she’d had any idea Luke was up to anything. She liked local elections: she knew everyone in them, knew most of them for decades as friends, neighbors, pro customers, and could vote accordingly. She didn’t have to trust someone else’s opinion or their public face; she knew what they looked like when the neighbor kid hit a ball through their window or when they got the wrong flavor in their coffee. She knew their moms and their kids and how well they tipped Zeke when he wasn’t watching.

  Part of her wished he’d taken Kevin up on his offer to let her join him to watch the returns at the Lucky Dog, but on the other hand, she wouldn’t be able to watch in her pajamas there. And she’d be surrounded by his friends, former politicians, all of them, all reminiscing about the good old days when they ran the show.

  She missed Rana fiercely, all of a sudden, missed her laugh and her smile and the way she made the things that panicked Marianne seem so easy to handle. Even with the awkwardness currently between them with the strange situation they were in, she wanted Rana there. In a few months she’d become a real friend, a part of Marianne’s community. But Rana was away in California with her son, visiting while she recovered from the indignity of what the man currently winning the election had done to her business.

  And he was winning, so far, with 20% reporting. All of Wilshire was in, going heavily for him, while Barchester was split evenly between him and his opponent with plenty left to report. Swanley, always the slowest town to submit their vote counts, wouldn’t have all the votes counted until at least the morning. But the election would get called tonight, barring a very tight race. And she hoped it wouldn’t be a nail-biter. Marianne didn’t know if she could handle a nail-biter.

  Another chunk of votes came in from precinct three in Swanley. The vote tipped back to Hechevarria, barely. “Come on,” Marianne muttered into her tea as it cooled undrunk in her hands. “You know how awful he is.” But she knew it wasn’t likely Luke would lose. She knew how the slick suits, the good hair, the careful speeches, and the long history in the area played out with people who didn’t have dealings with him. He looked good, and he sounded good, and that went a long way in Wiltshire County.

  Another round of votes came in, the precinct to the farthest east, the only one in Dunbury. She always forgot that the district included a piece of Dunbury—from what she knew of the town, that wasn’t a good thing for her candidate. He tended to play well in districts at opposite ends of the political spectrum—wealthy people who’d donated money and expected favors in return, and poor white areas where he made big promises. Those promises got him votes despite the unlikeliness that he would ever follow through.

  I should have canvassed more, she thought, her mind starting to spiral as Yelena Hechevarria’s lead shrunk a little more and then a little farther. They were even an hour and a half after polls had closed. It wouldn’t be long now.

  Her phone buzzed, and she set the tea down carefully before picking it up, opening the message from Zeke.

  Can we close for mourning tomorrow if he wins?

  She laughed out loud, a quick bark, as she typed back. We’ll spit in his coffee if he comes in.

  Zeke sent back a long row of tiny angry-faced emoji just as the political reporter for the local news, Karen Gilcrest, tapped her board, a checkmark appearing beside Luke Leventi onscreen.

  “No,” said Marianne. “What?” She stared at the little green mark. “That can’t be right. He can’t win.”

  She should have worked harder, should have donated more. She should have knocked on doors and done the phone bank. But she hadn’t realized how much the election would matter back then. She hadn’t realized what it would mean. So, she’d kind of ignored it all until the last month of the campaign. And by then it was too late.

  If he was their representative, if he was the one controlling the laws, how could she win against him? How could she get Rana her shop back? And how could she kick that conniving asshole out of her family’s business?

  Chapter Sixteen

  The mood in the library the next morning was mixed, some patrons somber, some quietly gleeful, some totally unaware anything had changed. Marianne brought her small stack of novels to the circulation desk, sharing a tired smile with Tori, whose familiar face looked drowsy behind the desk. “Late night?” she asked, taking in Tori’s slight slump and large mug of coffee.

  Tori shrugged. “Should have gone to bed,” she said quietly. “What a mess.”

  “I stayed up until the end too. Zeke kept telling me to go to bed because I’d be useless in the morning. I swear knowing that kid is like having an extra mom. Or, a dad, I guess?”

  “You can call him a mom,” said Tori, laughing. “I don’t think it’s transphobic if you’d call a cis guy the same thing. How is that kid?”

  Marianne smiled. “He’s good,” she said. “He’s settling down with the classes and everything. I was worried he’d struggle and get overwhelmed, but he’s handling it well. He’s growing up, our Ezekiel.”

  “Tell him to come by,” said Tori. “I haven’t seen him lately. Makes me wonder if he only thinks I’m useful for trans lessons.” She grinned wickedly. “If he were a little older, or I were a little shorter, it would have been perfect. I always wanted a trans man to switch wardrobes with. Instead, I got all the hard work of giving queer education without any of the payoff.”

  “What a great idea,” said Marianne. “Somebody should set up some kind of pen pal thing like that.”

  “Oh, honey,” said Tori. “The internet exists. Pen pal system, really?” She laughed. “Join the new millennium, Marianne.” She shook her head. “You always were a dinosaur, all the way back.”

  “It’s a good thing we broke up,” said Marianne. “I’d have driven you crazy.”

  Tori laughed. “If I’d known you were bisexual in high school, I might not have dumped you when I finally admitted I was trans.” She sighed, sobering. “And I might have been able to help out your new friend next door if I were around the bakery more often too.”

  “New friend?”

  “Rana Wahbi,” said Tori slyly. “The whole town’s buzzing about you and her.”

  “Are you serious?” Marianne groaned. “There’s nothing to buzz about, Tori!”

  “Are you sure?” asked Tori. “You know how news travels around here. And I heard from Sandy at the bank that her daughter was in the restaurant and saw you all pink and giggly. I remember what you look like with a crush, my friend. People don’t change. Not even in forty years.” She held up both hands in a placating gesture. “But fine, you win. Nothing going on there. I’ll mercilessly refute any further accusations of you having fun.”

  “You do that!” Marianne tried to look serious, but she was pretty sure she failed. “And what do you mean, help her out?”

  Tori leaned closer, leaning her elbows on the counter. Her dark blue eyes leveled with Marianne’s. “Our friend Mr. Leventi was in here last week,” she said quietly. “Looking into local history. I thought it was kind of odd—I knew he was trying for the House seat, of course, but he’d never showed any interest in history before then—but I figured he might be turning over a new leaf. But he took a call from his lawyer, I think, and was discussing—loudly, in the library, I might add—the terms of lease renewal.”

  “Well, that’s clearly another reason people should have voted against him,” joked Mariann
e, even as her stomach clenched. “Taking phone calls in the library.”

  Tori’s eyes crinkled, for a second looking like the gorgeous kid Marianne had dated in high school, back before either of them realized they were queer. “More than just losing a vote. That should get you arrested.”

  “Impeached, maybe, now,” said Marianne. “But I’ve been looking into history myself, and Tori, there’s something fishy about the deed to the bakery.”

  “Fishiness?” Tori grinned. “You know I’m always up for some good fishiness. Spill.”

  “I don’t really know anything yet,” hedged Marianne. “But I’m not sure what exactly happened back when his dad took the property over. And I think I might have to figure it out to keep Rana in her shop.”

  “Oh, boy.”

  “I found a will my dad wrote,” explained Marianne. “And now I don’t know what to do. None of it makes sense, Tori. Least of all what’s going on with Luke.”

  “Hm.” Tori crossed her arms. “Well, he was certainly digging around. I’ll let you know if he comes back, okay? He’s not my favorite patron.”

  “Thanks, Tori. I really appreciate it. I think I set him on the warpath, and I’m not sure how to defuse him.”

  “I think you’re right,” said Tori, serious. “Be careful, honey.”

  “I always am, Tori.”

  Tori raised her eyebrows.

  Marianne sighed. “I will be.” She handed over the stack of books. “Now tell me about the kids. How have I not seen them all year?”

  Tori’s face lit up as she began recounting her twins’ latest exploits. Marianne relaxed into the chatter, trying to put the previous topic of conversation out of her mind.

  *

  It was a little strange to be bringing Kevin and Rana into her apartment at the same time, and Marianne tried not to think about the fact that she’d kissed each of them on the same couch. She busied herself with turning up the thermostat as they entered, straightening stacks of papers on the counter and discreetly tossing a few old coffee cups in the trash before Kevin and Rana entered.

  “Looks the same in here,” said Kevin, glancing around. “Every time I come in, it surprises me. It’s like snapping back to 1975.”

  “Some things are different,” protested Marianne as she took Rana’s coat and hung it in the closet. “There’s a computer. And the fridge is new.” Silence stretched for a long moment, and she cleared her throat. “Let’s head to the living room, okay? I wanted to show this to you both.”

  Rana sat on the couch, while Kevin took the chair. Marianne pulled out the folder with the will and handed it to Kevin before sitting on the couch beside Rana. He opened the folder and set it on the coffee table. All three of them leaned in as Marianne flipped to the relevant section. She pointed, fingers hovering millimeters over the page.

  “He didn’t sell it, Kevin. Not according to this. Just like I said. There’s nothing else that makes sense.”

  Kevin ran a hand through his hair. “Marianne, I stand by what I said before. You don’t know that. You can’t know it.”

  “Well neither do you!” Marianne’s voice rose, and she could feel a lump forming in her throat. “Just because he wasn’t all there doesn’t mean he didn’t know what was going on. He was depressed, not senile.”

  “He could have sold it afterward,” Kevin said. “He could have meant the half he owned, if he sold it before. He could have been confused.”

  “You knew him?” asked Rana, leaning forward. “You knew Marianne’s father well?”

  Kevin nodded. “As well as anyone. He was my father-in-law, remember.”

  Rana half smiled. “I barely knew my father-in-law. Just because we were family didn’t mean we knew each other well.”

  “Well, I knew Danny,” said Kevin sharply. “And he wasn’t the most careful man in the world, especially not with paperwork.”

  Marianne put a hand on Rana’s wrist, stilling her objections. “The will is real, Kevin. He wrote this. I knew my father better than you did, remember.”

  He tipped his head slightly in acknowledgment.

  “So, what do we do with it? Who do we tell?”

  “Assuming we’re able to confirm it as a legal will?”

  “Okay, Kevin, we’re not lawyers. Start from the beginning. How do we do that?”

  He smiled. “Well, first things first. You’re going to have to get a lawyer.”

  Marianne waved at him. “We have a lawyer.”

  Kevin laughed. “No, you don’t. We talked about that.”

  Rana shook her head. “Your former husband cannot be your lawyer, Marianne,” Rana said quietly. “Believe me, that’s a recipe for disaster.”

  “She’s right,” said Kevin. “I can help you hire someone else, and I can help out with advice, but no, that would be a serious conflict of interest.” He tapped his fingers on the wood of the table as the headlights from a passing car cast a flickering beam of light across his pale features. “I was thinking about Lila Shapiro, actually.”

  Marianne blinked. “Tori’s wife?”

  Kevin nodded. “She takes cases like this—well, not like this, this one is particularly weird—but property cases and inheritance disputes and things like that.”

  Marianne glanced at Rana, who shrugged. “I don’t think I know her,” confessed Rana.

  “She has the twins,” said Marianne. “They’re about eight? The boy loves trains and the girl is autistic?”

  “Oh!” Rana brightened. “And she has a very tall wife?”

  Marianne grinned. “That’s Tori. Yes.”

  “I didn’t realize she was a lawyer,” said Rana.

  “She is,” said Kevin. “A damn good one too. She usually takes cases out in Boston and Worcester, but she interned with Dougie way back when.”

  “Kevin’s cousin. Also a lawyer,” explained Marianne to Rana.

  “She’d be willing to represent you at a discount as a favor to us, I’m sure. Or even pro bono. She and Tori certainly don’t like Luke Leventi much either.”

  “And they’d hate to see the bakery go,” added Rana.

  “I hate to ask,” said Marianne.

  “Would you rather lose the bakery when Leventi gets his way?” asked Kevin.

  “Well, no, but—”

  “That’s what’s going to happen if we don’t do something.”

  Marianne looked from one to the other and then around at the old walls of the bakery apartment, thick with memories. “Okay. I’ll go talk to Tori tomorrow, ask her for Lila’s work number.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Marianne wasn’t sure why the idea of asking Lila Shapiro to be her lawyer was making her so nervous. Maybe it was the fact that when it was just Kevin and Rana and her discussing the will, it was all nothing but a theoretical discussion between friends. But once she asked a lawyer—one she’d hire, rather than one she was badgering with questions—she was really doing this.

  Or maybe it was that she’d always been a little nervous around Lila. She was nearly fifteen years younger than Marianne and Tori, after all, and despite forty years’ distance, Marianne was still Lila’s wife’s ex. It would be ridiculous for Lila to think of her as a threat. She and Tori had broken up in the 1970s and had both been so deep inside their respective straight camouflages back then as to be nearly unrecognizable. And Lila had never given her any reason to be nervous.

  But she had to admit, deep down, part of her wondered what would have happened had she and Tori stayed together through the revelations of their respective queernesses. Could they have worked their relationship out? And even though she thought of Tori as a friend now, a good friend, there would always be that tiny little spark of what if.

  She pushed open the door to the library and stepped inside, breathing in the faint scents of paper and surreptitiously smuggled coffee. The main reading room was mostly deserted this early in the morning, and Tori was nowhere in sight. Behind the desk sat Michaela, the reference librarian, reading a thick pape
rback with gold foil glinting on the cover. She looked up as Marianne approached.

  “What can I do for you?” she asked, sticking a scrap of paper in the book and setting it down.

  “Is Tori in today?” asked Marianne. “I need to ask her something.”

  “She’s around here somewhere,” said Michaela. “Can I help?”

  “It’s personal, sorry,” said Marianne.

  Michaela’s eyebrows rose behind her thick glasses and her gaze sharpened. “Personal?”

  “Well, it’s somewhat professional, I guess” clarified Marianne, “But not library-related.”

  “Hm,” said Michaela, and Marianne groaned internally. Michaela was an incorrigible gossip. Ten years younger than Marianne, she’d been one of the kids Marianne had babysat as a teen. She’d been nosy then, and she was nosy now. “I think she’s shelving over by mysteries.”

  “Thanks,” said Marianne. She felt Michaela’s eyes follow her the whole way back through the stacks until she turned the corner and was out of sight.

  Michaela had been right—Tori knelt in the T section of science fiction, just past the edge of the mysteries. Marianne knocked a low-hanging novel from the shelf as she passed, sending the book clattering to the floor, and Tori started, nearly falling over backward.

  “Sorry,” said Marianne, catching her by the shoulder as she pushed herself upright. She picked up the novel she’d dropped and smiled at the familiar cover. “Been a long time since I read Dune,” she admitted, pushing it back between Heinlein and Huxley. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Tori laughed. “That’s all right. Can I help you find something?”

  “I was looking for you, actually.”

  Tori raised her eyebrows. “Me?”