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*Dies again* :rofl:
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#22
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- 108 posts
House Party Crasher
Posted 30 July 2009 - 04:38 PM
:lol: I'm happy they got together! And wow they sure don't wait to start on that family do they?
Come read my Sims story blog! Stories from the Sims-side *PG-13*
#23
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- 4,738 posts
Scheming and dreaming.
Posted 31 July 2009 - 10:39 PM
After the initial bout with morning sickness, Rochelle suddenly felt exceptionally creative, which may or may not have been inspired by the new computer that Luke bought for her. Her coworkers sent her a baby shower-style basket of goods and a few random assignments for her to work on, and armed with a keyboard, one of Tanisha's half-finished interviews for inspiration and a lot of time on her hands, she went to work on a novella entitled A Deeply Felt Loss.
"That's probably the worst title I ever heard," Luke snorted. "Why not just call I Cry for No Reason and stop being all fancy?"
"Aren't you supposed to be burning yourself alive or something?"
"Nah, they fired me." He laughed hysterically at her look of shock. "No, seriously. There was a big scandal about two months back. The fire marshal was on the take from the union and the chiefs were all infighting and one of the firefighters was actually an arsonist--gawd, you're easy to fool! I quit yesterday. Remember? You hated my job?"
"But you loved it," she protested.
"Yeah, but you hated it. Don't worry, I got a new job beginning next week that meets my daily requirement of awesome."
"Great," she murmured. She had hoped against hope that he had signed up for the open team tryouts at the stadium, but something told her that he was going to come marching in the door next week wearing a blue uniform and a holster. Fighting a growing knot in her stomach, she went into her tiny office and began to type.
"What will we name him?" Luke asked while weeding the vegetable patch that afternoon. (19)
"Who says it's a 'he?'"
"I did. What are we naming him?"
Rochelle watered him instead of the tomato vines. "You're welcome to think of a name for a boy, but if it's a girl, I'm naming her Julia."
"Why Julia?"
"I like it! It's pretty."
"But it means 'bearded lady.' That's really the road you wanna go down?"
She stared at him. He stared back impudently. "Go look it up! I'm not lying."
She threw down the watering can and did a quick internet search. Sure enough, the name Julia came back as 'downy-bearded youth.' How obnoxious!
"Well?" Luke asked triumphantly when she came back outside. Rochelle said nothing, instead picking up a clod of mud and stuffing it in his waistband. His yelping soothed her ego at least for the moment.
The next few months were a bit of a blur. Rochelle found that the baby would in fact be a girl and decided to name her Julia despite Luke's teasing. As for Luke himself, he got a job with the police force, but promised that he wouldn't apply for "anything dangerous." Unfortunately, the only position he was immediately qualified for was a snitch.
"How is spying on people not dangerous?" Rochelle demanded when he came home after the first day.
"Relax! I dress like a bum and sit on a corner all day listening to music. Easy as pie and no one even notices me. Besides, my partner's nearby and it's perfectly safe."
Perfectly safe. Theodore's mother had always insisted that she was perfectly safe. Rochelle stiffened and dropped the plate that she was holding. It shattered around her bare feet.
"Roc!"
"I'm sorry," she said, but she couldn't look at him. She stepped gingerly over the sharp pieces and slipped back into the office.
He heard her typing furiously, and though he came after her and darkened the doorway for a while, she didn't turn around. (20)
Rochelle's belly had grown dramatically.
The little novel was done and on its way to a publisher. Luke had asked to read it more than once, but Rochelle wouldn't let him. "It's probably too girly for your taste," was the only reason she gave him, and after being rejected enough times, he stopped asking.
He had another one of his rocks pulverized and smelted into a ring, and very shortly before their daughter was born, Luke asked Rochelle to be his wife. She accepted, but only on the condition that he took her last name, as she absolutely refused to become a Houle. He agreed, they signed the paperwork and put in back in the mailbox.
"So!" Luke said, looking up at the dusky sky. "We're married now. Get me some dinner, wife. And since it's our honeymoon night, you have to do better than just plain cereal."
"Coming right up." She padded toward the kitchenette on swollen feet while Luke surveyed the room. "I have a pretty basic house plan in my email that I think would be reasonable since neither of us really wants a big place. It's almost like a trailer, but not quite, and it's expandable, so we could possibly add on a second floor if we had more kids in the future and--aww, cereal with blueberries! You're too good to me, baby."
She came over and topped the mushy pile with a heart-shaped strawberry. He laughed.
That night, Rochelle felt pain creeping through her abdomen. She reached over to the other side of the bed but felt only the rumpled sheets.
"Luke," she gasped, looking wildly around the room. He wasn't on the couch or in the bathroom or in the office. She sat there stupidly until she remembered her phone. It was next to his pillow, flashing. He had left a note on it for her.
Had to go, last-minute tipster needed on assignment. Be back as soon as I can, love you.
No! ... The pain became sickening. She crept to the window, not even sure what she was looking for. (21) All that was there was the empty street. "Luke!"
The cramping intensified. Too shaky to even dial the hospital, she lay back on the bed and hoped that instinct would carry her through. She grabbed a pillow and squeezed it to her chest with all the strength she had left, and she wished through her tears that Luke would come back.
"Roc."
"Mmm." As tired as she was, she could tell that she was on the couch. Had she gotten up in her sleep?
Luke seemed breathless. "Look. Julia's reaching for you."
She didn't open her eyes, but she held out her arms and Luke placed a warm, tiny bundle near her chest. She drew the baby close, listening to the tiny breaths, running her fingers over the perfect features, carefully stroking every individual finger. Instinct.
"She's beautiful," Luke sighed. "She's so beautiful I won't even complain about that pillow you managed to tear in half, or that you managed to kick the footboard off the bed. And I won't even mention those ginormous claw marks in the mattress. Where am I supposed to sleep tonight? In the doghouse? Yeah, that's what I figured."
"That's probably the worst title I ever heard," Luke snorted. "Why not just call I Cry for No Reason and stop being all fancy?"
"Aren't you supposed to be burning yourself alive or something?"
"Nah, they fired me." He laughed hysterically at her look of shock. "No, seriously. There was a big scandal about two months back. The fire marshal was on the take from the union and the chiefs were all infighting and one of the firefighters was actually an arsonist--gawd, you're easy to fool! I quit yesterday. Remember? You hated my job?"
"But you loved it," she protested.
"Yeah, but you hated it. Don't worry, I got a new job beginning next week that meets my daily requirement of awesome."
"Great," she murmured. She had hoped against hope that he had signed up for the open team tryouts at the stadium, but something told her that he was going to come marching in the door next week wearing a blue uniform and a holster. Fighting a growing knot in her stomach, she went into her tiny office and began to type.
"What will we name him?" Luke asked while weeding the vegetable patch that afternoon. (19)
"Who says it's a 'he?'"
"I did. What are we naming him?"
Rochelle watered him instead of the tomato vines. "You're welcome to think of a name for a boy, but if it's a girl, I'm naming her Julia."
"Why Julia?"
"I like it! It's pretty."
"But it means 'bearded lady.' That's really the road you wanna go down?"
She stared at him. He stared back impudently. "Go look it up! I'm not lying."
She threw down the watering can and did a quick internet search. Sure enough, the name Julia came back as 'downy-bearded youth.' How obnoxious!
"Well?" Luke asked triumphantly when she came back outside. Rochelle said nothing, instead picking up a clod of mud and stuffing it in his waistband. His yelping soothed her ego at least for the moment.
The next few months were a bit of a blur. Rochelle found that the baby would in fact be a girl and decided to name her Julia despite Luke's teasing. As for Luke himself, he got a job with the police force, but promised that he wouldn't apply for "anything dangerous." Unfortunately, the only position he was immediately qualified for was a snitch.
"How is spying on people not dangerous?" Rochelle demanded when he came home after the first day.
"Relax! I dress like a bum and sit on a corner all day listening to music. Easy as pie and no one even notices me. Besides, my partner's nearby and it's perfectly safe."
Perfectly safe. Theodore's mother had always insisted that she was perfectly safe. Rochelle stiffened and dropped the plate that she was holding. It shattered around her bare feet.
"Roc!"
"I'm sorry," she said, but she couldn't look at him. She stepped gingerly over the sharp pieces and slipped back into the office.
He heard her typing furiously, and though he came after her and darkened the doorway for a while, she didn't turn around. (20)
Rochelle's belly had grown dramatically.
The little novel was done and on its way to a publisher. Luke had asked to read it more than once, but Rochelle wouldn't let him. "It's probably too girly for your taste," was the only reason she gave him, and after being rejected enough times, he stopped asking.
He had another one of his rocks pulverized and smelted into a ring, and very shortly before their daughter was born, Luke asked Rochelle to be his wife. She accepted, but only on the condition that he took her last name, as she absolutely refused to become a Houle. He agreed, they signed the paperwork and put in back in the mailbox.
"So!" Luke said, looking up at the dusky sky. "We're married now. Get me some dinner, wife. And since it's our honeymoon night, you have to do better than just plain cereal."
"Coming right up." She padded toward the kitchenette on swollen feet while Luke surveyed the room. "I have a pretty basic house plan in my email that I think would be reasonable since neither of us really wants a big place. It's almost like a trailer, but not quite, and it's expandable, so we could possibly add on a second floor if we had more kids in the future and--aww, cereal with blueberries! You're too good to me, baby."
She came over and topped the mushy pile with a heart-shaped strawberry. He laughed.
That night, Rochelle felt pain creeping through her abdomen. She reached over to the other side of the bed but felt only the rumpled sheets.
"Luke," she gasped, looking wildly around the room. He wasn't on the couch or in the bathroom or in the office. She sat there stupidly until she remembered her phone. It was next to his pillow, flashing. He had left a note on it for her.
Had to go, last-minute tipster needed on assignment. Be back as soon as I can, love you.
No! ... The pain became sickening. She crept to the window, not even sure what she was looking for. (21) All that was there was the empty street. "Luke!"
The cramping intensified. Too shaky to even dial the hospital, she lay back on the bed and hoped that instinct would carry her through. She grabbed a pillow and squeezed it to her chest with all the strength she had left, and she wished through her tears that Luke would come back.
"Roc."
"Mmm." As tired as she was, she could tell that she was on the couch. Had she gotten up in her sleep?
Luke seemed breathless. "Look. Julia's reaching for you."
She didn't open her eyes, but she held out her arms and Luke placed a warm, tiny bundle near her chest. She drew the baby close, listening to the tiny breaths, running her fingers over the perfect features, carefully stroking every individual finger. Instinct.
"She's beautiful," Luke sighed. "She's so beautiful I won't even complain about that pillow you managed to tear in half, or that you managed to kick the footboard off the bed. And I won't even mention those ginormous claw marks in the mattress. Where am I supposed to sleep tonight? In the doghouse? Yeah, that's what I figured."
Permanently Sunset -- closed.
An ending is just another day's beginning.
An ending is just another day's beginning.
Looking for more to read? I have more stories to tell ...
#24
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- 108 posts
House Party Crasher
Posted 04 August 2009 - 02:43 PM
Julia's a nice name! :lol: It's fun to see them still taking jabs at each other.
Come read my Sims story blog! Stories from the Sims-side *PG-13*
#25
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- 4,738 posts
Scheming and dreaming.
Posted 05 August 2009 - 12:43 AM
She should have been grateful that her boss was allowing to stay home with the new baby, and that her husband was willing to give up his belongings to improve her house, but lately, Rochelle felt terribly grouchy. She didn't want to admit that she was terribly unfamiliar with infants, and every day that passed made her more aware that she was losing ground in the journalism races. Even though her agent was currently shopping A Deeply Felt Loss around, almost no one was willing to touch it, let alone discuss royalties. Most publishing houses had simply turned her down flat. The stack of rejection letters had grown to 24.
A mess. There's a delete button on the keyboard for a reason. Use it.
Too amateurish for someone calling themselves a journalist and too stiff to be a young adult's novel.
There might be an audience for this book, but if they're out there, we don't want their business.
Please consider going to school and actually learning how to write before submitting anything further for publication.
This would have made a great satiric novel. Unfortunately, you were attempting to write drama.
It's difficult to believe something this banal was written by an adult. We have high-school interns who are more competent.
I gave up trying to read this after realizing that I could arrange your manuscript in any order and have it make just as much sense.
"What's the story even about?" Luke asked her while setting the baby down for the night. (22)
"Nothing too crazy," she said. "It's about a little boy whose mom works a dangerous job and how he waits up for her to come home at night."
"At the risk of being punched out, the publishers may have a point. I don't know of too many people who would want to read that, especially not teenagers and college kids. Does it have a happy ending at least?"
"Well, not really."
"Can I please read this thing?"
He sat at the computer for less than five minutes. "Roc, I'm no writer, but even I can see that this isn't you at all. Why don't you write about something that you're actually good at? I've read your blog and you have that awesome character named Frank, why don't you write about him?"
Frank was a curmudgeonly type that Rochelle had invented to comment on her blog. 'Color commentary,' she called it. It had never occurred to her that the character itself was worth developing. "You really think it's worth trying for?"
Luke shrugged. "Might as well go for it. This story seems to be digging its way underneath the bottom of the barrel."
Trying to write now seemed like pulling teeth. The sentences had always come so easily before; after experiencing professional rejection, Rochelle agonized over nearly every line. She wrote and wrote, rewrote and edited and reworked and reworded until her eyes crossed. And all the time, little Julia was growing. She would have been a daddy's girl by default (23), but she had also managed to inherit Luke's boundless energy. As a result, she was running almost immediately after learning to walk, and Rochelle would have been hard-pressed to keep her entertained in the original tiny house. But Luke has been as good as his word, and he had expanded the house tastefully. He was beginning to talk about adding a second story. "For more kids," he said, adding hastily, "--if you want more, of course."
"Of course," she said with a faint smile. The sink faucet had just come off in her hand, sending water straight up her nose. (24) Luke watched this in silence before saying, "Y'know, sweetie, I think the sink's broken."
"What gave it away?"
"You drowning while standing up. Off to work, less chance of me putting my foot in my mouth there."
Rochelle decided to ignore the sink and the novel for the rest of the day. Instead she took her daughter outside to play around in the veggie patch (25) and watched Julia stick a little of everything in her mouth.
"Can you say 'Mommy?'" she ventured. The girl ignored her. Rochelle mussed her hair. "Say 'Mommy!'"
"Daah," Julia said stubbornly.
"Of course."
"Where's my Jules?" Rochelle called. Her agent had just called about the latest chapters of Farewell, Frank--a publishing house was showing a good deal of interest and it was time for a face-to-face. She was sure that Julia had been right behind her but it seemed that the girl was hiding again. "Where's Jules?"
"'n heah, Mommy!" (26)
"Julia! Why are you hiding from me? Mommy has to go out, give us a kiss."
"I going too!"
"No, sweetie. Just Mommy."
Julia's face fell at this and she squirmed towards the window. "Want Daddy."
"Soon, promise." Rochelle hurriedly brushed her hair and waited impatiently. Luke should have been back by now--what was keeping him? She picked Julia up and absently stared at her phone. No missed calls, no messages. He had promised to come straight home ... was he just late? Or hurt?
She sat down with the toddler in her arms, trying not to let her imagination go wild. The patrol officers had been asked to go out and visit the community--he might have been assaulted. He was preparing reports on known criminals in the city--one of them might have ambushed him. Even as an officer on his way to being a lieutenant, he still did a lot of grunt work, including undercover snitch duty. What if--her throat suddenly tightened--what if he was in trouble? As much as she tried not to see it, her mind pictured Luke, beaten and hurt, police radio destroyed. Of course he would fight back--he was too aggressive not to--but what if he truly needed help and none was coming?
"No," she muttered and shook her head fiercely. Her eyes were burning. "He's just late. Just late." She tried not to remember that she had seen a police cruiser in flames once before. She screwed her eyes shut, but she could see it ... a traffic stop gone bad, a robbery gone violent, a group of angry ruffians, too many for one officer to handle.
Julia felt too heavy to keep holding. She lowered her face to her daughter's head, hot tears rolling onto her hair. Somehow feeling her mother's emotion, Julia began to wail.
So by the time Luke actually walked through the door, they were both sobbing wrecks. He began to explain to his wife that he had gotten tied up with paperwork, that he had been perfectly safe, but one look at her face told him that it wouldn't make a bit of difference. He did the wisest thing he could--hugged her tightly and didn't say a word.
A mess. There's a delete button on the keyboard for a reason. Use it.
Too amateurish for someone calling themselves a journalist and too stiff to be a young adult's novel.
There might be an audience for this book, but if they're out there, we don't want their business.
Please consider going to school and actually learning how to write before submitting anything further for publication.
This would have made a great satiric novel. Unfortunately, you were attempting to write drama.
It's difficult to believe something this banal was written by an adult. We have high-school interns who are more competent.
I gave up trying to read this after realizing that I could arrange your manuscript in any order and have it make just as much sense.
"What's the story even about?" Luke asked her while setting the baby down for the night. (22)
"Nothing too crazy," she said. "It's about a little boy whose mom works a dangerous job and how he waits up for her to come home at night."
"At the risk of being punched out, the publishers may have a point. I don't know of too many people who would want to read that, especially not teenagers and college kids. Does it have a happy ending at least?"
"Well, not really."
"Can I please read this thing?"
He sat at the computer for less than five minutes. "Roc, I'm no writer, but even I can see that this isn't you at all. Why don't you write about something that you're actually good at? I've read your blog and you have that awesome character named Frank, why don't you write about him?"
Frank was a curmudgeonly type that Rochelle had invented to comment on her blog. 'Color commentary,' she called it. It had never occurred to her that the character itself was worth developing. "You really think it's worth trying for?"
Luke shrugged. "Might as well go for it. This story seems to be digging its way underneath the bottom of the barrel."
Trying to write now seemed like pulling teeth. The sentences had always come so easily before; after experiencing professional rejection, Rochelle agonized over nearly every line. She wrote and wrote, rewrote and edited and reworked and reworded until her eyes crossed. And all the time, little Julia was growing. She would have been a daddy's girl by default (23), but she had also managed to inherit Luke's boundless energy. As a result, she was running almost immediately after learning to walk, and Rochelle would have been hard-pressed to keep her entertained in the original tiny house. But Luke has been as good as his word, and he had expanded the house tastefully. He was beginning to talk about adding a second story. "For more kids," he said, adding hastily, "--if you want more, of course."
"Of course," she said with a faint smile. The sink faucet had just come off in her hand, sending water straight up her nose. (24) Luke watched this in silence before saying, "Y'know, sweetie, I think the sink's broken."
"What gave it away?"
"You drowning while standing up. Off to work, less chance of me putting my foot in my mouth there."
Rochelle decided to ignore the sink and the novel for the rest of the day. Instead she took her daughter outside to play around in the veggie patch (25) and watched Julia stick a little of everything in her mouth.
"Can you say 'Mommy?'" she ventured. The girl ignored her. Rochelle mussed her hair. "Say 'Mommy!'"
"Daah," Julia said stubbornly.
"Of course."
"Where's my Jules?" Rochelle called. Her agent had just called about the latest chapters of Farewell, Frank--a publishing house was showing a good deal of interest and it was time for a face-to-face. She was sure that Julia had been right behind her but it seemed that the girl was hiding again. "Where's Jules?"
"'n heah, Mommy!" (26)
"Julia! Why are you hiding from me? Mommy has to go out, give us a kiss."
"I going too!"
"No, sweetie. Just Mommy."
Julia's face fell at this and she squirmed towards the window. "Want Daddy."
"Soon, promise." Rochelle hurriedly brushed her hair and waited impatiently. Luke should have been back by now--what was keeping him? She picked Julia up and absently stared at her phone. No missed calls, no messages. He had promised to come straight home ... was he just late? Or hurt?
She sat down with the toddler in her arms, trying not to let her imagination go wild. The patrol officers had been asked to go out and visit the community--he might have been assaulted. He was preparing reports on known criminals in the city--one of them might have ambushed him. Even as an officer on his way to being a lieutenant, he still did a lot of grunt work, including undercover snitch duty. What if--her throat suddenly tightened--what if he was in trouble? As much as she tried not to see it, her mind pictured Luke, beaten and hurt, police radio destroyed. Of course he would fight back--he was too aggressive not to--but what if he truly needed help and none was coming?
"No," she muttered and shook her head fiercely. Her eyes were burning. "He's just late. Just late." She tried not to remember that she had seen a police cruiser in flames once before. She screwed her eyes shut, but she could see it ... a traffic stop gone bad, a robbery gone violent, a group of angry ruffians, too many for one officer to handle.
Julia felt too heavy to keep holding. She lowered her face to her daughter's head, hot tears rolling onto her hair. Somehow feeling her mother's emotion, Julia began to wail.
So by the time Luke actually walked through the door, they were both sobbing wrecks. He began to explain to his wife that he had gotten tied up with paperwork, that he had been perfectly safe, but one look at her face told him that it wouldn't make a bit of difference. He did the wisest thing he could--hugged her tightly and didn't say a word.
Permanently Sunset -- closed.
An ending is just another day's beginning.
An ending is just another day's beginning.
Looking for more to read? I have more stories to tell ...
#26
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- 108 posts
House Party Crasher
Posted 05 August 2009 - 03:33 PM
Aw I hope she manages to connect to her daughter.
Come read my Sims story blog! Stories from the Sims-side *PG-13*
#27
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- 4,738 posts
Scheming and dreaming.
Posted 06 August 2009 - 10:26 PM
"Why were you so upset?" he asked later that night while stirring spaghetti.
Julia had quickly forgotten that anything bad had happened and was happily playing with her toys, but Rochelle was on the couch with a migraine. Not only had she worried herself sick over him, but now her agent was going to think she was a complete flake. "I guess I let my imagination run a little wild. I thought you were hurt or something."
"Roc, they send us out on the streets with partners for a reason, y'know. Try not to flip out if I don't come home right at 3. I mean, you didn't even call me first to see if something was wrong."
She very nearly screamed at him before remembering that the excitement might set Julia off--her daughter had inherited her tendency towards emotional behavior. She took the plate of food that he offered her, biting into the noodles with savage chews. Behind her, Julia had begun the task of climbing up the back of the couch, but her father put a stop to that by gently pulling her away from the sofa. "Whatcha doin'?"
"Up."
"Really? You gonna be a mountain climber? Gonna be big n' strong?"
She nodded. "Like Daddy!" (27)
"Aw, my lil' Rocket's so smart. Gonna be a cop, too?"
"No!" Rochelle shouted quickly through a mouthful of food. "She's not doing that, Luke. It's bad enough you do it!"
There was a moment of complete silence before Luke said, "I thought you were okay with it."
"I thought I was too," Rochelle growled. She quietly put down the unfinished food and went into the bedroom. Luke looked at the closed door, then at Julia. Her large green eyes were wide with anxiety, and for a moment, she looked exactly like her mother--all worry. But he made a silly face at her to break the tension, and she giggled. "Time for bed."
"No!" she said automatically, but she reached up for him anyway and he took her to her room. He made the bear read her a bedtime story and sang off-key until she covered her ears and stuck her tongue off at him. "'Night, Rocket," he said quietly before turning on the mobile and turning off the lights.
"Bye-bye," a little voice answered.
He cleaned the house from top to bottom, trying to delay the moment when he would have to go see Rochelle. Her apprehension about his job wasn't new to him, but she had never been so vicious about it. He was cleaning out the refrigerator when he heard the bedroom door unlock. By the time he finished locating all of the leftovers from three weeks back, she was standing in his way, her eyes a dull red and her arms folded tightly across her chest.
"I'm sorry," she croaked.
He nodded and continued to scrape the plates.
"Please look at me."
He turned around, not even noticing that, he, too, was crossing his arms defensively. The room felt very cold.
"I should have told you." Her eyes dropped. "My ex-boyfriend's mother was a police officer too. She was really good at it, very competent, did her job perfectly and had the whole department supporting her ... and one day she ... she w-was ..." The lump in her throat worked rapidly while she tried to stifle her sobs. "I watched all of the news stories about it because I was too young to know better. And every time you walk out of the door, I think about her. She was the best cop in our whole town, but in the end, she didn't stand a chance. And I ... I d-don't--"
He had her in his arms in an instant. "Don't say anything else. All you're doing is working yourself up."
She fell silent, sniffling.
"Rochelle, think for a minute. Yes, something awful happened to one cop you knew. Now think about all of the other officers who do their jobs day in, day out, never even have to fire their guns, they're fine for their whole careers and get to retire in peace. Now look, I'm not saying that terrible things don't happen to cops. But don't make yourself crazy for no reason, okay? Don't let that one thing rule the rest of your life."
"I can't help it." Her eyes were still that ugly red, but now they were glossy. "I can't imagine being without you."
"Quiet," he ordered, gently pushing her face-first against the kitchen wall. Despite her foul mood, Rochelle began to giggle. "Luke, what are you doing?"
"You have the right to remain silent," he purred in her ear. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a future fight, and probably sooner than later."
She giggled more loudly as he continued patting her down. "You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning, but I already know you can't afford one, so I'll just question you personally in my personal interrogation room. Do you understand your rights?" He swept her up and tossed her onto the couch, threatening her with internal affairs, private investigations, and strip searches, and Rochelle laughed hysterically, happier than she had been for days. And they were both so distracted by each other that they both completely forgot to use any protection, something Rochelle remembered a little too late when she woke up woozy.
"Maybe this one's a boy," she sighed, pressing her stomach against Luke's naked back in a vain attempt to ease the cramping.
"Great," Luke mumbled. "Let's call him Spewey."
Julia had quickly forgotten that anything bad had happened and was happily playing with her toys, but Rochelle was on the couch with a migraine. Not only had she worried herself sick over him, but now her agent was going to think she was a complete flake. "I guess I let my imagination run a little wild. I thought you were hurt or something."
"Roc, they send us out on the streets with partners for a reason, y'know. Try not to flip out if I don't come home right at 3. I mean, you didn't even call me first to see if something was wrong."
She very nearly screamed at him before remembering that the excitement might set Julia off--her daughter had inherited her tendency towards emotional behavior. She took the plate of food that he offered her, biting into the noodles with savage chews. Behind her, Julia had begun the task of climbing up the back of the couch, but her father put a stop to that by gently pulling her away from the sofa. "Whatcha doin'?"
"Up."
"Really? You gonna be a mountain climber? Gonna be big n' strong?"
She nodded. "Like Daddy!" (27)
"Aw, my lil' Rocket's so smart. Gonna be a cop, too?"
"No!" Rochelle shouted quickly through a mouthful of food. "She's not doing that, Luke. It's bad enough you do it!"
There was a moment of complete silence before Luke said, "I thought you were okay with it."
"I thought I was too," Rochelle growled. She quietly put down the unfinished food and went into the bedroom. Luke looked at the closed door, then at Julia. Her large green eyes were wide with anxiety, and for a moment, she looked exactly like her mother--all worry. But he made a silly face at her to break the tension, and she giggled. "Time for bed."
"No!" she said automatically, but she reached up for him anyway and he took her to her room. He made the bear read her a bedtime story and sang off-key until she covered her ears and stuck her tongue off at him. "'Night, Rocket," he said quietly before turning on the mobile and turning off the lights.
"Bye-bye," a little voice answered.
He cleaned the house from top to bottom, trying to delay the moment when he would have to go see Rochelle. Her apprehension about his job wasn't new to him, but she had never been so vicious about it. He was cleaning out the refrigerator when he heard the bedroom door unlock. By the time he finished locating all of the leftovers from three weeks back, she was standing in his way, her eyes a dull red and her arms folded tightly across her chest.
"I'm sorry," she croaked.
He nodded and continued to scrape the plates.
"Please look at me."
He turned around, not even noticing that, he, too, was crossing his arms defensively. The room felt very cold.
"I should have told you." Her eyes dropped. "My ex-boyfriend's mother was a police officer too. She was really good at it, very competent, did her job perfectly and had the whole department supporting her ... and one day she ... she w-was ..." The lump in her throat worked rapidly while she tried to stifle her sobs. "I watched all of the news stories about it because I was too young to know better. And every time you walk out of the door, I think about her. She was the best cop in our whole town, but in the end, she didn't stand a chance. And I ... I d-don't--"
He had her in his arms in an instant. "Don't say anything else. All you're doing is working yourself up."
She fell silent, sniffling.
"Rochelle, think for a minute. Yes, something awful happened to one cop you knew. Now think about all of the other officers who do their jobs day in, day out, never even have to fire their guns, they're fine for their whole careers and get to retire in peace. Now look, I'm not saying that terrible things don't happen to cops. But don't make yourself crazy for no reason, okay? Don't let that one thing rule the rest of your life."
"I can't help it." Her eyes were still that ugly red, but now they were glossy. "I can't imagine being without you."
"Quiet," he ordered, gently pushing her face-first against the kitchen wall. Despite her foul mood, Rochelle began to giggle. "Luke, what are you doing?"
"You have the right to remain silent," he purred in her ear. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a future fight, and probably sooner than later."
She giggled more loudly as he continued patting her down. "You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning, but I already know you can't afford one, so I'll just question you personally in my personal interrogation room. Do you understand your rights?" He swept her up and tossed her onto the couch, threatening her with internal affairs, private investigations, and strip searches, and Rochelle laughed hysterically, happier than she had been for days. And they were both so distracted by each other that they both completely forgot to use any protection, something Rochelle remembered a little too late when she woke up woozy.
"Maybe this one's a boy," she sighed, pressing her stomach against Luke's naked back in a vain attempt to ease the cramping.
"Great," Luke mumbled. "Let's call him Spewey."
Permanently Sunset -- closed.
An ending is just another day's beginning.
An ending is just another day's beginning.
Looking for more to read? I have more stories to tell ...
#28
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- 4,738 posts
Scheming and dreaming.
Posted 08 August 2009 - 06:10 PM
Farewell, Frank was done at long last.
Despite the constant delays and the lack of information from Rochelle, the publisher had stayed interested throughout the process and one of the editors had actually taken part of the book to a cocktail party, where it had been circulated widely and garnered plenty of favorable feedback. It was on the way to the printers and all signs pointed to very promising sales.
“I don’t know how you managed to do it, frankly,” her agent said. “Major publishing houses don’t usually take kindly to authors who are never where they’re supposed to be and who don’t let them see the novel that they’re publishing. Whatever charm you’ve got, it’s working great.”
“Thanks, Branford.”
“You’re sure you won’t even come to the local bookstore to sign your first copies? Good opportunity to meet a lot of your future fans ...”
“I’d love to, but Julia’s birthday is today and—” (28)
“Say no more, Mom. I understand. You should have a check by the end of the week. In the meantime, pop some champagne. And congratulations on your first actual novel.”
Rochelle watched Julia go off to her first day at school with a mixture of pride and regret. Julia was clearly very bright and wouldn’t have any problems doing well in her classes. On the other hand, Rochelle had spent the first four years of her daughter’s life tied up with writing, and she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that she and Julia were still complete strangers. She unconsciously ran her fingers over her stomach. I’ll get to know her. I’ll start tonight.
Julia came in that afternoon with her father. (29) At first Rochelle thought her daughter was upset with her before she realized that Julia wasn’t much of a smiler. She was relatively serious, studious, and usually kept her nose deep in a book. In fact, she began her homework immediately, and once she was finished, lugged out the next day’s work to begin studying.
“That’s a lot of reading for such a little girl,” Rochelle began nervously. Julia looked up at her with a sharp expression and the knife in her hand jumped of its own accord, abruptly chopping a lump out of the cheese. (30)
“I’m ‘posedta read for class. Daddy says.”
“Well, Daddy’s right. How was school today?”
Julia quickly told her about the orientation, about her new teacher, about the cute little blond boy who sat on the other side of the classroom. She liked the playground and the lunchroom and the science lab. But she was most excited about the field trip that was already being planned for the entire first grade. A third of the group was going to the local biotech labs. Another group of students were going to get to go to the hospital. The last group was going to spend a day at the police station.
“Let me guess,” Rochelle said glumly. “You’re going to the police station.”
“Yup.”
“Of course.”
Julia gave her another of those entirely-too-penetrating stares. She looked back down at her book before saying casually, “Daddy told me what you did today.”
“Oh?” A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Rochelle’s mouth. So Luke had told her that Mommy was a good writer, eh? She’d have to thank him.
“Yeah. Didja get hurt when you burned up the stove?” (31)
“W-what—”
Julia calmly flipped to the next page without looking up again. “I saw the fire engine go by when we were at recess. I bet Daddy coulda put that fire out by himself.”
Dejected, Rochelle chopped garlic in silence.
She still felt blue after dinner, despite Luke’s compliments on her cooking. Not even a second call from her publisher announcing that Farewell, Frank was selling out of stores right and left lifted her mood. She thanked Mr. Branford for the call and began hunting down the remote control.
“TV’s broke,” Julia called from her position by the toy box.
“No, it’s okay now.” She turned it to the gardening channel and sat down to watch. Julia approached, awed. “It was broke yesterday!”
“It was broken,” Rochelle corrected gently. Julia sat down at the other end of the couch, watching intently. “Didja call a fix-it man?”
“No, I fixed it.”
Julia stared. “You?”
“Me.”
They watched together for a few minutes before Julia turned to look at her mother again with a look of something like admiration. Rochelle pretended not to notice. Finally, Julia said, “Wow, I don’t think Daddy coulda done that at all.” (32)
Rochelle squashed a grin. “Bedtime, kiddo.”
Julia huffed out a sigh and slid to the floor, but suddenly turned back and threw her arms around her mother’s neck and gave her a kiss before running into her room, leaving Rochelle alone, shocked and beaming stupidly.
Despite the constant delays and the lack of information from Rochelle, the publisher had stayed interested throughout the process and one of the editors had actually taken part of the book to a cocktail party, where it had been circulated widely and garnered plenty of favorable feedback. It was on the way to the printers and all signs pointed to very promising sales.
“I don’t know how you managed to do it, frankly,” her agent said. “Major publishing houses don’t usually take kindly to authors who are never where they’re supposed to be and who don’t let them see the novel that they’re publishing. Whatever charm you’ve got, it’s working great.”
“Thanks, Branford.”
“You’re sure you won’t even come to the local bookstore to sign your first copies? Good opportunity to meet a lot of your future fans ...”
“I’d love to, but Julia’s birthday is today and—” (28)
“Say no more, Mom. I understand. You should have a check by the end of the week. In the meantime, pop some champagne. And congratulations on your first actual novel.”
Rochelle watched Julia go off to her first day at school with a mixture of pride and regret. Julia was clearly very bright and wouldn’t have any problems doing well in her classes. On the other hand, Rochelle had spent the first four years of her daughter’s life tied up with writing, and she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that she and Julia were still complete strangers. She unconsciously ran her fingers over her stomach. I’ll get to know her. I’ll start tonight.
Julia came in that afternoon with her father. (29) At first Rochelle thought her daughter was upset with her before she realized that Julia wasn’t much of a smiler. She was relatively serious, studious, and usually kept her nose deep in a book. In fact, she began her homework immediately, and once she was finished, lugged out the next day’s work to begin studying.
“That’s a lot of reading for such a little girl,” Rochelle began nervously. Julia looked up at her with a sharp expression and the knife in her hand jumped of its own accord, abruptly chopping a lump out of the cheese. (30)
“I’m ‘posedta read for class. Daddy says.”
“Well, Daddy’s right. How was school today?”
Julia quickly told her about the orientation, about her new teacher, about the cute little blond boy who sat on the other side of the classroom. She liked the playground and the lunchroom and the science lab. But she was most excited about the field trip that was already being planned for the entire first grade. A third of the group was going to the local biotech labs. Another group of students were going to get to go to the hospital. The last group was going to spend a day at the police station.
“Let me guess,” Rochelle said glumly. “You’re going to the police station.”
“Yup.”
“Of course.”
Julia gave her another of those entirely-too-penetrating stares. She looked back down at her book before saying casually, “Daddy told me what you did today.”
“Oh?” A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Rochelle’s mouth. So Luke had told her that Mommy was a good writer, eh? She’d have to thank him.
“Yeah. Didja get hurt when you burned up the stove?” (31)
“W-what—”
Julia calmly flipped to the next page without looking up again. “I saw the fire engine go by when we were at recess. I bet Daddy coulda put that fire out by himself.”
Dejected, Rochelle chopped garlic in silence.
She still felt blue after dinner, despite Luke’s compliments on her cooking. Not even a second call from her publisher announcing that Farewell, Frank was selling out of stores right and left lifted her mood. She thanked Mr. Branford for the call and began hunting down the remote control.
“TV’s broke,” Julia called from her position by the toy box.
“No, it’s okay now.” She turned it to the gardening channel and sat down to watch. Julia approached, awed. “It was broke yesterday!”
“It was broken,” Rochelle corrected gently. Julia sat down at the other end of the couch, watching intently. “Didja call a fix-it man?”
“No, I fixed it.”
Julia stared. “You?”
“Me.”
They watched together for a few minutes before Julia turned to look at her mother again with a look of something like admiration. Rochelle pretended not to notice. Finally, Julia said, “Wow, I don’t think Daddy coulda done that at all.” (32)
Rochelle squashed a grin. “Bedtime, kiddo.”
Julia huffed out a sigh and slid to the floor, but suddenly turned back and threw her arms around her mother’s neck and gave her a kiss before running into her room, leaving Rochelle alone, shocked and beaming stupidly.
Permanently Sunset -- closed.
An ending is just another day's beginning.
An ending is just another day's beginning.
Looking for more to read? I have more stories to tell ...
#29
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- 146 posts
House Party Crasher
Posted 11 August 2009 - 03:59 AM
This is such a cool story line. I just found it and read all of it in one sitting. I can't wait to read what happens to Roc, Luke, and Julia next. :rah:
Lost somewhere in Simland!
~~~ Proud member of S2HBAA & S3HBAA ~~~
"If all in life were free, then there would be no need to work!"
~~~ Proud member of S2HBAA & S3HBAA ~~~
"If all in life were free, then there would be no need to work!"
#30
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- 108 posts
House Party Crasher
Posted 11 August 2009 - 03:41 PM
Aw I hope the relationship betwen Julia and Rochelle improves. Maybe she can be closer to the new baby on the way too.
Come read my Sims story blog! Stories from the Sims-side *PG-13*
#31
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- 4,738 posts
Scheming and dreaming.
Posted 13 August 2009 - 09:12 PM
The success of Rochelle's novel turned out to be a curse. Despite her insistence that the story was a one-time deal, the publishing house was all but demanding another book. The public was eating up Farewell, Frank, they said, and there wasn't enough literature about the elderly on the market that wasn't condescending or overly sentimental. The character's "refreshing vitrol" was just what people were looking for. She had to write a sequel. They were ready to put an entire publicity campaign behind it. Her agent insisted that she would be an utter fool to turn down the offer.
"What should I do, Luke?" she groaned after getting off the phone.
"What do you mean 'what should you do?' Didn’t you want to be a recognized author? Now you are! What's the problem?"
" I don't really know my daughter and I'm about to have another child. I dunno, maybe that stuff's important?"
"Oh. Well, if that's all, I happen to know that Julia tells all of her friends that her mom's a famous writer. So I think you're okay for now. At least go find out what they want from you so that you don't spend the rest of your days crying about what could have been and driving us all nuts."
Rochelle considered what he was saying. On the one hand, she was breaking her promise to herself. On the other hand, Julia was hardly stupid and had clearly already formed an opinion of her without any help. And if she was honest with herself, Rochelle further mused, the most uncomfortable times she spent with her daughter were the designated 'bonding sessions.' Then they were both either talking too much or barely speaking. Maybe it wasn't as big as of a deal as she had convinced herself?
"So, Rocket," Luke announced the next morning over oatmeal, "I expect you know that Mom's gonna have your little brother soon." (33) Rochelle wasn't there and wouldn't be there. She had meetings with the publishers in the morning, a hospital visit in the afternoon, and a movie screening that evening. There was some talk of making her novel into a movie, and her agent wanted her to attend a premiere or two.
"Can't it be a girl?" Julia protested sleepily.
"Sure can't! But you know what it means when the baby comes? You have to get a new room! How 'bout that? Wanna live upstairs?"
"Nope."
"You sure? I was planning to build you a balcony so you could watch the stars. Maybe even get you that telescope you kept talking about." Luke made a dramatically sad face at her. "But I guess if you don't really want it ..."
Julia grabbed his arm.
"My own telescope? My very own?"
"Yep ... and I was gonna give you your own desk, and I picked out an easel for you and everything. I guess I'll take it back to the store."
"You better not!" she shrieked. Luke laughed at her and told her to get ready for school.
The second story frame was completed by the time she came back home, even including the promised balcony and the long-awaited telescope. (34)
Julia took in the addition from the grimy windows of the school bus and wondered what her room might look like and whether she would be allowed to keep the dollhouse and toy box. It was possible that her parents might want her to give up the toys to the new baby, and she was probably too old to keep playing with those things anyway. But somehow ... the idea of someone else holding her horsie and her boat and her bunny was very annoying. And no one else better play with her rocket! Maybe the new baby would like the stuffed bear. She had never cared much about that thing.
"Can I see my room now, Daddy?" she asked breathlessly as soon as she stepped onto the lawn.
"Not yet, Rocket. The concrete didn't finish setting, so the stairs aren't safe and I still need to order windows and doors for your room and the bathroom." He winced sheepishly at her look of disappointment. "But ... if you wash up and get ready for dinner, I'll tell you a secret."
She was sitting at the counter in record time, eyes on him expectantly. He leaned slyly over the chopping board and whispered, "You know Mom doesn't want you to go on the field trip to the police station, right?"
"Yep," Julia whispered back.
"And well, I don't like it when Mom's upset. So you're going to the science labs. But--" and he leaned in even closer, "--if you promise to be good and don’t complain, I'll help you write the report you would have written at the police station. See, Daddy's gonna make a bust soon."
"A bust?"
Luke smiled, his eyes twinkling wickedly. "We're gonna bust up a bunch of crooked folks. They're gonna be so busted by the time I'm done, they'll look like this carrot!"
"Whaddya do when you bust?" Julia asked. Her eyes were huge as Luke slowly, slowly raised the butcher knife above the tomato.
"You ... do ... just ... like ... this!"
Rochelle saw the tomato seeds in her daughter's hair much later that night, but she decided not to ask.
"What should I do, Luke?" she groaned after getting off the phone.
"What do you mean 'what should you do?' Didn’t you want to be a recognized author? Now you are! What's the problem?"
" I don't really know my daughter and I'm about to have another child. I dunno, maybe that stuff's important?"
"Oh. Well, if that's all, I happen to know that Julia tells all of her friends that her mom's a famous writer. So I think you're okay for now. At least go find out what they want from you so that you don't spend the rest of your days crying about what could have been and driving us all nuts."
Rochelle considered what he was saying. On the one hand, she was breaking her promise to herself. On the other hand, Julia was hardly stupid and had clearly already formed an opinion of her without any help. And if she was honest with herself, Rochelle further mused, the most uncomfortable times she spent with her daughter were the designated 'bonding sessions.' Then they were both either talking too much or barely speaking. Maybe it wasn't as big as of a deal as she had convinced herself?
"So, Rocket," Luke announced the next morning over oatmeal, "I expect you know that Mom's gonna have your little brother soon." (33) Rochelle wasn't there and wouldn't be there. She had meetings with the publishers in the morning, a hospital visit in the afternoon, and a movie screening that evening. There was some talk of making her novel into a movie, and her agent wanted her to attend a premiere or two.
"Can't it be a girl?" Julia protested sleepily.
"Sure can't! But you know what it means when the baby comes? You have to get a new room! How 'bout that? Wanna live upstairs?"
"Nope."
"You sure? I was planning to build you a balcony so you could watch the stars. Maybe even get you that telescope you kept talking about." Luke made a dramatically sad face at her. "But I guess if you don't really want it ..."
Julia grabbed his arm.
"My own telescope? My very own?"
"Yep ... and I was gonna give you your own desk, and I picked out an easel for you and everything. I guess I'll take it back to the store."
"You better not!" she shrieked. Luke laughed at her and told her to get ready for school.
The second story frame was completed by the time she came back home, even including the promised balcony and the long-awaited telescope. (34)
Julia took in the addition from the grimy windows of the school bus and wondered what her room might look like and whether she would be allowed to keep the dollhouse and toy box. It was possible that her parents might want her to give up the toys to the new baby, and she was probably too old to keep playing with those things anyway. But somehow ... the idea of someone else holding her horsie and her boat and her bunny was very annoying. And no one else better play with her rocket! Maybe the new baby would like the stuffed bear. She had never cared much about that thing.
"Can I see my room now, Daddy?" she asked breathlessly as soon as she stepped onto the lawn.
"Not yet, Rocket. The concrete didn't finish setting, so the stairs aren't safe and I still need to order windows and doors for your room and the bathroom." He winced sheepishly at her look of disappointment. "But ... if you wash up and get ready for dinner, I'll tell you a secret."
She was sitting at the counter in record time, eyes on him expectantly. He leaned slyly over the chopping board and whispered, "You know Mom doesn't want you to go on the field trip to the police station, right?"
"Yep," Julia whispered back.
"And well, I don't like it when Mom's upset. So you're going to the science labs. But--" and he leaned in even closer, "--if you promise to be good and don’t complain, I'll help you write the report you would have written at the police station. See, Daddy's gonna make a bust soon."
"A bust?"
Luke smiled, his eyes twinkling wickedly. "We're gonna bust up a bunch of crooked folks. They're gonna be so busted by the time I'm done, they'll look like this carrot!"
"Whaddya do when you bust?" Julia asked. Her eyes were huge as Luke slowly, slowly raised the butcher knife above the tomato.
"You ... do ... just ... like ... this!"
Rochelle saw the tomato seeds in her daughter's hair much later that night, but she decided not to ask.
Permanently Sunset -- closed.
An ending is just another day's beginning.
An ending is just another day's beginning.
Looking for more to read? I have more stories to tell ...
#32
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- 4,738 posts
Scheming and dreaming.
Posted 13 August 2009 - 09:15 PM
Although Luke told his daughter enough about the police raid to help her write an ‘A’ paper (35), Julia understood that the information was meant just for her. Rochelle was more resentful of his job than ever, to the point that she wouldn’t even approach him when he was in uniform. So he confined himself to telling Julia the basics of interrogation tactics and 'sleuthing,' as he called it. "A lot of it's just digging through garbage and writing reports. But every now and then, you find out something cool."
"Like what?" Rochelle said, coming home early and surprising them both. "Bryant called me today. He said you'd been nosing around lately and freaking out all of his neighbors. You do realize that everyone in town knows you're a cop, right?"
"Now, ma'am. Just doing my job. How am I going to bust that illegal aluminum can recycling ring if I don't go through a little trash? Besides, what were you doing out anyway? I thought your feet hurt."
"They do. But he wanted to see me about an editor's position at the paper. My old boss passed away about two weeks back and the job just came open."
Both Luke and Julia stared up at her. She looked flushed and tired, but her eyes were bright. Finally Julia said, "Mom, are you gonna go to work again?"
"... and work under Bryant?" Luke said with a bit of edge in his voice.
"Are you seriously still upset about him? I thought you were over that." She put down her bag and slowly wiggled off a shoe. Luke was on his feet, his face grim.
"You look a little too happy right now for my taste. And it's interesting that the last time I saw that guy, he seemed to know everything that's happened in this house ever since we got married. Explain to me, please, how he not only knew that you were having a boy, but also knew every baby name we've discussed." (36) Rochelle opened her mouth to protest, but he silenced her with a look. "I'm not saying anything, implying anything, accusing you of anything. All I want to know is if you really think going back to work with him is a good idea."
Julia held her breath and waited. But her mother didn't answer that night or any other night.
"Julia! ... don't you try to sneak in here, young lady. (37) Where have you been?" Not that Rochelle needed to ask--she could see the thin material of Julia's shorts bulging with stones. "I thought I told you to stay away from that mineshaft! And now you're all scratched up from crawling through those bushes!"
"Sorry," Julia muttered, not looking sorry in the least. Her silky hair was dull with dust and her face was covered in dirty sweat. If anything, she looked perfectly happy as she fumbled in her jacket and held up her sweaty fist. "I found a pretty rock for ya."
"And speaking of rocks, didn't I ask you to pick up all of the ones you had laying around upstairs?"
"I did! But I got some more. You don't want your rock? It's shiny."
No, I don't want a rock! I want to understand you! I want to feel like we're related, not just living in the same house!
"... thanks, sweetie."
Julia came back downstairs later that night after Rochelle had already tucked her in and sneaked a hug. Her little arms barely fit around her mother's waist. She looked up at Rochelle, all blue in the television's glare and asked why Mom was always sad now.
"Mom's not sad," Rochelle said automatically.
"But you never smile anymore." She snuggled closer. "Are you mad at me?"
"Of course not, silly."
"Are you mad at Daddy?"
Rochelle didn't answer immediately. Finding out that Luke didn't like her job any more than she liked his had been startling. It was driving a wedge between them, and somehow she had been fool enough to think that Julia wouldn't notice. Her lower back suddenly ached badly. "It's late, sweetie. You're not going to be able to wake up if you don't go to bed."
"But it's Friday night," Julia said quickly. "And you didn't answer my question."
Good lord, you even sound like him when you talk! “... no, I'm not mad at Daddy. He and I just need to talk a little, but we've both been so busy that we haven't had time.”
“But he’s right in there and you’re out here,” Julia protested. “You’re not talking to him!”
“Julia—“
“You’re not!”
“Julia!”
“Rocket,” a deep voice called from the bedroom. “Go to bed. Now.”
Rochelle watched Julia slip away meekly and felt irrationally angry at her compliance. “You didn’t have to make her leave,” she muttered harshly.
“I can’t sleep with the two of you squawking like that,” Luke called back. “Besides, she’s right. If you wanted to talk to me, you’d be in here, not out there.”
“Of course she’s right. She’s right and you’re right. I suppose that doesn’t leave any room for me. Well, since the two of you are always right, I’ll just stay out here and be wrong.”
The bed frame squeaked sharply and a rush of air blew over her face as Luke snatched the door open. “Would you stop it with the martyr complex? Ever since you got pregnant, you’ve done nothing but nag me about everything under the sun. And all I’ve ever done is try to do whatever it was that you wanted and bring home a check so that the bills stayed paid and you could write. What are you even mad about? Do you have any idea?”
She went out to the garden, her face burning. He followed in bare feet. “What do you want from me? Would it be better for you if I didn’t work and just sat around at home? I guess then you’d know where I was at all times. Tell you what. I’ll quit this job too just for you, and I’ll sit around and get fat just for you, and you feel free to go back to work and hang all over some guy you’re still mooning over and come home whining about unfair your life is every time things don’t go your way.” He caught the hand flying at his face and flung her arm backwards. “I can’t believe you’re still acting like the same spoiled brat after all this time. Great example to set for your daughter.”
This time she succeeded in slapping him. “How dare you! You fill her head so full of your ‘good cop/bad cop’ stories that there’s no room for anything else. I’m just ‘mean ol’ mom’ compared to you. And now I’m actually trying to do something better for myself and my family and all you can do is freak out because I’m working with a guy that I used to like years ago! You sure I’m the only spoiled brat here?”
He took a step backward. She was suddenly grateful that she couldn’t see his face—she didn’t want to feel sorry for him at all. She needed to stay angry with him. “Why don’t you just leave?”
The police cruiser pulled out of the garage a few minutes later and vanished down the block, but she hardly saw it. She didn’t cry out when she stepped on a sharp stone in the garden or notice when she banged her hip against the couch. But she knew through her angry tears that Julia had come downstairs yet again, and she made room on the cushions for her daughter to crawl up against her.
“Are you cold?” she asked after a while.
“No,” Julia answered. She sounded half-asleep. “Is Daddy coming back?”
“I don’t know.”
"Like what?" Rochelle said, coming home early and surprising them both. "Bryant called me today. He said you'd been nosing around lately and freaking out all of his neighbors. You do realize that everyone in town knows you're a cop, right?"
"Now, ma'am. Just doing my job. How am I going to bust that illegal aluminum can recycling ring if I don't go through a little trash? Besides, what were you doing out anyway? I thought your feet hurt."
"They do. But he wanted to see me about an editor's position at the paper. My old boss passed away about two weeks back and the job just came open."
Both Luke and Julia stared up at her. She looked flushed and tired, but her eyes were bright. Finally Julia said, "Mom, are you gonna go to work again?"
"... and work under Bryant?" Luke said with a bit of edge in his voice.
"Are you seriously still upset about him? I thought you were over that." She put down her bag and slowly wiggled off a shoe. Luke was on his feet, his face grim.
"You look a little too happy right now for my taste. And it's interesting that the last time I saw that guy, he seemed to know everything that's happened in this house ever since we got married. Explain to me, please, how he not only knew that you were having a boy, but also knew every baby name we've discussed." (36) Rochelle opened her mouth to protest, but he silenced her with a look. "I'm not saying anything, implying anything, accusing you of anything. All I want to know is if you really think going back to work with him is a good idea."
Julia held her breath and waited. But her mother didn't answer that night or any other night.
"Julia! ... don't you try to sneak in here, young lady. (37) Where have you been?" Not that Rochelle needed to ask--she could see the thin material of Julia's shorts bulging with stones. "I thought I told you to stay away from that mineshaft! And now you're all scratched up from crawling through those bushes!"
"Sorry," Julia muttered, not looking sorry in the least. Her silky hair was dull with dust and her face was covered in dirty sweat. If anything, she looked perfectly happy as she fumbled in her jacket and held up her sweaty fist. "I found a pretty rock for ya."
"And speaking of rocks, didn't I ask you to pick up all of the ones you had laying around upstairs?"
"I did! But I got some more. You don't want your rock? It's shiny."
No, I don't want a rock! I want to understand you! I want to feel like we're related, not just living in the same house!
"... thanks, sweetie."
Julia came back downstairs later that night after Rochelle had already tucked her in and sneaked a hug. Her little arms barely fit around her mother's waist. She looked up at Rochelle, all blue in the television's glare and asked why Mom was always sad now.
"Mom's not sad," Rochelle said automatically.
"But you never smile anymore." She snuggled closer. "Are you mad at me?"
"Of course not, silly."
"Are you mad at Daddy?"
Rochelle didn't answer immediately. Finding out that Luke didn't like her job any more than she liked his had been startling. It was driving a wedge between them, and somehow she had been fool enough to think that Julia wouldn't notice. Her lower back suddenly ached badly. "It's late, sweetie. You're not going to be able to wake up if you don't go to bed."
"But it's Friday night," Julia said quickly. "And you didn't answer my question."
Good lord, you even sound like him when you talk! “... no, I'm not mad at Daddy. He and I just need to talk a little, but we've both been so busy that we haven't had time.”
“But he’s right in there and you’re out here,” Julia protested. “You’re not talking to him!”
“Julia—“
“You’re not!”
“Julia!”
“Rocket,” a deep voice called from the bedroom. “Go to bed. Now.”
Rochelle watched Julia slip away meekly and felt irrationally angry at her compliance. “You didn’t have to make her leave,” she muttered harshly.
“I can’t sleep with the two of you squawking like that,” Luke called back. “Besides, she’s right. If you wanted to talk to me, you’d be in here, not out there.”
“Of course she’s right. She’s right and you’re right. I suppose that doesn’t leave any room for me. Well, since the two of you are always right, I’ll just stay out here and be wrong.”
The bed frame squeaked sharply and a rush of air blew over her face as Luke snatched the door open. “Would you stop it with the martyr complex? Ever since you got pregnant, you’ve done nothing but nag me about everything under the sun. And all I’ve ever done is try to do whatever it was that you wanted and bring home a check so that the bills stayed paid and you could write. What are you even mad about? Do you have any idea?”
She went out to the garden, her face burning. He followed in bare feet. “What do you want from me? Would it be better for you if I didn’t work and just sat around at home? I guess then you’d know where I was at all times. Tell you what. I’ll quit this job too just for you, and I’ll sit around and get fat just for you, and you feel free to go back to work and hang all over some guy you’re still mooning over and come home whining about unfair your life is every time things don’t go your way.” He caught the hand flying at his face and flung her arm backwards. “I can’t believe you’re still acting like the same spoiled brat after all this time. Great example to set for your daughter.”
This time she succeeded in slapping him. “How dare you! You fill her head so full of your ‘good cop/bad cop’ stories that there’s no room for anything else. I’m just ‘mean ol’ mom’ compared to you. And now I’m actually trying to do something better for myself and my family and all you can do is freak out because I’m working with a guy that I used to like years ago! You sure I’m the only spoiled brat here?”
He took a step backward. She was suddenly grateful that she couldn’t see his face—she didn’t want to feel sorry for him at all. She needed to stay angry with him. “Why don’t you just leave?”
The police cruiser pulled out of the garage a few minutes later and vanished down the block, but she hardly saw it. She didn’t cry out when she stepped on a sharp stone in the garden or notice when she banged her hip against the couch. But she knew through her angry tears that Julia had come downstairs yet again, and she made room on the cushions for her daughter to crawl up against her.
“Are you cold?” she asked after a while.
“No,” Julia answered. She sounded half-asleep. “Is Daddy coming back?”
“I don’t know.”
Permanently Sunset -- closed.
An ending is just another day's beginning.
An ending is just another day's beginning.
Looking for more to read? I have more stories to tell ...
#33
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- 1,317 posts
Imperfect Ideas
Posted 14 August 2009 - 02:52 AM
I'm sorry to hear about reasons behind the demise of Coldwater Crossing, I'd been greatly enjoying that story before it ground to a halt... it was nice to see the wrap up post here about what happened to everyone later (even if it was mainly death, death, and more death). I'm very happy to see that you're writing again... I believe my reaction when I first heard was something along the lines of "Spadoumstoryspladoumstory SPLADOUM STORY! WHEEE!" :lol:
All caught up on both "All Along the Waterline" and this legacy, and patiently (okay, not too impatiently!) waiting for more :)
All caught up on both "All Along the Waterline" and this legacy, and patiently (okay, not too impatiently!) waiting for more :)
- /\/\sB -
Look! Shiny stuff! And stuff about shiny stuff!
Look! Shiny stuff! And stuff about shiny stuff!
Currently Writing: This Imperfect World
Links to Older Stories
#34
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- 108 posts
House Party Crasher
Posted 17 August 2009 - 03:47 PM
What a scene! I wonder what will become of their marriage.
Come read my Sims story blog! Stories from the Sims-side *PG-13*
#35
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- 146 posts
House Party Crasher
Posted 18 August 2009 - 03:13 AM
Poor Julia! :( Caught in the middle can't be fun. I think Rochelle was just looking for a fight.
Lost somewhere in Simland!
~~~ Proud member of S2HBAA & S3HBAA ~~~
"If all in life were free, then there would be no need to work!"
~~~ Proud member of S2HBAA & S3HBAA ~~~
"If all in life were free, then there would be no need to work!"
#36
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- 4,738 posts
Scheming and dreaming.
Posted 20 August 2009 - 12:14 AM
wht!?!! how did u kick him out agin????
ur grumpy when ur preggo! R u crazy or just dum?
Rochelle responded slowly, her arm nearly numb from Julia's weight. The baby was beginning to kick—right in the ribs—and she was hungry and nauseated all at once. What a way to spend a weekend.
stop being mean n talk 2 him
do it in public so u dont keep being a jerk
n dont nag about his job
jst b happy its legal!
She had nearly finished a reply when the phone vibrated with an incoming call from an unknown local number. "Hello?"
"This is Sergeant Rufus Trickle with the Fairweather County Police Department, calling for Rochelle Tyson."
"This is she." The old fear slowly closed her throat.
The sergeant continued, "Good morning, ma'am. I'm sorry to call so early on a Saturday morning, but Luke asked me to make sure that you were okay."
"Where is he?" She was painfully aware that Julia was pretending to sleep—the girl was holding her breath again. "Is he alright? And why the hell isn't he calling me himself?"
"Officers are not allowed to make personal calls from their patrol cars, precinct policy. I'll let him know that you're fine."
"Actually," she interrupted, "you let him know that if he doesn't have the stones to face me himself, he shouldn't make his employees do it for him."
The line went quiet for a few heartbeats before the officer replied, "I'll make sure he gets that message, ma'am," and hung up.
She carried Julia upstairs to the bedroom, gingerly stepping around the rocks scattered all over the landing. She already knew that Julia wasn't asleep, but she was startled all the same when her daughter murmured, "Daddy won't come home if you keep being mean to him."
"I know, sweetie. Thank you for reminding me, sometimes Mom forgets."
"I'll pick up the rocks in a minute," Julia said, but immediately rolled over deep in the blankets. Rochelle slipped away to wash dishes. It might distract her, but then again, probably not.
She spent her day repairing the squeaking faucets and carefully patching a large crack on the base of the oldest toilet, certain that he would return by the time she finished. She didn't dare work on her novel at all; with her current run of luck, he'd walk in the door and it would be used as an excuse to begin quarrelling again. Besides, she hardly felt like writing comedy. Instead she went outside and buried her fingers in the dirt, gently disengaging the weeds winding around the vegetables. Above her, Julia was peering through the telescope.
“Anything interesting out there?"
"Can’t see much right now, too bright." Julia nudged her chair across the balcony and pulled out a book, but Rochelle wasn’t fooled. There wasn’t any reading going on up there; the pages weren’t rustling. Julia was trying to spot the patrol car from a distance. She continued to sift the earth through her hands and blinked away sweatdrops.
“Mom.”
“Yes?”
Julia had seated herself at the edge of the balcony, dangling her feet through the railing. “If Daddy doesn’t come home, are you still gonna work?”
“Well, sweetie, if he doesn’t come back, I have to.”
“So if he comes home, you won’t have to?”
“Julia, please not now.” The muscles in her back felt like lead and the tomatoes went from a sharp, bright red to a smudge of pink. She sat down at a bad angle, not really feeling the twist in her ankle, or hearing the girl’s panic-filled shouting.
Her eyelids fluttered. The bright light in her eyes slowly came into focus as an overhead observation lamp. She was on her back in a hospital bed, with intravenous needles in her left arm and her right ankle elevated, bound with plaster. Her stomach was significantly flatter, and she felt incredibly bruised all over, a feeling that became worse when Julia spasmed and kicked her in the side.
“That looked like it hurt,” Luke said dryly. He was sitting nearby in full uniform, obviously having come straight from a patrol. It might have been imagination, but he looked older. His hair seemed whiter, and the lines in his face were pronounced and rigid. Even so, she had never been so glad to see him.
“What happened?”
“Not much, you just keeled over with heatstroke and shattered your right leg. Julia called me and I called an ambulance. And by the way, they induced labor a bit early since you were already here. Doc said it’d be better to do it now since you’re full of drugs. And I came over to keep you distracted while you were giving birth, but you kinda slept through it. Must've been a piece of cake.“
She rolled her eyes. “Nice to see you haven't changed a bit.”
“A day later and a dollar shorter. And less hair to comb through. Otherwise I'm still my usual charming self.” Julia stirred awake and Luke stroked her hair fondly. “Hey, Rocket. Rough day today?”
“Yeah,” she said drowsily.
“Hey, why don’t you go outside for a little bit? Mom and I need to talk about some boring grown-up stuff.”
Julia slipped out of the room reluctantly, hoping that talk didn't mean that they were going to begin fighting again. She didn't get to hear her mother's heartfelt apology, or see the tension in her father's face melt away into a smile. All she knew was that Daddy hadn't been home for two days and he hadn't promised that he was coming back. And Mom was supposed to go back to work on Monday and she hadn't promised that she wouldn't. Moodily, she wandered down to the baby ward and pressed her face to the glass, staring down at her brand-new little brother, Edmund. He was sleeping, his tiny eyes screwed shut.
She brooded all the way home. She and her mother rode together in the taxi; Daddy went back to work to finish his shift. Edmund blinked at her with large, innocent eyes. So peaceful. Nothing like all of the fighting that proceeded his birth. She wasn't going be like that, fighting all the time like her parents. Ed could do that if he wanted to, but she wasn't ever getting married.
ur grumpy when ur preggo! R u crazy or just dum?
Rochelle responded slowly, her arm nearly numb from Julia's weight. The baby was beginning to kick—right in the ribs—and she was hungry and nauseated all at once. What a way to spend a weekend.
stop being mean n talk 2 him
do it in public so u dont keep being a jerk
n dont nag about his job
jst b happy its legal!
She had nearly finished a reply when the phone vibrated with an incoming call from an unknown local number. "Hello?"
"This is Sergeant Rufus Trickle with the Fairweather County Police Department, calling for Rochelle Tyson."
"This is she." The old fear slowly closed her throat.
The sergeant continued, "Good morning, ma'am. I'm sorry to call so early on a Saturday morning, but Luke asked me to make sure that you were okay."
"Where is he?" She was painfully aware that Julia was pretending to sleep—the girl was holding her breath again. "Is he alright? And why the hell isn't he calling me himself?"
"Officers are not allowed to make personal calls from their patrol cars, precinct policy. I'll let him know that you're fine."
"Actually," she interrupted, "you let him know that if he doesn't have the stones to face me himself, he shouldn't make his employees do it for him."
The line went quiet for a few heartbeats before the officer replied, "I'll make sure he gets that message, ma'am," and hung up.
She carried Julia upstairs to the bedroom, gingerly stepping around the rocks scattered all over the landing. She already knew that Julia wasn't asleep, but she was startled all the same when her daughter murmured, "Daddy won't come home if you keep being mean to him."
"I know, sweetie. Thank you for reminding me, sometimes Mom forgets."
"I'll pick up the rocks in a minute," Julia said, but immediately rolled over deep in the blankets. Rochelle slipped away to wash dishes. It might distract her, but then again, probably not.
She spent her day repairing the squeaking faucets and carefully patching a large crack on the base of the oldest toilet, certain that he would return by the time she finished. She didn't dare work on her novel at all; with her current run of luck, he'd walk in the door and it would be used as an excuse to begin quarrelling again. Besides, she hardly felt like writing comedy. Instead she went outside and buried her fingers in the dirt, gently disengaging the weeds winding around the vegetables. Above her, Julia was peering through the telescope.
“Anything interesting out there?"
"Can’t see much right now, too bright." Julia nudged her chair across the balcony and pulled out a book, but Rochelle wasn’t fooled. There wasn’t any reading going on up there; the pages weren’t rustling. Julia was trying to spot the patrol car from a distance. She continued to sift the earth through her hands and blinked away sweatdrops.
“Mom.”
“Yes?”
Julia had seated herself at the edge of the balcony, dangling her feet through the railing. “If Daddy doesn’t come home, are you still gonna work?”
“Well, sweetie, if he doesn’t come back, I have to.”
“So if he comes home, you won’t have to?”
“Julia, please not now.” The muscles in her back felt like lead and the tomatoes went from a sharp, bright red to a smudge of pink. She sat down at a bad angle, not really feeling the twist in her ankle, or hearing the girl’s panic-filled shouting.
Her eyelids fluttered. The bright light in her eyes slowly came into focus as an overhead observation lamp. She was on her back in a hospital bed, with intravenous needles in her left arm and her right ankle elevated, bound with plaster. Her stomach was significantly flatter, and she felt incredibly bruised all over, a feeling that became worse when Julia spasmed and kicked her in the side.
“That looked like it hurt,” Luke said dryly. He was sitting nearby in full uniform, obviously having come straight from a patrol. It might have been imagination, but he looked older. His hair seemed whiter, and the lines in his face were pronounced and rigid. Even so, she had never been so glad to see him.
“What happened?”
“Not much, you just keeled over with heatstroke and shattered your right leg. Julia called me and I called an ambulance. And by the way, they induced labor a bit early since you were already here. Doc said it’d be better to do it now since you’re full of drugs. And I came over to keep you distracted while you were giving birth, but you kinda slept through it. Must've been a piece of cake.“
She rolled her eyes. “Nice to see you haven't changed a bit.”
“A day later and a dollar shorter. And less hair to comb through. Otherwise I'm still my usual charming self.” Julia stirred awake and Luke stroked her hair fondly. “Hey, Rocket. Rough day today?”
“Yeah,” she said drowsily.
“Hey, why don’t you go outside for a little bit? Mom and I need to talk about some boring grown-up stuff.”
Julia slipped out of the room reluctantly, hoping that talk didn't mean that they were going to begin fighting again. She didn't get to hear her mother's heartfelt apology, or see the tension in her father's face melt away into a smile. All she knew was that Daddy hadn't been home for two days and he hadn't promised that he was coming back. And Mom was supposed to go back to work on Monday and she hadn't promised that she wouldn't. Moodily, she wandered down to the baby ward and pressed her face to the glass, staring down at her brand-new little brother, Edmund. He was sleeping, his tiny eyes screwed shut.
She brooded all the way home. She and her mother rode together in the taxi; Daddy went back to work to finish his shift. Edmund blinked at her with large, innocent eyes. So peaceful. Nothing like all of the fighting that proceeded his birth. She wasn't going be like that, fighting all the time like her parents. Ed could do that if he wanted to, but she wasn't ever getting married.
Permanently Sunset -- closed.
An ending is just another day's beginning.
An ending is just another day's beginning.
Looking for more to read? I have more stories to tell ...
#37
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- 108 posts
House Party Crasher
Posted 20 August 2009 - 02:34 PM
Sounds like we're hearing the first parts of the 2nd gen's story from her POV now.
Come read my Sims story blog! Stories from the Sims-side *PG-13*
#38
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- 174 posts
House Party Crasher
Posted 20 August 2009 - 05:13 PM
Uh-oh. Julia seems to be a bit too bitter about family to want to have one herself. I wonder if she'll keep up that attitude into adulthood, and in that case, will Ed have to carry on the legacy?
Riverblossom Redux: The Devereaux Legacy
Now Showing: Generation 2
Two sisters who couldn't be more different, a father who couldn't care less, and a mother caught in the middle of it all.
Now Showing: Generation 2
Two sisters who couldn't be more different, a father who couldn't care less, and a mother caught in the middle of it all.
#39
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- 167 posts
Simmer
Posted 22 August 2009 - 10:27 PM
Oh I love this family, hope Julia can manage to overcome her fear of family when she grows up.
*I am not a smurf*
#40
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- 4,738 posts
Scheming and dreaming.
Posted 25 August 2009 - 01:14 AM
Rochelle woke up early the next day, feeling immediately that something was wrong. For starters, her right leg--the one in the cast--was quite definitely bent, tangled in the sheets. And while her legs had never had much meat on them, they bordered on gangly now. Her left hand, dangling from the covers, seemed to be missing its ring. And was this ... her childhood bedroom suite? (39)
Head reeling, she dressed quickly and peeked out of her bedroom. Same old landing, same old portrait-sized photo of her with her parents above the same old writing table. Same old outdated curtains across the same old picture window. Same old coat rack in the corner. Same old vase full of cattails in the other corner. What happened? How did I get back home?
A sweet voice echoed from below. "Rochelle? Honey, are you awake?"
She came down the stairs timidly. Her mother was sitting at the breakfast table with a bowl of oatmeal and cup of coffee, looking as though she had stepped out of an LL Bean catalogue. (40) "Good morning, honey. I was a little worried about letting you go out, but it seemed your friends brought you home in one piece. Did you have a good time last night? You didn't drink too much, did you?"
"What happened last night? Where's Luke?"
"Who's Luke, dear? I thought your old boyfriend's name was Theodore. You didn't give your number out to some guy you just met, did you?" Mrs. Tyson picked up Rochelle's cellphone, squinting at it. "Someone's been sending you messages since 8 a.m. And by the way, Whitney came by earlier, but I told her you were still asleep."
"Whitney?"
"Your best friend, remember? Or did you two fall out?" Mrs. Tyson stood. "It has been a rough night for you, hasn't it? Let me get you some coffee."
...wasn't my best friend's name Brittany?
Rochelle rubbed her fourth finger with her thumb. The skin felt completely smooth, no sign that a ring had been there for years and years. The hair brushing her neck was quite long and quite red. Where was Luke? Where were her children? Wasn't she a famous writer? Hadn't she just had a baby and broken her leg?
"... where's Dad?"
"He's in the same place he's been since we moved here, at work on the Mattison's farm. Honey, what's wrong? You're acting strangely and nothing you're saying makes sense. How much did you drink last night?"
She sat down. "If I sound kind of weird, Mom, promise not to hold it against me. I had the craziest dream ever!"
By the time she was halfway through her story, Mr. Tyson had come home and she had to began all over again--explaining how she chopped off her hair and dyed it black, the whole fiasco with meeting her old boyfriend out west, her ventures into journalism, her marriage to Luke Houle. When she told them about her bright daughter Julia and her brand-new son Edmund, her voice wavered. (41) Her mother looked as sad as she felt; she adored children and the mere thought of grandchildren made her estatic. "They were so beautiful. I can see their faces right now." She looked up, her face wet with tears. "Are you really telling me none of it ever happened?"
Her father rested a beefy arm on her shoulders. "Rochelle, all we know is that your friends took you out for drinks to celebrate your twenty-first birthday and they brought you home draped over their shoulders. Seems you had a bit much, but all's well and you don't have to go back to work at the spa until tomorrow. Go lie down on the couch and Mom will make you some soup."
She did as she was told. The homemade soup and her mother's kind words soothed her, but not for long. Her mind was too unhinged by the dream. Was it a sign that she needed to leave home?
(Author's note: In case you couldn't tell, I managed to blow up my game by installing the latest patch and uninstalling the AwesomeMod simultaneously. No matter what I did, I couldn't retrieve my original characters. So I and poor Rochelle have to start all over. Fortunately she is doing very well and her adventures are even weirder this time around. Take a tip from me and remember to remove your CC when you start borking around with those patches!
)
Head reeling, she dressed quickly and peeked out of her bedroom. Same old landing, same old portrait-sized photo of her with her parents above the same old writing table. Same old outdated curtains across the same old picture window. Same old coat rack in the corner. Same old vase full of cattails in the other corner. What happened? How did I get back home?
A sweet voice echoed from below. "Rochelle? Honey, are you awake?"
She came down the stairs timidly. Her mother was sitting at the breakfast table with a bowl of oatmeal and cup of coffee, looking as though she had stepped out of an LL Bean catalogue. (40) "Good morning, honey. I was a little worried about letting you go out, but it seemed your friends brought you home in one piece. Did you have a good time last night? You didn't drink too much, did you?"
"What happened last night? Where's Luke?"
"Who's Luke, dear? I thought your old boyfriend's name was Theodore. You didn't give your number out to some guy you just met, did you?" Mrs. Tyson picked up Rochelle's cellphone, squinting at it. "Someone's been sending you messages since 8 a.m. And by the way, Whitney came by earlier, but I told her you were still asleep."
"Whitney?"
"Your best friend, remember? Or did you two fall out?" Mrs. Tyson stood. "It has been a rough night for you, hasn't it? Let me get you some coffee."
...wasn't my best friend's name Brittany?
Rochelle rubbed her fourth finger with her thumb. The skin felt completely smooth, no sign that a ring had been there for years and years. The hair brushing her neck was quite long and quite red. Where was Luke? Where were her children? Wasn't she a famous writer? Hadn't she just had a baby and broken her leg?
"... where's Dad?"
"He's in the same place he's been since we moved here, at work on the Mattison's farm. Honey, what's wrong? You're acting strangely and nothing you're saying makes sense. How much did you drink last night?"
She sat down. "If I sound kind of weird, Mom, promise not to hold it against me. I had the craziest dream ever!"
By the time she was halfway through her story, Mr. Tyson had come home and she had to began all over again--explaining how she chopped off her hair and dyed it black, the whole fiasco with meeting her old boyfriend out west, her ventures into journalism, her marriage to Luke Houle. When she told them about her bright daughter Julia and her brand-new son Edmund, her voice wavered. (41) Her mother looked as sad as she felt; she adored children and the mere thought of grandchildren made her estatic. "They were so beautiful. I can see their faces right now." She looked up, her face wet with tears. "Are you really telling me none of it ever happened?"
Her father rested a beefy arm on her shoulders. "Rochelle, all we know is that your friends took you out for drinks to celebrate your twenty-first birthday and they brought you home draped over their shoulders. Seems you had a bit much, but all's well and you don't have to go back to work at the spa until tomorrow. Go lie down on the couch and Mom will make you some soup."
She did as she was told. The homemade soup and her mother's kind words soothed her, but not for long. Her mind was too unhinged by the dream. Was it a sign that she needed to leave home?
(Author's note: In case you couldn't tell, I managed to blow up my game by installing the latest patch and uninstalling the AwesomeMod simultaneously. No matter what I did, I couldn't retrieve my original characters. So I and poor Rochelle have to start all over. Fortunately she is doing very well and her adventures are even weirder this time around. Take a tip from me and remember to remove your CC when you start borking around with those patches!
)
Permanently Sunset -- closed.
An ending is just another day's beginning.
An ending is just another day's beginning.
Looking for more to read? I have more stories to tell ...
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