Cover Story

by Rachel Bailey

“Why not? Because it’s none of your business, that’s why.”

  The words came out a little harsher than I’d intended and Grace flinched before lifting her chin and looking me square in the eye. “You know, Tobi, maybe you’d be happier if you’d open up once in a while.” She crossed her arms in challenge.

  She’d chosen the wrong target.

  “To you?” I raised an eyebrow and flashed a patronizing smile.

  “Why not?”

  “Because in this conversation so far you’ve used words like ‘first base’ and you expect me to not only continue this ridiculous exchange, but to extend it?”

  Her eyes filled with tears and her bottom lip wavered. “Well, at least I’m making an effort.”

  My stomach dropped. I hadn’t meant to make her cry. Problem was, I had no idea what to say to crying people. Me, who made my living with words. That’s why I usually avoid anyone sobbing. “Grace, I—”

  “Save the sympathy, Tobi, I’m not asking for it.” She swiped roughly at the tears slipping down her cheeks. “I just want you to realize the world doesn’t revolve around you. Other people have problems too but they still make an effort. Do you think it’s easy for me to smile and laugh every day? When I’m so scared inside that sometimes I can’t breathe?” She thrust the back of her hand to her chest and the tears flowed more freely.

  “Oh, God—” But she wouldn’t pause for me to say more.

  “Do you think I want to get out of bed in the morning when some days all I see ahead of me is sadness and worry?” Her eyes flared despite the tears trickling from them. “But at least I’m making an effort, at least …”

  She covered her face with her hands and I moved to sit awkwardly beside her on the couch, hugging her to me. I couldn’t remember hugging her before and it felt weird, but I ignored the feeling and squeezed her tighter. “Oh, Gracie, I had no idea things were this bad.”

  After several minutes—or was it just one?—she raised her watery eyes to mine. Hers held no blame or anger as she spoke. “It’s okay, I didn’t tell you.”

  But I was the eldest. I had a responsibility. Why wasn’t she angry at me? I’d be angry at me. Heck, I was angry at me and it’d be a much lighter burden to bear if she’d just join in and cast a little blame my way. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t blame yourself. If I’d tried to talk to you, or anyone, I might not have got this bad. It’s my fault.”

  She rested her head on my shoulder. I couldn’t remember anyone doing that before. I was strangely pleased, yet still self-conscious. “If I’d been a better big sister in the first place, you wouldn’t have hesitated about reaching out to me. It’s my fault.”

  She laughed and sat up, turning to face me. “We could go on for hours, back and forth. What’s important is we’re talking now.” She wiped the remaining tears from her face.

  “Yes, and since we are … Grace what happened to us? How did things get like this?” I needed to know about her and me. Lord knew I had bags of hang-ups for every one of hers.

  “You know, I’ve often asked myself that and I still haven’t got an answer.” She curled up tighter on the couch. “I’ve got bits and pieces of reasons, but nothing strong enough to explain it all.”

  Sounded familiar. But if Grace, who considered herself qualified enough to analyze everyone after one psychology class, couldn’t figure it out, then I had no chance. She must know something else. “How long have you been feeling like this?”

  “Truthfully? I don’t ever remember not feeling like this, but it’s been getting stronger since my first divorce. And then,” she bit her lip, “in the last couple of months it’s been the strongest I’ve ever felt.”

  This depth of emotion from Grace was surprising when it shouldn’t have been. Of course she was only human, but I’d relegated her and our mother to plastic-emotion land in my mind. Now I’d been smacked in the face by reality, I wanted to know everything. “But what’s been stronger than before?”

  “I’m not sure I can explain.” She looked up at the ceiling, as if for inspiration. “It’s like the world is gray and filled with sludge and unless I make a really big effort to add color and light, I’ll become gray sludge too.”

  A light bulb in my mind blinked then lit with realization. “So that’s why you sometimes seem a little … dramatic. You’re over-compensating?”

  She shrugged and nodded.

  “And you’ve always felt like this?” I asked tentatively.

  “Not this bad.” She shrugged again. “But always a little.”

  “Even when you’re with Mom and living it up?” I knew I was harping, but it was a new perspective on something so familiar, and the ramifications were running round my head.

  “Especially then. Look, I’m sick of talking about me, let’s change the subject.” She flashed me what I now knew to be a compensation smile.

  “But this is really important, Gracie.”

  “I know. But I don’t have any more answers. Anyway, you still haven’t answered my question about Mr. Gorgeous.” She sat up straighter. “What happened under the big ol’ tree? Come on, Tobi, after everything I just opened up about, the least you can do is tell me about one little thing.”

  “Oh, all right.” I moved over onto a side chair and gave my hair a nonchalant flick. “He did kiss me.” If you could call that near-nuclear explosion a kiss.

  Her eyes widened in anticipation. “And?”

  “And nothing. He kissed me and it won’t happen again,” I said with a lack of emotion.

  “I bet he didn’t say that—he was still smokin’ when I got there.” She waggled her eyebrows.

  “No, I stopped it.” I brushed at the leg of my pants. Dammit, the spot was pink cotton candy. I scrubbed it with a finger. Did cotton candy come out in the wash?

  “You what? Why?”

  I glanced back at her and shrugged. “He’s just not right for me and—”

  “What? Why would you throw that away? You’re hot for him!”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but she held a hand and kept talking. “Don’t bother denying it, it’s written all over your face when you’re with him. You’re as interested in Simon as he is in you. Do you know how amazing that is? Men are never interested in me—”

  I rolled my eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Grace had been uber-popular since her first, toothless, baby smile. She was gorgeous, sure, with long black hair like Mom, and supermodel features, but it was more than that. People always liked being around her. When we’d been kids, I was often rendered invisible purely by standing next to her.

  “They’re not. Some are interested in my body or getting their photo in the paper with me or being seen with me. And since the divorces, some are even interested in my money. But I don’t remember if a man has ever just wanted me the way Simon seems to want you.”

  “It’s not—”

  She held her hand up again and continued: “If I had a kind-hearted, decent man like Simon interested in me, I sure as hell wouldn’t be throwing it away.”

  Damn, it all sounded so reasonable—so obvious—when put like that. So why did the thought leave me scared spitless? “Well, I’m not you and I have my reasons.”

  “What reasons?”

  Good question. “They’re complicated.”

  “No, you’re complicating it yourself.” She threw her hands in the air. “For goodness’ sake, Tobi, loosen up!”

  There were those words again. I took a deep breath. “Not that I’m agreeing in any way, shape or form, but … what sort of thing would a less … uptight person do?”

  She shrugged. “They’d seduce him.”

  “Seduce him?” My breath hitched in a tangled mess of excitement and panic.

  She nodded. “Seduce him.”

  The panic strong-armed the excitement out of the way and took complete control of my body. “Oh, no, no, no, no. This conversation is oh-ver.”

  I stalked off to the kitchen and began washing out the coffee percola
tor.

  *

  Gnomes Protest Rights Abuses

  By Tobi Fletcher

  The Gnomes of Santa Fe have had enough. For too long, they’ve been subject to the tempers and whims of the very humans who pledged to protect them.

  Carrying placards with slogans such as “Gnome Rights Now”, “Stop Violence Against Gnomes”, and “Gnomes are People Too”, an estimated seven thousand gnomes and four thousand of their human friends descended on Santa Fe’s famous Bicentennial Park to broadcast their grievances to the world.

  The event was organized to coincide with the launch of Dig Dog’s song, “AG Phone Home”, which highlights the plight of the gnome-napped AG. The band was on hand to perform their song and other entertainment was provided throughout the day. “It’s great to see this turnout,” band spokesperson, Lukas Molloy, said. “Great for us, great for AG and great for gnomes everywhere. We just hope this event will encourage those who have AG to return him safely home. Someone somewhere must know something.”

  Guest speakers called on the State Government to create a Special Office for the Protection of Gnomes. Those on the left of the gnome movement suggested that this also cover garden fairies and trolls, but these suggestions were met with strong opposition from others who feared diluting the true gnome message.

  Government representatives failed to show, but organizers were pleased with the number of humans and gnomes who demonstrated their support, citing a growing awareness of the plight of the garden gnome.

  Activities following the speakers included an enthusiastic game of “hide and seek”, played by a mixed group of children and gnomes.

  Chapter 13

  Monday morning I pulled into Los Alamos Court and parked in front of Simon’s house, the events of the weekend still replaying in my mind.

  Seduce him.

  I checked my mother-of-pearl watch then huffed. Sunday, 9.02a.m. No matter what I did, this watch always ran a day behind.

  Grabbing my bag, I walked the path to the door, which was thrown open by a blond whirlwind long before I reached it.

  “Tobi!” She flung herself at my legs.

  “Hi, Anna.” A funny warmth unfurled in my chest. The kid was growing on me.

  A vision of Grace squatting at their introduction flashed in my mind. Detaching her hands from my thighs, I moved back a little and saw disappointment cloud her eyes for a second before I squatted down to her level and hugged her. She enthusiastically hugged me back, gripping my neck as tight as she could. She held onto me for a minute or so and I began to relax. It wasn’t so bad. I even kinda liked it.

  Then Anna moved her mouth to my ear and whispered, “I love you, Tobi.”

  I felt the words like a blow to the head. She loved me? Of course, I suspected she also loved the entire cast of Sesame Street and an assortment of cartoon characters, but still …

  “Um,” I stammered.

  Anna didn’t wait for a reply—she didn’t seem to need reciprocation like adults. Good for her. She pulled away and looked up at Dot. “Granma, now Tobi’s here, can we go for a walk? Pleeeease?”

  Dot laughed and I stood, brushing the wrinkles from my trousers.

  “It’s up to Tobi, honey. Remember I said we had to wait and ask her what she wants to do?”

  Anna twirled back to me and grabbed both my hands, arching back the way I’d seen her do with Simon. “Tobi, you wanna walk, don’t you?”

  Dot ruffled Anna’s hair and looked at me. “Now, Tobi, you said you wanted to meet the women at number one?”

  “I’d love to. I have to write another story—or more—and I’m out of ideas. I was hoping someone new would give me another angle.” Besides, I was more than a little curious about them.

  “Well, you’re in luck.” Dot seemed impressed with herself. “Rafaella’s home sick today. I had a quick chat with her earlier and she said she’d talk to you. I’d been thinking since you called last night about what we could do this morning, then I saw her, so I leaped at the chance.”

  Sick? I wanted to ask what kind of sick—coughing and spluttering sick? Contagious sick? Or—hopefully—a nice dignified migraine type of sick? Well aware it was childish, I crossed my fingers for no bodily fluids. “Thanks, that’d be great.”

  “Anna and I are ready now, if you are.”

  “Sure, let’s go.”

  Anna was still holding both my hands and, after Dot had closed the door and pocketed the key, she let go of one hand to grab her grandmother’s.

  Number one was on the same side of the street as Valentina and Gerald, which meant walking across Winston’s turf. I considered asking if we could walk down the other side, but that seemed ridiculous even to me, so I kept up my guard, swinging Anna’s hand, watching left to right—and up and down.

  “So,” I said casually, “anyone seen Winston this morning?”

  Anna dropped my hand to point at Valentina’s front window. “There he is!”

  He sat on the windowsill—only a screen between us—watching me. As I made eye contact, he flicked his tail up to wrap around his body. It was the only movement he made—he looked like an Egyptian statue, expecting worship, yet disdaining his subjects. Even from that distance, the hypnotic power of his eyes was strong. I knew I’d stopped walking, but was incapable of doing anything else—I just stared in fascinated dread.

  Then, without warning, he spat a kaaaa sound, jaw fully extended, eyes wild.

  I jumped higher than I ever had in my life. Winston bent to groom his front legs.

  Anna giggled. “Winston’s so funny.” Then she walked on, dragging Dot and me along with her, chattering away about all the other hilarious things Winston had done.

  Oh yeah, the cat was a riot. When I ended up in intensive care with heart failure, I’d be sure to remember that.

  We passed Gerald’s house and all waved to him and Remington in the front window before moving on to the next house—the mysterious number one. It was two stories with caramel stucco walls, square garage doors, and wooden roof beams projecting through the walls above us. Dot let Anna push the bell and it peeled out the national anthem.

  We waited a couple of minutes before a woman in her thirties with a honey-brown pixie cut and—I made a silent prayer of thanks—no signs of bodily fluids answered the door.

  “Hello, Rafaella,” Dot said. “This is Tobi.”

  “Hi, Dot. Hey, Anna.” She grinned at the kid, but seemed to be wincing at the same time. “Nice to meet you, Tobi.”

  There was something vaguely familiar about her, but I couldn’t put my finger on what.

  Not wanting to shake her hand in case of contagion risks, I smiled instead. “Thanks for meeting me, Rafaella. Are you sure you’re up to this? Dot said you were sick?”

  “I’m fine. I threw my back out yesterday, so as long as I get over to the lounge quickly, I’ll be good to talk.” She grimaced, then hobbled back through the lounge and awkwardly lowered herself onto a three-seater. Dot rushed to arrange the cushions around her and Anna smoothed the hair back from Rafaella’s face.

  As soon as Rafaella was settled, she sighed then looked around at us. “I’m sorry I can’t offer to make you a drink—”

  “Oh, no, dear girl,” Dot cut her off. “I’ll make you something. Would you like me to whip you up some breakfast while I’m here?”

  “Thanks, but I’m fine. Liz made me toast before she left for work. But if it’s not too much trouble, I’d love a hot chocolate?”

  “No trouble at all.” Dot seemed pleased to be doing something useful. “Anna and I will do that. Tobi, would you like something?”

  “Ah, no thanks.”

  They left the room and I looked back at Rafaella. She adjusted her position slightly and winced.

  “Are you sure you’re up to this?” I might not get another opportunity to speak to her, but I did have a conscience.

  “It’ll stop me being bored out of my brain. There’s only so much daytime TV I can handle at any one time.” She laugh
ed and I liked her. “Besides, I’ve been wanting to meet you face to face.”

  “You have?”

  She paused, as if unsure, then smiled. “A couple of neighbors have mentioned you and I’ve been following the stories in the papers.”

  Embarrassed, I groaned. “I’m supposed to be writing more of those stories now, but I’ve run out of angles. I was hoping you might have something I could use?”

  “I’ll tell you what.” She bit her lip. “I’ve been thinking about this since I spoke to Dot this morning. I can give you one thing on the record and one thing off the record.” She waved me closer and I moved to an adjacent chair, glad for a little intrigue. “You have to promise my name won’t be connected to the information if I tell you.”

  Not an unusual request of a journalist, but one I hated agreeing to. Once I’d given my word, I couldn’t go back, so I never did it lightly. She held my gaze and I had a suspicion more rode on my answer than I understood.

  Slowly, I nodded. “Okay, I guarantee confidentiality.”

  Her eyes flicked to the kitchen and I nodded again.

  “Does your back go out often?” I asked, needing to stall until we were alone.

  She chuckled. “Only when I’m stressed, strangely enough.”

  Dot bustled back in, a tray with one mug and a plate of chocolate cookies in her hands.

  Anna followed closely behind, beaming as she announced, “I helped make the hot choc’late.”

  “I found a jar of cookies,” Dot said, as she handed the mug to Rafaella, “so I put a couple out for you, dear. I hope that’s all right.”

  Rafaella smiled. “Thanks, Dot.”

  “Now, Tobi.” Dot turned to me. “Would you like Anna and me to wait or leave you to it?”

  I heaved an internal sigh of relief—I’d hoped she’d offer. “Thanks, I’ll be fine here on my own.”

  Anna reached her arms up. That same funny warmth I’d felt on her veranda earlier spread through my chest and I hunched down to hug her.

  “Bye, Tobi.” She beamed at me and turned to take her grandma’s hand.

  Given Rafaella’s incapacitation, I saw them to the door then returned, taking out my notebook and pencil, mind whirring at the possibilities. There was nothing like the buzz just before an informant spilled their information.