by K C Otenti
How much had he known? He must have known I wasn’t a blood relative. Why was he so willing to raise me? He never treated me as anything less than his own family.
Another question for dinner with Barb. In the meantime, there was one more pressing task at hand. Then she’d go grab a burger. Or maybe a pizza. She hadn’t had a pizza in ages.
AIDEEN LOOKED UP at her favorite azure Victorian and wondered what sort of reaction she’d get, showing up on her ex’s doorstep right now. Forgiveness?
“Not exactly.” She crossed the street and climbed the stairs to Coby’s front door.
She rang the doorbell and took a step back, shoving her hands into her pockets and wondering if this was a good idea.
The door swung open and familiar chestnut eyes framed with fringes of bright blond hair greeted Aideen.
“Aideen? You’re emaciated. Have you been on a bender?” He audibly sniffed at her, then seemed surprised. “Is that orange? What have you been drinking?”
“Orange and anise,” Aideen said. “I haven’t been drinking, and I’m fine.”
Coby frowned. “What are you doing here? I won’t take you back.”
“I’m not here to get you back.” Aideen watched Coby’s eyebrows disappear into the fringe. “I came to apologize.”
Coby’s lips parted as his jaw dropped.
“Apologize?”
“I know I’ve been rotten to you, and I’m sorry. But I’ve quit drinking, and I’m gonna be making some changes in my life. I hope you’ll be able to forgive me.”
“It’ll take more than ‘I’m sorry’ for me to get over what you did.”
“I know.” Aideen smiled and turned to leave, then looked back over her shoulder. “But I’m just getting started.”
AIDEEN SAT IN BED that night, scribbling furiously in her journal about her experiences of the last week (or two days, depending on how you wanted to measure it). As she came to the end of her tale, a familiar voice emanated from her necklace.
“Aideen? Can you hear me?”
“Sterling? I can hear you.”
“Are you there?”
Aideen held the pendant closer to her mouth, then remembered what Shay had told her about broadcasting. She closed her eyes and pictured Sterling before she spoke again.
“Hi, Sterling.”
“It’s good to hear your voice.”
“How long has it been for you?”
“Nine days. I couldn’t wait any longer.”
“Have you started to rebuild the Compass Tower yet?”
“Yes. Del and some others are helping. But it’s not the Compass Tower anymore.”
“What is it?”
“The Lux Memorial Tower.”
“That’s sweet.” Aideen thought of the ‘good’ twin and her ‘evil’ sister. “Did she have any other family?”
“No. Their parents died years ago. It was just her and Nox.”
“I wish I had gotten to know her better. But I’m grateful that she brought you and me together.”
“She did more than that.”
“What do you mean?”
A distant voice addressed Sterling.
“I’ll tell you next time. Gideon has sent for me.”
“How’s he handling ruling D’Nal Harrim?” Aideen smiled, picturing Gideon in a suit behind an executive desk, like a president.
“The power goes to his head at times, but he’s kept the peace so far.”
“It hasn’t even been two weeks.”
“Celebrate the small wins.”
“Good advice,” Aideen said. “Speaking of small wins, I got rid of all my alcohol. I’m done drinking, even without Trappers around to encourage me.”
“Good for you. Talk to you again in two weeks?”
“Better make it twelve days. I have to be at work in thirteen.” Aideen smiled.
Sterling laughed. “Twelve days, then.”
The necklace went silent. Aideen closed her journal and set it on the nightstand before padding into the bathroom. She scrutinized her reflection in the mirror, recalling Jimmy’s threat after he kicked her out of the bar.
“I know I’m not alone.”
She smiled as she remembered she had brought this on herself.
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About the Author
K.C.Otenti may be prone to writing dystopian short stories, but her darling is her spec script for The Simpsons, NASCARgot. (It placed fifth in its category in the 77th Annual Writer’s Digest Writing Competition. No, she will not stop bringing it up.) She wrote her first murder mystery script, which was performed at United Way of Mid-Maine’s 3rd Annual Mad Hatter Gala in April 2019.
A proud Masshole who finds comfort in ‘80s-‘00s pop culture, K.C. takes great pains to incorporate such references into her stories, even when her heroine’s life is at stake.
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