Excerpt: Eliza's Story

Realizing she was going to have an honest-to-god used-to-be-a-cop living in her house, carrying a real live gun and everything, that was the best part of her day.
Now came the worst part of her day.
Why, oh, why had her mother insisted on having an apple pie tonight? And no ordinary kind of pie, she wanted the apple galette she’d seen at Whitney’s Bakery earlier this week.
Of course, she’d told Lucy that Lucy could just make one, if she didn’t want to buy one for dinner. Her mother told her it was easy, just some flour, butter, sugar and apples. But to Lucy that sounded like real cooking, and that was normally something she was morally opposed to.
So before family dinner at her parent’s house, Lucy had to go by Whitney’s, and she had to hurry before the bakery closed.
And she’d have to see Whitney. Really, was her mother aware of what kind of punishment this was? She doubted she was, doubted her mother would be so mean, but she still wondered.
Gah, even the cutesy font of the outside sign irritated Lucy. Whitney’s. All lace curlicues and pink paint. The front window was done up with half-curtains and doilies. Maybe Whitney was going for French chic, but it really came off looking more like French bordello from the outside. At least Lucy thought so.
Right. She’d be quick about it. Get this over with.
Lucy pushed open the door. She did it briskly, with authority.
And she knocked over an old woman standing on the other side of the door.
“Oh, my god!” Lucy pulled the door back toward her, to the outside, the way it should have been pulled anyway, now that she saw the big Pull sign.
“I didn’t see you!”
The old lady moaned.
“Are you hurt?” asked Lucy.
“No, it’s just my pies…..”
Lucy was bustled to the side by Whitney. Great. This was just what she needed.
“Mrs. Irving. Oh, dear. Are you injured? Don’t move, someone call 911. Lucy, you go make the call.”
Mrs. Irving held up her hand. “I’m fine. Don’t be ridiculous. I’m quite cushioned, and I didn’t hurt myself. I merely need to be helped to my feet now.”
Whitney, looking perfect in her sweet pink confectionary dress, helped Mrs. Irving up. “There now,” she cooed. “Are you all right? I’d hate to think that you’d even hurt just one tiny muscle. Everything okay?”
“I’m fine, dear. But I do think the pies are ruined.”
Lucy scrambled to try to pick up the boxes that littered the floor. There were four of them. Two were upside down, and one was on its side. She’d just assume all those were done for. “Look,” she said. “This one might have made it.”
Lucy picked up the box triumphantly. “See?” As she held it up, the bottom of the box ripped and the cherry pie dropped to the ground. The other pies hadn’t splattered, but this one did, its cherry contents splashing to the floor and back up, onto the counter, the glass case, and Whitney’s dress.
“Shit,” Lucy sighed.
“Language!” snapped Whitney. “Mrs. Irving, you just get on home. I’ll personally deliver four fresh pies, no, make it five for your trouble, in about an hour, after I close. Any cherry on you, dear? No? Just got me, I see. I’m glad none hit your clothing. Off you go, I’ll see you soon.”
“Very sorry!” Lucy called as the door swung shut.
Whitney turned to face Lucy and her face, sweetly smiling, changed to a glare.
“Nicely done.”
“I said I was sorry. I didn’t see her there.”
“She’s wide as a barn, which is the only thing that prevented her from breaking a hip. I don’t know how you couldn’t see her.”
“I was in a hurry. I need a pie.”
“You need a pie? I think you need five pies, don’t you? And if you want to buy another one, one that you can take with you, that’s okay by me, but you will need to buy Mrs. Irving’s pies before you leave.”
“Fine. I need an apple…. Something. Like a razor? Something with sugar?” The word her mother had said flew right out of Lucy’s head.
“Not Gilette. Galette. I have one left. You’re lucky.”
“I don’t think paying for six pies when I meant to buy one is lucky, but I’ll take it.” She steeled herself. “And thank you.”
Whitney brightened. It never took much with her. She could, and did, change moods with lightning speed. “You’re welcome. I suppose you really didn’t mean to knock her over. Although, if you really wanted to be a champ, you’d offer to dry clean my dress. I love this dress, and it’ll be ruined if I don’t get it treated professionally.”
Lucy grimaced. Then nodded. “Of course. Tell me how much it costs”
“I’ll just add another twenty to your bill here, and that should do it. Just call it a nice round hundred and ten?”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Well, fifteen each for five pies and one galette, plus twenty for the dress.”
Lucy ground the words out from between her teeth. “Will you take a check?”
“Of course, silly! I know where to find you if it bounces. Now, let me get your galette, and I’ll tell you about the book that I just have to have.”
Lucy tried to sound interested. “Sure, what is it?” She concentrated on making her handwriting clear on the check.
“It’s called Gain Weight the Sensible Way. You know I have so much trouble gaining weight, and I just want to put on five pounds, you know, a little more junk in this little old trunk of mine. I know the dream can come true.” Whitney sighed. “It’s just so hard, you know, being this thin naturally. Oh. Maybe you don’t know.”
Lucy heard a motorcycle roar by and turned to watch it go, using the opportunity of her turned head to roll her eyes.
Whitney had always been like this. Ever since high school, Whitney had had a thing about Lucy. Lucy wouldn’t say that Whitney hated her, but it was close, sometimes. It all came down to a misunderstanding in their senior year. Whitney had been in love with the captain of the football team. They’d been an item since freshman year, she and Steve Godfrey. Steve was a big goofball who flirted with Lucy, but never tried anything else.
Two months before school ended, Whitney’s parents went out of town, and she held a bash to rival a John Hughes movie. Lucy drank for the first time. She had two beers and two shots of something clear. When she got dizzy and nervous about the way her mouth was refusing to work, she stumbled off to a spare bedroom, where she lay down. She kept one foot on the floor and watched the room spin as if it were on turntable. It was an entirely unpleasant feeling. Why did people do this again? She knew the football team spent most of every weekend drinking, and she had no idea why anyone would do that to themselves, on purpose.
While she was lying there on the unfamiliar bedspread, the door opened. Steve Godfrey stumbled in, laughing at something someone had yelled behind him. He shut the door and flipped on a light. Lucy groaned in the sudden brightness. The spinning was worsened by the glare.
He came to the bed, and looked down at her. He said hello. She said hello back and closed her eyes again.
“You drunk?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I think I am. If I am drunk, I think it’s stupid, and I’m never doing it again.”
“Good. I’m glad you’re drunk.”
He leaned down and kissed Lucy. His mouth was hot and it moved faster than she wanted it to. She’d imagined her first kiss as something soft, something sweet. She knew she was behind most of her friends when it came to experience with boys, but this didn’t feel like anything she’d been expecting. It was rough and felt kind of like her stomach did, uncomfortable, tight, as if it wasn’t part of her.
She moved away from him, and he moved with her, continuing to kiss her. She tried kissing him back, but she didn’t know what she was doing. His tongue entered her mouth. It moved like it wasn’t even attached to him, like it was a cow’s tongue or something large that just happened to be inside his mouth. He tasted of jalapenos and something more bitter. She hated it.
“Stop!” she said.
“Come on, just a little more.” He pushed her back again and kissed her harder.
That was the moment that Whitney came looking for her boyfriend, her prom date, her homecoming king.
“You whore!” she shouted at Lucy, flying across the room. Before Lucy knew what was going on, Whitney had already slapped her once, and was winding up for the next blow.
It snapped Lucy out of her fog, at least. She scooted backwards up the bed so fast her head hit the headboard.
“He kissed me!”
“Shut up, bitch!”
Lucy had never had anyone even look at her sideways in the hallway at school. She was used to being ignored, never the target of anything. So to suddenly be the target of both Steve’s and Whitney’s attention was overwhelming and completely horrible.
“I didn’t do anything!”
“I don’t believe you,” Whitney hissed. Steve scooted out the open door and didn’t look back. “Steve loves me. We’re going to get married after we graduate. You aren’t going to ruin that. I won’t let you.”
“I’m not trying to get him! I don’t even like him!” Lucy launched herself off the bed and landed on top of a pile of jackets.
“You’ve always wanted him – I’ve seen you staring at him in French.”
“Only because I was surprised that anyone’s accent could really be that bad!” It was true, it was the only reason Lucy’d ever had to notice Steve.
“I won’t forget this. You’ll never have him, no mater how hard you try.”
Lucy hadn’t had anything to say to that. She’d escaped out the door and ran downstairs. She’d gone out the front door and ended up on the lawn, throwing up into a bush. When she was finally able to stand up, she brushed the hair out of her eyes and looked up to see that the bush that had served as receptacle was directly in front of the living room window. At least forty of her classmates had just witnessed her being sick in the camellia bush.
And since then, for eighteen years now, Whitney had hated Lucy. Whitney and Steve hadn’t married, and Lucy was always convinced that Whitney had seriously thought that they would be together, had seriously thought that the kiss was what drove them apart, and not the fact that Steve had turned out to be a high school lothario, sleeping with every girl who would take him behind Whitney’s back. Nope. It was that kiss that had done it.
“Don’t forget to put your driver’s license number on the check, okay, hon?” Whitney held out a perfectly manicured finger and tapped on Lucy’s check.
“I thought you said you knew where to find me.” Lucy hated being called hon.
“Just in case. So will you order that book for me?”
Normally Lucy would stick to her standard request, that Whitney come into the store and fill out an order form. Special-order books had a way of being forgotten about, and when she told someone their order was in, it wasn’t uncommon to get a blank look in response. But number one, she didn’t think Whitney would forget, and number two, it would be just another reason to have to see her. Lucy wanted to avoid that as much as possible. It was enough that she’d have to sell it to her.
“Of course I will. I’ll call you when it’s in.”
Stupid weight-gain book. Could there possibly be a more annoying book to have to order for someone who hated you?
Whitney finished putting the pies into boxes and then into bags. “Do you need help carrying these out? Oh, goodness!” She broke into a peal of laughter. “These five aren’t for you! I plain forgot I was taking them over to Mrs. Irving’s house. Aren’t I silly? Here’s yours.” She reached in and took the thin box out of the bag. “You enjoy now, okay?”