Archive of Our Own

Christmas Eve 1990

The icy wind carried a sharpness that seemed to slice through cloth and skin alike, a restless current twisting down the single road that led in and out of Alphaville. The place sat alone in the flat dark, a scatter of modest houses pressed against the edge of the surrounding fields. Once, soldiers had marched here; the bones of the old barracks still lingered in the long, low shapes of some of the buildings, their brickwork now softened by decades of repainting and domesticity. But at night—especially this night, Christmas Eve of 1990—those echoes felt closer, as though the cold itself remembered.

The fields around were a black expanse, silent and empty, broken only by the skeletal rise of bare trees and the ragged edges of barbed wire fencing left from another era. No traffic passed; no footsteps approached. The only sound was the wind’s low moan, gathering in the gaps between houses and sliding along the gutters, rattling an occasional loose slat or tin shed roof.

Most windows were dark now, curtains drawn tight against the inhospitable night. But here and there, a handful of homes still glowed from within—dim amber shapes behind fabric, hints of Christmas trees lit with tinsel and fairy lights, shadows moving past. The glow didn’t spill far; the curtains held it in, as though the cold would swallow it whole if given the chance.

A man in a heavy coat crossed one small garden, his boots crunching on the thin crust of ice that had formed over the grass. The air in his lungs burned with each breath. Somewhere, far off, a dog barked—short, clipped, and quickly silenced. From another house came the faint sound of laughter, muffled by walls and distance. The road itself, black ribbon that it was, led back to the main highway miles away, vanishing into nothingness behind a haze of blowing frost.

Overhead, the sky was moonless, low and heavy with the threat of snow. There were no stars, only a blank lid of cloud that pressed down close, making the small circle of Alphaville feel even more isolated. The lights that were left—those few points of warmth—looked fragile in the way candles do in a draught, stubborn but precarious.

Even the air seemed to have weight, pushing against anyone who dared step outside. Inside, behind those drawn curtains, warmth and life held on in pockets, while the world beyond remained frozen, indifferent, and waiting.

The wind clawed at the corners of the Robinson house like it wanted to peel the warmth away. It rattled the old siding and slipped through the outer frame of the upstairs windows, not enough to make the room cold, but just enough to remind anyone listening that the night outside was hostile, a hard, black expanse that would take your breath in seconds if you stepped out into it. The world beyond Alphaville’s single road had gone still hours ago, the last car long since vanished into the distance, leaving the neighborhood suspended in its own pocket of isolation.

Inside, though—inside was different. The house breathed with slow heat, every room heavy with the scent of lived-in comfort. The quilt on Glenda’s bed held the faint perfume of sun from where it had been hung out weeks earlier during one of the last mild afternoons, now steeped in the weight of her body and the slight give of the down beneath her. The air was warm enough that her bare toes could stretch beyond the hem without feeling a chill.

She lay on her left side, knees drawn a little to ease the pressure in her hips, one hand curved protectively over the taut rise of her stomach. The landline cord looped lazily over the mound, its spiral catching in the lamplight. She held the receiver to her ear with the careful balance of someone who didn’t want to move more than she had to. Eight months along meant every shift was deliberate, slow, a negotiation with gravity.

Scarlett’s voice came through the receiver, low and even, with that almost imperceptible rasp it got when she was tired but determined not to sound it. In the background, Glenda could just make out faint notes of a piano scale, a door latch clicking, a brief wash of voices speaking Russian—then fading again as if someone had closed them out. Scarlett was somewhere on the upper floor of the opera house, she’d said earlier, tucked into a side room with tall windows that looked out toward the frozen river.

“They’ve lit the square,” Scarlett was saying now, her voice edged with that strange blend of awe and detachment she sometimes had when describing something beautiful in a place she didn’t fully trust. “All strung across with these lights—white, not yellow like back home. You can feel the cold just looking at them. But they’re… crisp, I guess. Like frost hanging in the air.”

Glenda let her eyes close, picturing it: the distant shape of Scarlett, coat collar up against her neck, watching that sharp winter light from behind glass. She imagined her breath fogging faintly as she spoke, even inside.

“It’s warmer here,” Glenda murmured, smiling faintly. “Got the radiator going full. Mama brought me up some of her cocoa earlier—swears it’ll ‘keep the little one toasty.’ I told her he’s already got me for that.”

Scarlett’s laugh reached her like a slow ember rolling through the cord. “Bet it’s the good cocoa, too. The kind that’s so thick you can stand a spoon in it.”

“Mmhmm. And she put the cinnamon in before she even brought it up.” Glenda shifted her weight a fraction, her free hand brushing the edge of the quilt up toward her ribs. “You’d like it here right now. The light’s low, but not dark. Feels… held.”

The word seemed to linger in both their silences for a beat. Outside the bedroom, faint household sounds went on: the muffled thump of her father’s slippers crossing the den, the faraway squeak of the kitchen tap, a floorboard settling in the hall. The warmth in the house was not just temperature—it was weight, presence, the thickening of air in a place where the night’s edge could not reach.

Scarlett spoke again, quieter this time, as if leaning closer to the mouthpiece. “I passed the stage on my way here. They’ve already set my chair and stand, and the lights were on—so bright it looked like morning. I walked out and just stood in it for a minute. Felt… almost like I was back home, in summer. You ever have that thing, where you feel the warmth but know it’s not natural?”

Glenda let out a soft hum, fingers smoothing across the slope of her belly. “Sure. Like a sunlamp. Or a fire that’s burning just for the look of it.”

“That’s exactly it.” Scarlett exhaled, and Glenda imagined her closing her eyes, the faint rise of her shoulders under a winter blouse. “It’s not bad, though. It’s enough. Enough to get through tonight.”

A gust threw itself against the window nearest Glenda’s bed, the sound deep and resonant, almost like a heavy breath. She glanced at the drawn curtains, picturing the glass just beyond, rimmed with frost, the black yard past it. She knew she wouldn’t see more than her own reflection if she pulled the fabric back.

“Wish you were here,” Scarlett added suddenly. Not in a dramatic way—more like she was stating a fact she’d been carrying in her chest all evening.

Glenda smiled into the receiver. “You’d hate how slow I move right now. I’d hold you up.”

“I wouldn’t mind.” A pause. “Besides, you’d make this dressing room feel like your bedroom. All warm, all… close. Might make me forget there’s a river outside colder than anything I’ve known.”

The radiator gave another soft tick as it expanded, a sound almost like agreement. Glenda’s gaze moved toward the nightstand lamp, its glow spreading over the small brass clock, the half-full water glass, the folded letter Scarlett had sent weeks ago. The wind could batter the house all it wanted—inside, it would not touch her tonight. And as long as Scarlett kept talking, Riga couldn’t touch her, either.

The wind surged again, a deep-bodied sound that rattled the upper panes and set some unseen bit of metal on the roof to clinking in an uneven rhythm. It had a lonely quality to it, the kind of sound that seemed to underscore just how far Alphaville was from anywhere else. The single road might as well have been a hundred miles long on a night like this. But here, upstairs in the Robinson house, the air was steady, thick with heat that clung to skin and fabric alike, as if the house itself was intent on holding its occupants in place until morning.

Glenda shifted carefully onto her back, one pillow still wedged between her knees, the cord of the phone tracing over the quilt like a lazy question mark. Her breathing was slow, the kind that comes from lying still for a long time in a warm room, and every now and then the baby would give a small, deliberate push from the inside, a reminder that she wasn’t alone in her quiet.

Scarlett’s voice carried through the line with its steady cadence, filling the air around Glenda more surely than the radiator’s hiss. “We rehearsed until almost eight,” she was saying. “The strings were perfect by the second run. You’d have loved it—there was this moment, near the end, when everything just… hung. Like the notes stayed in the air a little longer because the hall wanted to keep them.”

Glenda smiled, eyes half-closed. “Sounds like it knew you needed it.”

“Maybe,” Scarlett said softly. “Or maybe I just heard it that way because I’m missing home.”

Glenda rubbed her palm lightly along the curve of her stomach, the movement slow and absent-minded. “Home’s missing you, too. Mama made that big pie this afternoon, the one with the sugared crust. She kept saying you’d appreciate the shine on it.”

Scarlett’s laugh was low and warm, the kind that felt like leaning closer to a fire. “Tell her I’ll take a slice when I get back. Cold or not.”

They fell into a small silence then—not awkward, just the kind that grows when two people can afford to let their breathing sync over a distance. Outside the bedroom door, someone walked up the hall; the faint scent of woodsmoke drifted in when the movement stirred the air. The television downstairs clicked off, and the house seemed to exhale into a deeper quiet.

Scarlett broke it gently. “Walking here tonight… it’s different from home. The streets aren’t empty, but no one’s talking. Just footsteps, coats pulled tight, heads down. Even the shop windows look cold. They’ve got displays—red ribbons, glass ornaments—but you can tell they’ve been there for weeks. Like they were set up in one afternoon and never touched again.”

Glenda pictured it, and a little shiver ran over her, even in the heat. “And you? You walked through all that in your performance coat, didn’t you?”

Scarlett made a small, guilty noise. “Maybe. It’s the only one I packed that doesn’t make me look like I’m hiding under a blanket. But I’m fine. You know me—I walk fast.”

“Mmhmm,” Glenda teased gently. “Fast until you get somewhere you like, then you stay there forever. Like my porch in summer. Or that corner table at Mae’s diner.”

“That’s true.” Scarlett’s tone softened, almost as if she were touching the thought itself. “If I could get that porch here, I’d be on it right now. Even in the cold. I’d just make you sit beside me, wrapped in two blankets, holding your cocoa.”

Glenda’s eyes flickered open, gazing toward the faint golden halo of the lamp on her nightstand. The image made her chest ache in a quiet, pleasant way. “You’d have to keep your hands on me,” she said lightly, “to make sure I didn’t try to get up.”

“You wouldn’t try,” Scarlett replied, sure as stone. “Not if I was there.”

The radiator gave another soft sigh, and outside the wind scraped along the side of the house like an animal pacing. Inside, the room stayed wrapped in its cocoon of warmth and fabric, the air rich with the faint scent of lavender sachet and cocoa from earlier in the evening.

Scarlett spoke again, voice quieter still. “When I finish the set tomorrow night, I’m going to stand on that stage for just a second longer than I should. Not to take the bow—just to see if I can make it feel like tonight. Like I’ve still got you in my ear.”

Glenda let the words settle before answering. “Then I’ll stay up and keep the phone close. Just in case you want to pretend.”

The two of them sat in that imagined space together, one in a quiet bedroom in a house pressed in by winter, the other in a city strung with white lights above ice. The wind could rattle and scrape all it liked; here and there, across all those miles, the warmth was holding.

Downstairs, the front room was steeped in the kind of warmth that came not only from the fire in the grate but from decades of memory embedded in the walls. The Robinson Christmas tree stood in the far corner, tall but slightly leaning, its branches hung with a mix of glittering store-bought ornaments and the kind of handmade paper shapes that had survived many years of careful packing. A string of colored lights looped unevenly from top to bottom, blinking in slow, steady rhythms. Their glow mixed with the flicker from the television, painting the room in shifting reds, greens, and golds.

Lucille sat deep in the sofa cushions, legs tucked under her, her body angled toward the TV like a child’s. It’s a Wonderful Life was in the middle stretch, black-and-white light spilling into her eyes. She’d seen it every Christmas since she was young, and by now, she could recite nearly every line without thinking. And she did—her lips moving along with the actors’, the words slipping out in a half-whisper that matched the cadence of James Stewart’s voice exactly.

The fire crackled, throwing a shifting warmth into the room that sank into her bones. Still, her gaze never wavered. Even after all these years, the film caught her in its grip—every soft swell of music, every luminous close-up. There was something about the way the shadows played across faces in black and white, about the simplicity of the sets and the sincerity of the lines, that reached straight into her, bypassing the cynicism that everyday life sometimes tried to plant. She leaned her cheek into her hand, smiling faintly at George Bailey’s awkward charm, feeling the familiar pinch in her chest when he stood on the bridge in the snow.

Across the room, Mason knelt near the tree, the soft rustle of wrapping paper filling the pauses between dialogue. He was adjusting the angle of a bow on a small package, making sure it sat just right beneath the lower boughs. The floor around him was scattered with ribbons and tape dispensers, a half-empty roll of red foil paper leaning against his shin.

“You know they’re not gonna look this perfect after ten seconds tomorrow morning,” he said without looking up, his voice low so as not to disturb the film’s magic.

Lucille gave the smallest of nods, her eyes still locked on the screen.

Mason smiled to himself, adjusting another gift so its label faced outward. He’d been at it for nearly an hour, fussing over spacing, making sure the larger boxes didn’t crowd the smaller ones, that the handmade tags were all visible. He took a certain quiet satisfaction in the work, knowing that tomorrow morning the living room would be chaos for a while—torn paper, scattered bows, the scent of fresh coffee and cinnamon rolls thick in the air. Lucille’s whisper rose again, just audible over the gentle hum of the radiator.

Outside, the wind pushed against the walls of the house, rattling the storm windows. In here, though, time had a way of slowing. The film rolled on toward its final scene, Mason’s careful movements kept the tree’s corner alive with small bursts of color, and the air smelled faintly of pine from the branches and of the faint ember-tinged sweetness from the fire.

As George Bailey ran through the snowy streets of Bedford Falls on the screen, Lucille mouthed every line, her voice overlapping the actors’ in the softest counterpoint, as if she were part of the film’s world herself. Mason sat back on his heels, surveying his work, and glanced at her for just a moment. The glow from the tree and the television lit her face, and he could see how completely she was in it—how she was, exactly where she wanted to be.

He moved into the hallway and began to climb the stairs, two at a time but with a deliberate, almost floating step, his socked feet making no sound against the carpet runner. The air upstairs was warmer—less touched by the faint drafts that could slip through the downstairs windows—and held the intimate scent of laundry soap, lavender from the sachets Lucille tucked into drawers, and the faint, familiar perfume of the girls’ shampoos drifting from behind closed doors.

As he reached the landing, he slowed, letting the warmth wrap around him fully, his shoulders loosening without his telling them to. The landing light was dimmed to a soft amber, just enough to lay a gentle glow over the doors on either side, the photographs along the wall, the framed school drawings from years gone by.

He turned his head first toward the larger of the two bedrooms—the one Dana and Holly shared. The door was ajar by a finger’s width, enough for him to glimpse the outline of the bunk bed against the far wall. The soft, uneven rhythm of their breathing reached him, a steady, unselfconscious sound. Holly’s quilt was always kicked half off, he knew, and Dana always had hers tucked high under her chin, even in the summer. He imagined them now, in the quiet dreamscapes children drift to without knowing, the glow from the hallway tracing a faint line along the floor inside their room.

Across the landing, Amy and Tracey’s door was closed all but for a narrow slice at the bottom where the light pooled in faintly. He could picture the twin beds in there without seeing them, the way the girls had insisted on swapping headboards last year “just to see if it felt different,” the tangle of stuffed animals on Tracey’s side, the neat little stack of books Amy kept within arm’s reach. Their breathing would be in sync—always had been, even as infants, a kind of unspoken twin language carried into sleep.

Mason stood there in the middle of the landing, the air around him so still he could hear the faint tick of the hallway clock from downstairs. The muffled wind outside seemed impossibly far away now, kept at bay by the thick curtains, the old brick walls, and the small, human sounds of a home at rest.

He let his gaze move slowly from one door to the other, taking in the thought that, for this one night—this single span between the end of Christmas Eve and the bright chaos of morning—everything was exactly as it should be. No one was sick, no one was crying, no one was running late. They were here, all of them, held together under the same roof, warm in their beds with the scent of pine from the tree downstairs still faint in the air.

He stayed there longer than he’d intended, not out of hesitation but because the moment itself seemed worth standing in. His hands rested lightly on the banister, the smooth wood warm from the heat that drifted upward. In the quiet, he could almost feel the house breathing along with its sleeping occupants—slow, steady, content.

When he finally moved again, it was with the same lightness he’d carried up the stairs, a care not to disturb even the air in front of those bedroom doors.

Mason eased the door open with a touch to keep the hinges from creaking, the amber lamplight spilling in a soft arc across the quilt-covered bed. Glenda was propped slightly on her side, one hand under her cheek, the other resting atop the swell of her belly. The room smelled faintly of lavender and cocoa, the curtains drawn tight against the dark outside, the radiator’s slow breath keeping the air comfortably warm.

She smiled when she saw him, the corners of her eyes crinkling in that way that had always meant she was both tired and happy.

“Sorry I couldn’t help out,” she said, her voice carrying the drowsy edge of someone who’d been drifting in and out of sleep. “I was just resting my eyes, and then—suddenly—it was dark outside.”

Mason chuckled as he crossed the room, shedding the last bit of hallway cool from his sweater. “That’s the whole point of resting your eyes, babe. You wake up and it’s later than you thought. Means you did it right.”

He toed off his slippers and slid in beside her, the mattress dipping under his weight. She shifted just enough to make room, her shoulder brushing against his chest. The quiet upstairs was a deep, gentle thing; even the distant tick of the clock downstairs didn’t seem to intrude here.

She tilted her chin toward him, her voice softening. “Would you talk to them? Just for a minute?” Her eyes dropped meaningfully to her belly. “They should hear you tonight.”

Mason’s gaze followed hers, settling on the smooth, round curve between them. He reached out and let his palm rest lightly there, the heat of her skin warm through the cotton of her nightdress. His fingers spread slightly, feeling the subtle firmness, the life under the surface.

He leaned down until his lips were just above the place where his hand lay, and began to speak in a low, warm tone, the kind you use when talking to someone inches from your face.

“Well now,” he murmured, “I know you can’t see me yet, but I’m your dad. And I’ve been waiting to meet you for a long while. Your mama’s been taking real good care of you—better than I ever could. She’s even been drinking more cocoa than usual, so you’ve been spoiled from the start.”

Glenda let out a soft laugh, her fingers idly brushing along his arm.

Mason’s thumb began to trace small, unconscious circles. “It’s Christmas Eve, little one. Your first, though you’re not quite here yet to see it. The tree’s downstairs all lit up, and there’s a spot under it where your very first present is waiting. It’s not wrapped in anything fancy, because, well… you’re not gonna care much about ribbons. But next year—oh, Christmas ‘91—now that’s gonna be a whale of a time.”

Glenda’s eyes softened, and she felt a slight flutter beneath his hand, as if in reply.
“We’ll have you sitting up in your own little chair,” Mason went on, still speaking directly to the curve of her belly. “There’ll be paper everywhere, and I’ll hold you up so you can see the lights. Your mama’ll make you something soft you can gum on while the rest of us eat pie. And there’ll be pictures—oh, we’ll take more pictures than we know what to do with. You’ll be the star of the whole day.”

His voice slowed a little, the words lingering between breaths. “We’ve got a whole year to get ready for that. But for now… you just keep warm, keep growing. Your mama needs you to stay put a little while longer.”

Glenda reached over and smoothed back a strand of his hair, her touch as light as his hand on her belly. “They like you,” she whispered.

“I like them, too,” Mason said simply, finally lifting his head to meet her eyes.

He shifted closer so he could tuck her more securely against him, one arm draped around her shoulders, the other still resting protectively over her middle. The lamplight painted her profile in soft gold, catching the faintest smile on her lips.

Outside, the wind pressed uselessly against the thick curtains, unable to reach the small world they’d built here. Downstairs, the tree lights blinked in steady rhythm, patient for the morning. Upstairs, in this warm, close room, Mason kept his hand over the life they’d made, feeling its small movements beneath his palm, already imagining the sounds and sights of a Christmas yet to come.

And though neither of them said it aloud, both knew they would remember this—this quiet moment between the day’s end and the morning’s beginning—for the rest of their lives.

Christmas Day 1990

In the dim, muffled stillness of early morning, the twin beds in Amy and Tracey’s room sat like two little islands in a sea of quiet. The curtains were drawn, the pale winter light outside still weak, not yet spilling enough brightness to push the shadows back. The air was warm under the covers but cool on the tip of the nose, the sort of warmth that made you want to burrow down deep and stay there—except for the fact that it was Christmas morning.

Amy’s eyes fluttered open first. For a moment she lay very still, listening. She could hear the faint ticking of the hallway clock beyond their closed door, the soft hum of the house as the radiators worked, and—just barely—the wind outside shifting in the eaves. But no footsteps, no voices, no clatter from the kitchen.

She turned her head on the pillow and looked across the small gap between the beds. Tracey’s outline was just visible under the covers, her hair a darker spill against the pillowcase. Amy whispered, barely more than breath.

“Tracey?”

There was a tiny rustle, a shift of blankets. “Mm?” Tracey’s voice was thick with sleep, but she turned her head toward her sister.

“Is it too early?” Amy asked, her eyes wide even though the room was still dim.

Tracey blinked, then let out a small yawn. “I dunno.” She turned to look toward the curtained window as if that might hold the answer. “It’s not light all the way.”

Amy wriggled her toes inside her socks. “I’m not sleepy anymore.”

Tracey rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand. “Me neither.”

They stared at each other for a few seconds, the unspoken thrill of the day starting to spark between them. Amy whispered again, a little louder this time. “You think they’re up?”

Tracey scrunched her nose. “I think… maybe not yet.”

Amy pushed her blanket down just enough to see her own hands. “We could go see,” she suggested, though she didn’t move yet. The warmth of the bed was strong, but the thought of what might be waiting under the tree was even stronger.

“What if we’re not s’posed to?” Tracey asked, her voice still low but carrying the faint edge of excitement.

Amy shrugged, a tiny movement under her quilt. “We could just… peek. Quiet.”

Tracey smiled in the half-light, the curve of it quick and mischievous. “Just peek.”

The two of them lay there for another moment, grinning in the way only five-year-olds can when they know something wonderful is waiting just beyond the edge of the morning. Their legs twitched under the covers, as if their bodies were already impatient to move even though they hadn’t decided to yet.

Amy whispered, “Do you think Santa came?”

Tracey rolled onto her side, facing her sister fully now. “’Course he did. I heard… I think I heard somethin’ last night. Like… like the tree makin’ a noise.”

Amy’s eyes grew even rounder. “Was it him?”

“Might be.” Tracey nodded, very serious for a moment, though her mouth twitched with a smile. “Maybe the reindeer, too.”

The excitement between them built like a small current, their words spilling out faster now, each whisper adding to the glow that seemed to be filling the room from the inside out.

Amy pushed her blanket all the way down to her waist. “I can’t wait.”

Tracey kicked at her own covers, the sound of sheets rustling loud in the quiet. “Me neither.”

They looked toward the door again, then back at each other, caught between the comfort of their beds and the pull of the day waiting outside them. And in that moment—before they had even set foot on the floor—the joy of Christmas morning had already begun.

Amy led the way, her socked feet making no sound at all on the warm hallway carpet. Tracey kept close behind, glancing once toward the stairs before following her sister’s determined steps to the door at the far end. Dana and Holly’s bedroom was dark except for the faint grey seep of winter light sneaking around the edges of the curtains. Amy curled her fingers around the doorknob, turning it slowly, and the latch gave the smallest click as it opened.

They slipped inside like two small shadows, the air warmer here from the extra blankets piled on both beds. Dana was a quiet lump under her covers, her breathing slow and even. Holly, closest to the door, stirred at the whisper of movement, eyes blinking open just enough to register the shapes of her younger sisters in the doorway. She gave a tiny squint, then, without a word, pulled her quilt higher until it covered everything but the crown of her head.

Amy and Tracey exchanged a glance, their excitement undimmed by Holly’s lack of interest. Moving together in a little huddle, they padded over to the window and tugged the curtain aside just enough to peer out.

The cold light from outside slid in, silvering their faces and making their breath visible for the briefest moment against the chilled glass. They pressed close, their shoulders touching, gazes scanning the yard, the street, the fields beyond. And there it was—the disappointment—creeping in before either of them spoke.

The world outside was quiet and still, but it wasn’t white. Only a dusting of frost clung to the grass and rooftops, thin and patchy, like someone had begun to paint winter and then stopped halfway through. The road was bare. The branches were bare. It was the kind of morning where you could almost pretend it had snowed if you squinted hard enough, but the truth was plain.

Amy’s face crumpled into a small pout, her lower lip sticking out just so, her breath fogging the glass. “It’s not snowing.”

Tracey’s eyes swept the horizon one last time, as if she might catch a flake falling somewhere far off, but the air remained still. “No,” she said finally, her voice quieter now, tinged with the faint sigh of resignation only a child expecting magic can give.

They stayed there another moment, their tiny reflections watching them from the glass—two girls in pajamas, hair rumpled from sleep, still holding tight to each other’s warmth—while the world beyond refused to change just for them.

Tracey’s breath left a soft circle on the glass before fading, her forehead still resting lightly against it. Amy’s pout stayed fixed in place, her small hands gripping the edge of the curtain as if she could pull the weather into doing what she wanted. For a long moment, neither said anything. The quiet felt bigger here at the window, like the whole house was holding its breath.

Finally, Amy whispered, “Do you think Santa still comes if there’s no snow?”

Tracey turned her head, the faintest crease between her brows. “’Course he does.”

“But…” Amy’s eyes slid back to the frost-dusted lawn. “It just… it feels more… Christmas-y with snow. Like in the pictures.”

Tracey considered this, the earnest weight of the question making her lips press together before she answered. “Santa’s magic doesn’t need snow. He can go anywhere.” She nodded once, decisive, as though this ended the matter.

Amy tilted her head. “Even… to places that don’t get snow at all?”

“Yeah. Like… like Australia.” Tracey’s voice gained a little confidence now, her shoulders straightening. “They have Christmas in the summer there, and he still goes.”

Amy blinked, clearly trying to picture it—Santa in bright sunlight, maybe in short sleeves—and then frowned again. “It’s still better with snow.”

They stood there another few seconds, eyes scanning for any last-minute miracle flake drifting down. But the air remained stubbornly clear, pale and still. Amy’s pout deepened. Tracey’s frown softened, and she nudged her sister gently with her elbow.

“Maybe we should check downstairs,” she suggested, voice dropping lower, conspiratorial now. “See if he came anyway.”

Amy’s eyes lit a little at that. “We can’t wake anyone.”

“We won’t.” Tracey’s tone was matter-of-fact. “We’ll be quiet. Like mice.”

Amy glanced toward the door, then back at the faintly glittering frost outside. “Okay,” she said finally, a little grin starting to tug at her lips. “Quiet like mice.”

They let the curtain fall back into place and turned away from the window, the thin slice of cold light vanishing from their faces. In the corner, Holly gave the smallest groan and rolled onto her other side, pulling the quilt with her, clearly uninterested in their scheming.

The twins didn’t mind. Their excitement was building again, the disappointment about the snow already fading into the thrill of what might be waiting under the tree. They tiptoed to the door together, hands brushing once before they slipped out into the dim hallway, ready to start their silent, secret descent.

The bedroom was still warm with the heat that had settled in overnight, the air heavy with the scent of lavender from the sachet on Glenda’s dresser and the faint hint of pine drifting up from the tree downstairs. Glenda had been half-dozing when she heard it—a series of uneven, careful steps in the hallway outside, the sound of socks sliding just a little on the carpet. It wasn’t the sure, even tread of one of the older girls; this was lighter, halting, accompanied by a faint whisper or two that faded when she tilted her head to listen.

She turned toward Mason, who was sitting on the edge of the bed pulling on his robe, and cupped one hand around her mouth like she was telling him a state secret.

“There’s at least two of ‘em wandering around,” she murmured, her voice laced with the smallest smile. “Good luck.”

He glanced over his shoulder at her, an amused glint in his eyes, then leaned down to brush a soft kiss over her lips. “I’ll see if I can corral them, then,” he said, already rising.

Glenda shook her head lightly, the motion slow, her hair shifting against the pillow. “Don’t wait up for me,” she replied, her voice still warm with drowsiness. “I’ll be along, but you have your fun.”

Mason grinned, tightening the belt of his robe before slipping quietly toward the door. The hallway beyond was dim, the light from the landing casting a faint glow across the carpet. From somewhere just beyond the top of the stairs came the hushed, stifled sound of small voices, tangled together in excitement.

He paused, listening. The voices stopped. Then came the soft pad of little feet starting their descent—too slow to be running, too fast to be truly sneaky. Each step was a careful placement, followed by a moment’s pause as if they were checking whether they’d been caught. The old wood beneath the carpet gave the smallest sigh with each press of weight.

Amy and Tracey were trying their best to be subtle. They leaned into the banister as they went, their heads ducked instinctively, hair falling forward like curtains to hide their faces from any imagined eyes. Amy took the lead, her small toes peeking over the edge of each step before committing to the next. Tracey followed close enough that the hem of her pajama top brushed Amy’s back now and then.

Every few steps, one of them would glance over her shoulder, eyes wide and conspiratorial, making sure no grown-up shadows moved in the hallway behind them. Their hands brushed against the spindles of the banister, fingertips dragging just enough to feel the cool wood without making a sound. The excitement between them was a pulse neither could slow—each step down felt like another heartbeat closer to the magic waiting below.

From his place at the hallway’s edge, Mason watched them for a moment without speaking, their small shapes haloed by the dim morning light filtering in from the window above the front door. They were intent on their mission, whispering in bursts too soft for him to make out, their socked feet making a rhythm on the carpeted stairs—pad, pause, pad, pause—as if the steps themselves were part of the ritual of Christmas morning.

He let them get two-thirds of the way down before moving, his own feet silent on the carpet as he followed. The twins hadn’t noticed yet; they were too busy craning their necks toward the shadowed living room below, straining for the first glimpse of the tree and the heap of gifts beneath it.

When Tracey’s toes reached the last few steps, the faintest sound of paper rustling floated up from the front room—maybe a shift in the pile of presents, maybe just the tree lights warming slightly with the day. Whatever it was, both girls froze mid-step, heads tilting in perfect unison. Then Amy gave the tiniest nod, and they continued, the thrill undiminished by the small delay.

From behind, Mason could see the way their shoulders trembled with contained energy, their bodies almost vibrating with the effort of keeping quiet when every part of them wanted to run.

Downstairs, the faint scent of the pine tree was stronger now, mingling with the cool trace of night air that lingered near the door. The living room was still cloaked in the soft half-dark of early morning, the colored lights blinking in their slow, patient pattern, waiting for the day to begin.

And on the stairs, two small pairs of feet kept moving toward it, carrying all the giddy anticipation in the world.

Stepping into the hallway, he glanced and noticed the shaft of light spilling through Dana’s cautiously ajar door. Approaching then whispering. “I’ll assume you’re all awake now.” A giggle as the 9 year old then appeared in the doorway, her hands behind her back. He dramatically turned, further heightening her laughter. “Last minute preparations. Right, I’ll throw some confetti and they’ll think it’s snowing indoors.”

Glenda pushed herself to her feet, rolling her shoulders slowly as she exhaled. Getting to her feet as she moved across the room, then back to the bed. A smile as she took delight in the drifting voices’ snippets of conversation, the laughter and excitable exclamations also heartened her.

With Dana following closely behind, Mason approached the trio at the window, Holly leaning over her sisters as she couldn’t see their reported snowflakes. A glance, she beamed then dashed across the room leaving everyone bewildered. Returning with an eager but moderated pace. She held up the flat square neatly wrapped in bright paper. As she presented it to her dad, she exclaimed. “Happy Christmas daddy!” With a smile he replied and placed a firm grasp on it, she reassured relinquished her hold. “Thank you. You definitely kept this one safe. Well hidden too.”

He glanced to the girls then back to her, adopting a playfully serious tone. “Do they know what it is?” Holly shook her head. “Then I’ll keep them in suspense.” He resisted the temptation to smile, seeing their various expressions, he held the pause for a moment. “For not much longer.”

Easing the paper off the flat surface, his smile was immediate. Even the narrow sight was a confirming clue. Setting the paper aside atop the window seat. He turned the record sleeve to show the girls. “Just imagine your mom and I when we were kids, teenagers. So, we’re still living here in Huntsville but we want to go see Beverly and she’s doing a one off show in Chicago. Glad someone remembered to record it, this stuff is historic.” A pause he relived the time, indulging in the renewed excitement briefly. An affectionate imitation of Glenda’s accent. “Honey, I’ll get us there and you’ll get us back.”

Realizing that the audience wouldn’t understand, he casually elaborated. “How I learned to drive, girls. Plenty of open roads and no traffic. So you’d be passing on a great opportunity not to do it.” A laugh followed by a feigned stern tone. “That was a long time ago, 1979. None of you need to do it that way. The track is more than fine.”

A ripple of giggling among the group they each thrust a hand forward, Mason theatrically swept his hands over theirs then held still as they arranged themselves on either side, Amy and Tracey aligning as their smiles brightened.

In the kitchen, Lucille leaned against the counter. A smile as she let her gaze linger on the individualized places she’d arranged around the festive cups. Cards with each householder’s name nearly printed. The heated flasks on the end of the counter waiting to be put to use. The bowls of sweet toppings located within reach also.

The family gathered around the kitchen table, a row of greeting cards from friends and family adorning the mantle, successive additions heightening the bonhomie. Holly held up one with a small frown, confusion rather then unhappiness. “I can’t read this one.” A gentle smile as Glenda leaned over and looked it over. A shift in her own expression. “Mama, could you?” Passing the card to Lucille, the older woman peered at it then offered a smile. “It’s from your grandfather.” A jovial tsk as she whispered. “And his handwriting still is the same. I’ll ask Phoebe if she can translate.” The children didn’t notice the look exchanged by mother and daughter.

Lucille turned the dial as the static continued to pour from the radio speakers. A stream of Spanish dialogue began to grow clearer, a triumphant grin as she glanced to the others then nodded to Glenda. A smile of her own, Glenda began a running translation. “It’ll pick up soon, expect the coming days especially to bring very heavy snowfall.” The chorus of voices of the children overlapped one another.

Lucille leaned over to Mason as she whispered. “Whenever the guards would ask myself and Tadgh what we were up to, he’d say we were coming from midnight mass.” Stifling her laughter, he displayed a smile, she resumed. “Worked almost every time, must’ve been the way he said it, aye?” A nod from Mason as he then glanced to the still chattering girls.

Glenda waited for a lull then addressed the group. “So, we might get snowed in after all.” A pause she then added, a straight face that nearly convinced them all. “Course a hair dryer works wonders but you need to give it time, and don’t forget the long lead.”

The group departed for the short walk to the parish church with a buffer of time, as expected the youngest children slowed the progress with their fascination on how the snow effected almost every surface. Bouncing on their heels as the fresh snow crunched under their feet, to the glistening streaks across windowpanes and the fence posts.

At the church, Glenda sat on an aside bench, a light laugh as she watched the girls filing in formation, the eldest to the youngest as if practiced. Reaching across as she lightly grasped Mason’s hand and squeezed. “Seems like the ambiance is keeping themselves calm for now.” He gave a knowing nod.

The Mass proceeded as Glenda remained seated unlike the rest of the congregation and their dutiful following of the communal instructions. A light closing of her eyes as she tilted her head. A low murmur as she felt her baby rousing. At the conclusion, Veronika and Dana stood aside as they shepherded their sisters to the manger display. Lucile cast a glance towards the remaining pair then followed her granddaughters.

The couple sat together, her head resting on his shoulder. Contentment as she softly whispered. “Mason.” He lightly grasped her hand in acknowledgement. “What do you think we’d be like as grandparents?” A low laugh as she shook her head. “I’m beyond broody, now I’m wondering about future generations.” He smiled and slowly caressed the back of her hand with his thumb. “The way they look at Luce, I’ve pictured someone doing that with you too one day.” A light nudge, she lifted her head. “I already know you’re my biggest fan.” The pair basked in one another’s smile. “Now how about you?”

He rolled his shoulders, a thoughtful look lingered. Her curiosity rose as she remained silent, exerting herself. “Blessed, it’s a real sweet word. But you don’t just ‘get’ your lot in life, you receive and then you gotta work with it. I’m not going to just take my own word for it, I’ve got you too and the little ladies. But being a grandparent, man it’s a step removed. I won’t be there for ‘em all the time, who knows how old I’ll be by then.”

She hugged him firmly as she kissed his cheek. “One of the first stories I want to tell our grand-kids is the time my lovely husband surprised me with a trip to ‘Young country’, as a belated honeymoon.” A giggle she then clamped her hand lightly over her mouth. “That you put it all together by yourself, kept me in the dark in the best way. You’re a heartfelt genius.” Another quick kiss, she beamed as she whispered in a sweet timbre. “Well, I dreamed I saw the knights in armor coming. Sayin' something about a queen.”

At the centrepiece while the group gathered around in awe, Lucille leaned down, loosely throwing her arms around them as she whispered with a tender smile. “Let’s give your mam and dad a few minutes, girls.”

Walking outside the church still wrapped in Mason’s embrace, Glenda’s smile shimmered. A glance around him as she frowned, her smile resumed as she gently moved away from him and rushed the brief distance to meet Karen. The older woman embraced her with a blossoming smile of her own. “I came by the house first but seemed no one was there and then I knew where to look next.” A playful look as she whispered. “Catholics are mercifully brief, it’s so cold out here.” Glenda beamed as she hugged her again. “Can you stay long?” Karen shook her head. Undeterred, Glenda’s smile remained bright.

Arriving home as Dana expended her facts about ‘Russian Christmas’, Karen cooed and bent down to her level. “And you’re a little genius who’ll grow up to be a big one.” An aside look as she whispered. “Just like mama and grandma.” Placing her finger to her own cheek. Dana gave a nod of approval. Giving a peck on the girl’s cheek. Behind them Tracey and Amy giggled as they recreated the pair’s pose.

Karen turned her gaze towards them, waiting for Tracey to take notice she then shot a faux glare. The young girl giggled as she backed up, quickening her pace as Karen approached her. Turning on her heels and ‘fleeing’ Tracey easily outpaced her pursuer. As Karen chased her she called. “Amy! Come on, help me.” The blonde thought for a moment before giggling and rushing in the opposite direction. Mason and Lucille guided the others towards the front door as Glenda called through her laughter. “Try and send them back this way Karen.”

Her hands lightly resting on the girls’ shoulders as she guided them inside, Glenda smiled softly as the girls took off their winter coats. An aside look towards the other rooms, noticing an absence she didn’t think too long on it. Passing by the front room, the twins bounded inside. Glenda then walked to the kitchen, noticing Mason by himself. She frowned and did consider more. Inspecting the cupboards contents, he broke his focus, turned to her and gestured overheard “Urgent and secret meeting.”

A nod, Glenda moved to the nearest seat, a renewed smile as admired him as he returned to gathering up implements, arranging them across the counter. “27 ain’t too old for a career change.” He glanced back to her then laughed. “So garage during the day and fine dining at night, I think I could just about manage that.” She batted her hand as she hummed. “Put me down for maitre d.” He flashed a thumbs up. “Like you read my mind.”

The sound of rushing feet upstairs caught their attention, stepping out into the hallway. Lucille quietly descended from upstairs, as she passed she whispered. “She’s in great form, maybe a touch overexcited but ah that’s so cute.” Moving with greater haste, Lucille stood aside with the pair. The quick footsteps sounded again, Veronika's head appeared as she looked out from around the corner.

A wave from Lucile, the girl took the encouragement and swung out onto the landing then down the stairs. Her dress swooshed behind her as she bounded, The blur came to a halt before her elder relatives and gazed up, wide eyes seeking their commentary, Applause initiated by Mason and Glenda was accepted gleefully. “Did you make it yourself?” A squeak of excitement as the girl clasped her hands tightly, her uncle’s question only spurring greater excitement. “No!” A pause, she gathered herself, a quick twirl she then continued. “Daddy bought it for me.” Glenda smiled as she cooed. “Go and show your sisters too Roni.”

In the front room, the family gathered around the television set. The children sitting on the floor, absorbed by the seasonal cartoons as Lucille propped herself on her elbow, a caring look over her granddaughters. Glenda lay on the couch, sprawled across Mason. “You’ll never get tired of seeing these will you mama?” A laugh followed by a low whisper. “Never.”

Sensing the right interim. Lucille signalled to Mason. He gave a shrug, Glenda slowly looked between the two. “Fine, that’s fine. I know what to do.” She moved to sit up, placing her feet on the ground then gently nudged her husband with a smile. “Go on then, both of you.” Once the pair had left, Glenda peered over the gaggle and waited for the screen to switch to commercials before she announced.

From the kitchen as Mason and Lucille tended to their tasks, either displayed their own smile while listening to the rustling paper and varied exclamations. Lucille laughed softly, a thought occurred to her but the moment more spent on considering it convinced her not to say it aloud.

Mason applied the finishing touches to the table, Lucille waked through to the front room, kneeling down by her suitcase. She retrieved the package, clutched it loosely then sat beside Glenda and handed it to her. Resting her hand lightly on the other woman’s bump, she sweetly cooed. “So you don’t feel left out my dear.” Glenda unwrapped the gift. Revealing a hint of the contents, she paused, dabbing at her eyes but to little effect. Passing it to Lucille, her whispering voice creaked. “Sorry.” Lucille embraced her as she set the knitted outfit aside. “Glenda, you wouldn’t believe what made me weepy when I was expecting with you.”

A thin smile appeared as she nodded. Dana’s presence noticed, the young blonde standing with a concerned but bewildered frown. Lucille took her hand and gently patted with her other. “Dana you’re so good, but mama is just having an emotional moment, it happens sometimes during pregnancy.” Glenda whispered as she offered a smile. “Why don’t you help the girls find their places?”

As the girls trooped past, Lucille and Glenda remained sitting. Leaning over she pecked her mother’s cheek. “An outfit is a lovely gift.” A soft hum as Lucille trailed off. “Actually…” Glenda wiped away her tears, a lingering curious look she then took hold of the package and resumed unwrapping it. Laying out the seasonal outfits; from winter through to winter again. “Mama.” Lucille glowed with delight as she whispered. “I know how fast your babies grow, so it may be a touch on the large side but baggy is good in the cooler months.”

The world’s newest nation Kurdistan was in dispute still, from lack of agreement among other nations to claims of neutrality. Iraq’s efforts to reverse it’s declaration were met with intense resistance by Kurdish rebels backed by a share of Soviet firepower. Within the nation’s borders, light artillery and ground troops were relied upon. Outside it, from above rapid paced jets strafed ground targets mercilessly.

January 3rd 1991

Lucille found the marital bed that was not her own to be uncomfortable but continued to resist the urges to change it, the sheets at least could be temporarily replaced, it was hers for the time being. She awoke before dawn, a pattern had formed. Just in time to hear the bird chorus, a pleasing soundtrack to her personal preparations. The radio sufficed for her tasks to get the girls ready for the day ahead.

Keeping the volume low as she slung the broadcaster around her waist. She prepared the girls’ breakfasts followed by their lunches, the announcer relayed an update on the growing movement to boycott the forthcoming Philadelphia/New York City Olympics. The relative quiet of the house wasn’t unnerving rather it tried her patience. She always leaned against the counter, sipping from the cup of tea as she heard the girls’ footsteps overhead.

Dana was a prime example of independence, she was firm in her argument that she would still walk herself to and from school. Holly likely felt she was keeping Lucille company, and the twins weren’t yet to be trusted the distance to their own school. Mentioning too many distractions on the way only amused them.

The commuting for Tracey’s afternoon ballet lessons had been pre-arranged, a classmate’s father would see to it. It did leave Lucille to schedule her shopping around also taking care of Amy, sans her partner the girl was less agreeable. Glenda had described her as dragging her feet when attempting to go store to store, prolonging the experience. Yet Lucille wasn’t afraid of a challenge, she also assured herself that Veronika would leap at the chance to babysit.

The ‘zen garden’ had been installed by order of the hospital director after a visit to Japan. Her zeal for Eastern mysticism was chalked up as being just that, she chose not to explain her reasons. It made an unusual feature in Northern Alabama, also a memorable one. Somewhere that the patients found solace in. During the difficult periods of being alone, between checking in and going into labour, the hours weighted down upon bodies and minds.

Glenda was enthralled by the exotic flowers, disappointed upon learning they were fake. Just ornaments. Then rebounding as she reappraised it to be like a photo or painting, hands had created and crafted the items. There was something special to it after all. By the arrangement was her favourite place, she’d bundle herself up in her coat. Walk briskly, with purpose. Then sit and think, the world always kept turning, but she could compose herself. Even for a few moments.

In her room it was anything but her’s. A thin curtain did little to block out the invasiveness of sharing a space during her waking and sleeping hours. The bustle of nurses coming and going, the other patients’ chatter to their complaints. It was all noise. It irked her, scratching at her senses with persistence. In the garden she could feel the chill breeze brush her skin, the faint trickle from the circulating flow of the water feature.

Her hands clasped by Amy and Tracey on either side of her, Lucille glanced between them, a smile despite her internal tension. “Excited to see your big sisters again?” A curious look followed by playful giggling that did lighten her mood, briefly and slightly. “We see them everyday.” A nod as Lucille replied. “True Amy, but it’s wonderful you can, isn’t it?” She willed that the news wouldn’t have filtered through to the grade schoolers or been spread by one of their number. The latter likely to be some horrific distortion.

The truth, that state legislatures were scrambling to maintain the National Guard’s presence exclusively in their own States as they anticipated public unrest, both planned and spontaneous events could be the trigger. It was too complicated for the young to fully grasp. They would only understand that their mother, father, brother, sister, any relative could be called up and perhaps never seen again. The newscaster had described the scene as acrimony akin to the insurgency, cautiously adding, even the civil war. Fraught arguments had replaced debate, the closing stages were seeing fraying at almost every level.

Arriving at the school entrance, she bent down and embraced the girls, shutting her eyes for a moment as their laughter and returned embraces further dragged her spirits upwards. “My girls, you’re all so wonderful.”

January 8th

In the maternity hospital’s small garden Glenda’s serenity was disturbed by chatter nearby, an argument that didn’t interest her still her head turned. Seeing the nurse walk away and the teen swiftly raise both middle fingers as she mouthed a sharply worded ‘Fuck you’ towards the nurse’s back. Glenda pursed her lips, trying to hide her smile. Amusement about the situation rather then at the girl. ‘I can take her’, she thought to herself. Doubting it’d come to it, the teen was heavily pregnant all the more noticeable on her small frame. She managed to fix a neutral expression as the dark haired girl made her way over.

Addison eyed up the other woman for a long moment. Deeming her harmless she sat at the far end of the bench. “They think it’s a prison or what?” A shrug as Glenda replied with a soft tone, resuming her close observation of her companion. “I take it she told you to swap your shirt for something else.” A pause she leaned closer, the girl followed suit. “By the by, death is misspelled.”

The eye roll had been expected, Glenda countered with a playful tut. “Don’t be like that, it’s the kind of joke my mama would make.” Addison remained attentive, Glenda shuffled closer. “I get why so many heavy metal bands use acronyms, means the old folks will pronounce it like a word and they won’t think what FTA means.” A snicker from Addison, after a moment she then posed her query. “You’re not one of the old folks then?” “Not yet. Honey.” A smile shared by the two, Glenda continued “I can’t fit in any of ‘em now, but I’ve got some great shirts. I wear ‘em to bring my daughters to school, going to the store. People are very used to me now so they don’t care.”

Addison’s lingering curious look prompted her to elaborate, attempting to describe by miming. “Remember that Coven album, ‘Fallen Idol’. With the skull in a storm cloud.” A nod from Addison, Glenda winked. “That one is my favourite.” A roll of her eyes as she then leaned towards her. “Still no one interesting comes here, back when I was younger it was worse, Florida was the closest you could find our kind of music.”

A few moments later Glenda’s sudden laughter drew Addison closer still. H er intrigue further heightened, she reached out and loosely grasped her arm. Glenda’s mirth subsided as she whispered “Sorry, my emotions are all over the place. I was just thinking of when Scarlett and I were younger and we were carrying gas masks in our backpacks. And the cop asked what’s this for?” A briefer laugh she grinned as she delivered the punchline. “Flag burning.”

“That head nurse is such a screw. Thinks she can confiscate my stuff like I’m still in school.” A pause, the then then bluntly added. “I’m out, I ain’t going back.” Glenda lightly patted her arm. “I was younger than you are when I left.” A wide grin sprung to Addison’s lips, her tone also inflected. “Oh I like you a lot.”

Her back to the room and her focus on the stove top, Lucille detected the presence behind her. Lingering in the doorway, Tracey’s big eyes looked up to her. A turn and an inviting smile, Lucille had to bend down to her level remaining by the bubbling pot. “Yes munchkin?” Tracey beamed but remained quiet, Lucille glanced aside. “Can I show you what I learned today?” A beaming smile as Lucille nodded and clasped her hands. “Yes. Outside, in a few minutes. Go back to your sisters and I’ll let you know.” Lucille hesitated to continue, Tracey skipped away with a departing response “Okay gran.”

In the backyard, Lucille sat on the porch as she watched Tracey going through her new routine, the girl muttering the instructions to herself as she swept her leg back and forth, extending it as she raised her arm. Striking a pose and holding it, her eager expression prompted Lucille’s applause and Tracey’s biggest smile.

Addison quickened her pace the best she could, parking herself on the bench beside Glenda. A heaviness to her body language, she attempted levity as she playfully scrutinized the bag on her friend’s lap. “Nice.” Hastily adding, absent her playfulness. “But you gotta tell me…is this bad?” Thrusting the newspaper at Glenda.

She took it from her friend and unfolded it. A grimace as she inspected the headline. “This isn’t brand new information honey, but that it’s happening isn’t a good sign. It’s the Soviet’s backyard so if they didn’t engage too whoever was in charge would be out on their ass pronto.” She glanced over the paper as she folded it then gently spoke. “Addison?” A stiff nod as the teen exhaled deeply. “Yeah.”

A heavy silence loomed, Glenda didn’t break nor test it. “Obviously I didn’t...meet him last week, but he told me that he was coming through town because he was heading to California to report for duty. I don’t know if he was bullshitting. But he was a real charmer.” A dark glare as she then spat. “And those Klan fuckers were always lurkin’ around. Think he knew that so it’s why he split.” Glenda grasped her hand, Addison stiffened but continued. “My town ain’t nice like here, it’s infested.” Glenda offered an understanding nod.

Only then speaking as Addison’s expression asked her to. “My husband is wonderful, Minerva his mother.” A tense clenching of her jaw. “She is vile, dead and gone now. But hearing someone howl ‘papist whore’ behind my back. Just keep going, don’t react, I can’t even turn around.” Addison leaned against her friend, embracing her, Glenda returned it as her hands rested against her back, trembling.

“Mason described her as a cunt. And even that was too kind. She was a Klan leader, she directed them. Had her sights set on Jack as her successor but he ‘ruined’ that. She didn’t care much for Mason, though she accepted him as her alternative. She didn’t want ‘idiot children’ to expose her secret life. She knew how to disguise herself in everyday life, a lotta people really were surprised when they found out, I mean I believe ‘em.

When he married me, she cracked. Wearing that ridiculous outfit in public. Screaming at passers-by, seeking out fights and backing down. Minerva was an immigrant herself. But she thought, hate everyone else more then they herself and her being Greek would be quickly forgotten.”

A comfortable silence fell between the pair, a short time later Addison nudged the plastic bag. “So what’d your folks smuggle in for you?” A giggle as Glenda opened it and displayed the contents. “Obviously there’s a lot I can’t have, but pecans have always been a favourite of mine. And my gran adapted some recipes from the old country just for me.” Addison’s frown lingered, amazement also in her tone. “You have a grandmother?” Glenda replied in a casual tone, a telling but fleeting smile. “Don’t most people?” Addison waved her hand as she exclaimed. “No, I mean a living one. She’s gotta be like…”

Trailing off, the teen giggled as she poked her tongue as she feigned deep thought, counting off on her fingers. “Mama Glenda, Mama Lucille and Grandmama.” A warm laugh as Glenda tutted. “Only mama Lucille. Mary-Katherine or Gran and I get our own titles. Mine’s mammy. You can’t have all three of us thinking she’s the one you’re talking to.”

January 13th

The holding pattern was advancing, flights in neighbouring countries had been cancelled. The air war was continually escalating. Lucille anticipated coverage would blanket every station. Her counter programming was left to the girls’ discretion, she anticipated with a blank cheque they’d know what they wanted, their number too would encourage agreement, suggestions. She glanced over the shelves and kept tabs on the wandering girls.

Overhead one of the soundless screens displayed Senator Montgomery addressing a large crowd. Even without the accompanying audio her expressions, her gestures were stirring. She knew the girl better then most. As Monty was someone Phoebe was fond of Lucille had met the young Texan in person, briefly. She mostly ignored it, tomorrow morning she would catch up.

It started with a quiet suggestion and ended in what the nurse later called “a very polite uprising.” As soon as it became clear that both Glenda and Addison were in labor at the same time, just down the hall from one another, Glenda asked if they could be placed together in a shared room once the babies were born. She asked it softly, like she always did, with a kind of steady authority that felt less like a request and more like the natural order of things. The nurse had nodded, clearly uncertain, muttered something about policy, and disappeared down the corridor.

Addison, less patient and far more direct, brought it up again during her admittance paperwork. Her voice, still heavy with the clipped edges of southern Alabama, was sharp and clear: I want to be with her. When the attending nurse shook her head and explained that minors usually weren’t roomed with adult patients, Addison didn’t argue—she just went quiet. And in Addison’s case, quiet was far more dangerous than loud.

Glenda knew what was happening before anyone had to say a word. She had already learned how Addison navigated discomfort: not with tantrums or emotional outbursts, but with cold walls and distance. She wasn’t afraid of being alone—she was used to it—but Glenda also knew that isolation was exactly the wrong medicine in the wake of childbirth, especially for someone who had spent much of her life being left out or dismissed.

By the time a nurse returned to explain that Addison had been assigned to a separate postnatal room, Glenda sat up straighter in her bed, her newborn Jessasleep against her chest, and asked to speak to the supervisor. Not angrily. Not loudly. But firmly—with the kind of calm insistence that didn’t invite refusal.

The hospital had its policies, yes, but it also had no precedent for a woman like Glenda Robinson. She didn’t argue in circles or waste time with emotional appeals. She made her case with the grace of someone who had been handling difficult people since childhood: she explained that Addison had no family present, that the two of them had formed a familial bond, that her own daughter would be more comfortable sharing space with someone familiar, and that under no circumstances was she going to lie back and pretend they were strangers.

She never raised her voice. She didn’t have to.

Addison, in her own room down the hallway, was simmering—arms crossed over her hospital blanket, teeth clenched. When the orderly came in and explained that there had been a change and she’d be moved into Room 207 with Glenda, she barely reacted. Just nodded once, got up, and followed.

When the door opened and she stepped in, Glenda was sitting upright, one arm curled protectively around Jess, who was swaddled and blinking at the light. A second bassinet waited beside the bed, empty but ready. Addison exhaled like she’d been holding her breath for days. She didn’t thank Glenda outright. She didn’t need to. The look they shared said it all: I’ve got you. We’re in this together.

Over the next two days, Room 207 became something unusual—not quite a nursery, not quite a home, but a space suspended between the two. The nurses learned quickly not to question why Glenda kept an extra chair pulled beside Addison’s bed, or why Addison would instinctively check Jess’s swaddle if Glenda stepped out to the bathroom. The girls—Jessand Toyah—were tiny anchors in that room, reminders of how unpredictable the world could be, but also how it could be shaped, even momentarily, into something good.

In the quiet hours of the night, while the rest of the floor murmured and dozed, the two women spoke in half-whispers about what would come next. Addison, guarded as ever, revealed only fragments—fears about school, uncertainty about money, wariness toward the child welfare system. Glenda never pressed, never assumed. She only offered what she could: her presence, her honesty, the truth that motherhood wasn’t a test of perfection but of persistence.

By the time they were discharged, the staff had adjusted. They’d stopped calling Addison “Miss Perkins” and started referring to her simply as “Glenda’s friend.” There was no paperwork, no official designation—but everyone understood by the end that these two weren’t strangers anymore. They were kin in the oldest, most sacred way: by choice, through labor, in the moment when life demanded more from them than either expected.

And though they’d go home to different spaces, they left as family. Room 207 became part of their shared story, the place where Addison’s walls first cracked just enough to let someone else in, and where Glenda once again proved that love—stubborn, unglamorous, unwavering—could reshape policy, expectation, and the future alike.

The fluorescent lights of the Huntsville maternity ward gave everything a washed-out, brittle look, like the world had been bleached and scrubbed too hard. It was early afternoon, a lull in the day shift. Glenda was resting in her bed, her newborn daughter Jessswaddled beside her, pink and blinking and unimpressed by the world. In the second bed of Room 207, Addison perched stiffly, her legs swinging nervously over the edge, one arm curled protectively around her own daughter, Toyah, who lay in the bassinet beside her. Addison’s sneakers—muddy and well-worn—sat beneath the bed, toes still pointing to the door.

A nurse entered the room, clipboard in hand, crisp blue scrubs rustling like paper. Her name tag read Carolynn, and she was polite in the sharp, professional way that often passed for kindness in clinical settings. She was in her forties, with strawberry-blonde hair scraped into a bun and a voice pitched to a customer-service lilt.

"Alright, Addison," she said with a bright smile. "Let’s go over your discharge papers. I just need to confirm a few things, sugar."

Addison blinked slowly, eyes narrowed under the tangle of curls that had slipped from her headscarf. She’d been suspicious of Carolynn from the jump—too chirpy, too careful in how she spoke. Glenda, watching from her bed, could already sense the temperature shift in the room.

Carolynn sat on the edge of the bed and held up the chart. “So, just to make sure we’re on the same page—your address is the one you gave when you were admitted, right? County Road 8, south of—?”

Addison waved a hand dismissively, cutting her off. “Nuh-uh, ah dun tol’ y’all ‘at ain’t no good. Thas’ whar my uncle stay at, not me. I ain’t gone back theah no time soon, no ma’am.”

Carolynn blinked. “Sorry—so... that’s a no on the address?”

Addison's brow tightened. “Did ah stuttah?” she snapped, her accent dragging out the last word like a rope pulling taut. “Ah said ah ain’t dere. Ah ain’t been dere. Ain’t goin dere neither. You gone put me somewhar else on that lil sheet or whatchu thankin’ I am, huh? Illitrit?”

Carolynn frowned, her smile slipping into something tight-lipped and fragile. “I just—okay. Could you spell out the correct address for me then?”

Addison gave her a look, halfway between insulted and incredulous. “Y’want me t’ spell it? Girl, you got a GED or what? Ah said it three times—ain’t no echo in here.”

“Ma’am,” Carolynn said carefully, trying to keep her voice even, “I’m trying to make sure we have the right information for your baby. That’s all.”

“Yeah, well try harder,” Addison muttered, folding her arms, eyes narrowing to slits. “Ain’t my fault y’all talk funny. Y’oughta git some learnin’ in com-pre-hen-shun ‘fore you come actin’ like ah’m the one talkin’ wrong.”

Carolynn stood up a little straighter now, tapping her pen against the clipboard. “Addison, I’m just trying to help. There’s no need to get rude.”

Addison’s eyes flared. “Rude? Oh, ho-ho, nah, honey, rude is y’callin’ me dumb t’ my face, but usin’ all that smile-paint t’ make it sweet. Rude is actin’ like I’m some backwoods stray who don’t know her name, let alone her baby’s. Rude is sittin’ on my bed when ah ain’t invited you.”

Carolynn took a step back, flustered now. “Alright, I think we need to take a moment—”

Addison was already pushing upright, one hand still curled protectively around Toyah’s tiny cap. “Y’can take yo moment out there,” she snapped, nodding at the door. “Go on an’ fetch someone who’s gon’ listen, not jus’ smile ‘n write me off.”

Glenda, from across the room, spoke softly now. “Addison. Hey. Deep breath, baby. I think she really just doesn’t understand you. Not in a mean way.”

Addison looked over, chest heaving, eyes stinging with the kind of burn that came from pride—not shame. “Ah know what she sayin, Glenda. Ah ain’t dumb. Ah know when folks pretendin’ not to hear. Been dealin’ with that since I was yay high. When they cain’t place you, they act like you ain’t even talkin’.”

Glenda stood, still moving carefully from her own soreness, and crossed the room slowly. “She’s not used to your drawl, Addy. That’s all. Don’t give her more power than she’s got. You know how to use your voice. Don’t let her make you question it.”

Addison’s jaw clenched, but her eyes softened just a touch. She sank back onto the edge of the bed with a long exhale and muttered, “Ain’t like I asked t’ sound like a banjo got stuck in molasses.”

Glenda chuckled gently. “It’s beautiful. Just loud to people who’ve never had to listen close.”

Carolynn, red in the face but saying nothing, quietly made her way to the door. “I’ll get someone else,” she mumbled. “One of the social workers can—”

Addison waved a hand without looking up. “Yeah, go on then, Miss Ma’am.”

Once she was gone, Addison pressed a hand to her forehead and whispered, “Lord, ah’m tired. Whole world act like I ain’t speakin’ English.”

Glenda rubbed her shoulder gently. “You’re speaking fine, Addy. Some folks just never learned to listen right.”

And in the dim hush of that afternoon, the two new mothers sat together, side by side—not just bonded by proximity, but by a shared stubbornness, a mutual refusal to be made small. Addison leaned back, still fuming a little, but calmer. Toyah made a soft hiccup in her bassinet.

“Lil girl gon’ talk jus’ like me,” Addison muttered. “Bet they’ll all lose they damn minds.”
Glenda smiled. “Let ‘em.”

The room had gone quiet again, save for the steady buzz of the overhead lights and the occasional, indignant squeak from one of the babies. Glenda had drifted off into another light nap, Jesscurled into the crook of her arm like a comma. Addison sat upright in bed, legs tucked beneath her, arms folded. Toyah lay beside her, one tiny fist raised in a silent protest against the light. Addison hadn’t moved much since the last nurse left, except to mutter the occasional curse under her breath.

The door creaked open around three o’clock. Addison looked up, instantly bristling. But this nurse didn’t wear the same brittle smile. She had a badge pinned crookedly to her scrub top that read E. Harris, and a body language that said she’d seen more babies born than some interns had eaten hot meals.

“Afternoon,” the woman said, stepping in without fuss. “Name’s Evelyn. I’m coverin’ the second half of your shift. We doin’ alright in here?”

Addison narrowed her eyes. “That depend,” she muttered.

Evelyn didn’t miss a beat. “Depend on what? If I’m gon’ come in here actin’ like I got sugar for brains?”

Addison blinked.

“…Yeh,” she said slowly. “Sump’m like that.”

Evelyn chuckled. “Chile, please. I got kin in Thomasville talk like your grandmama fed 'em syrup through a funnel. Don’t think I can’t understand you.”

Addison stared at her like she’d grown wings. “You... you heard me?”

“Heard you, caught you, an’ translated it twice over. Don’t flatter yourself. You ain’t that country.”

Addison’s lips twitched, involuntary. She tried not to smile.

“Well,” she said, “long as I ain’t gotta repeat m’self seventeen times an’ play charades every time I need a damn ice pack.”

[Well, as long as I don’t have to repeat myself seventeen times and play charades every time I need a damn ice pack.]

Evelyn waved a dismissive hand. “Hmph. You need an ice pack, baby, you just say it. You need a nap? I’ll close the blinds. You need a nurse to stop talkin’ to you like she teach at a kindergarten in Vermont, I gotchu.”

Addison let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Her shoulders slumped an inch.

“...Nurse before you,” she said softly, “tried actin’ like I was speakin’ in grunts.”

“Mm-hmm,” Evelyn replied, setting the chart down on the table. “That’d be Carolynn. She from Asheville but likes to pretend she got a British passport. Got no ear for rhythm in a voice, bless her heart.”

Addison snorted. “Y’ain’t gotta be mean,” she said, smiling for real now.

“Oh, honey. That was me bein’ nice.”
Evelyn sat in the visitor’s chair, stretching out one leg with an audible crack of her knee. She sighed, loud and familiar. “You from way down south, huh?”

“Dale County. Dirt road. One store. All gravel.”

Evelyn nodded. “I figured. You got that ‘raised-by-grannies’ twang. It’s pretty. Folk just don’t listen no more. They hear speed, not soul.”

That one hit Addison in the chest.

“Y’get that a lot?” she asked quietly.

“All my life,” Evelyn said. “Used to get docked in school for ‘lazy pronunciation.’ I told my teacher, ‘Lazy is when you won’t learn to hear.’ She ain’t liked that one bit.”

Addison looked down at Toyah, asleep again, mouth open a little.

“She gon’ talk like me,” she murmured. “Reckon I’ll hafta teach her how to code switch so she don’t get laughed outta math class.”

Evelyn leaned in, eyes kind but firm.

“You can teach her to flex her voice,” she said, “but don’t you dare teach her to be ashamed of it.”

Addison looked up sharply.

“You hear me?” Evelyn said. “Let her walk in a room soundin’ like home.”

A long pause. Then Addison nodded.

“Yeh,” she said. “Ah will. Thank ya, Miss Evelyn.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I’m still gon’ make you drink this entire pitcher of water before you leave this room.”

Addison grimaced. “Law, woman, I ain’t no camel.”

Evelyn stood with a grin. “Drink it anyway, you sass-bucket. You just gave birth, not ran a yard sale. Hydrate.”

[Drink it anyway, you sass-bucket. You just gave birth, not ran a yard sale. Hydrate.]

Addison took the pitcher reluctantly and poured a plastic cup full.

As Evelyn stepped out, she paused in the doorway.

“Oh, and for the record?” she said, glancing over her shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“I like how you talk. Reminds me I still live in Alabama.”

Addison blinked. Her voice, thick and slow, floated back:

“Shoot… well I reckon y’ain’t half bad y’self.”

Glenda, from her bed, whispered sleepily: “You fallin’ in love, Addy?”

Addison scoffed. “Nah. But if she offered me a ride off this floor, I might ask her to marry me.”

January 19th

Among his section of the sprawling base it had become something on an inside joke for people to ask Mason for a cigarette. He’d taken the laughter in good form, on occasion playing along. One particular remark he kept for himself, that it took a seasoned nurse like Lucille to think it up in contrast to Glenda.

Cultural sensitivity had been insisted upon in other areas, from modest dress including hijabs for female personnel to restrictions on menus. Redeployment was already in motion, religious services for the various denominations were being conducted in hangers as others departed to the waiting transport planes. Atheists were given a ‘free period’.

The US air force had launched air raids just before midday Baghdad time. Rumours circulated that some hours earlier their Soviet counterparts had obliterated the Northern line’s defences and could leisurely seize the territory. Further within the whisper network were claims Iraq would be partitioned similar to the former West and East Germany.

But Mason was far from his physical surroundings, His entire focus was on the printed fax clutched in both hands. The display showing mother clutching daughter, the latter bundled in a blanket. Beneath it the caption reading January 18th 1991, 4:17 a.m. Jessica Anne Robinson.

Beside him a fellow solider leaned down, resting a hand against his shoulder they cooed. “What a cutie. Is she your first?” Roused by the voice, he turned. Hayden smiled again, still admiring the photo. “War’s already over, we sweep in and the people will turn their governors over. Not enough of them want to die for some anonymous generals. You’ll get to hold her yourself real soon.” Mason gave a hesitant nod, deciding not to contest their confidence

One among many, the transport plane hurtled through the clear sky. The bay door open wide, air rushing through the hollow body. The assembled soldiers, ready. Their commander cast a final look along the lines then signalled with a thrust of her arms upwards. Shouting wouldn’t be heard through or over the swirling current.

The troops rushed forward, moving in synchronicity, achieved through practice and repeated impressions that it was life or death when it came to it. Hurtling through the sky as they each leapt from the lowered ramp. Counting down mentally then tugging the chord, releasing the chute. The fabric rippled as the howling wind rushed faster for prolonged moments then lessened.

From his rapidly shifting vantage point, Mason observed his fellow troops descending and vanishing from sight. His own departure conducted confidently. Fixing his attention on a portion of the ground, he guided himself the little he could towards it. The horizontal horizon approached, his focus maintained.

A stumbling landing as he failed to reposition himself correctly or in time, Mason wasn’t sure himself which deficiency had caused his ungraceful landing. Rolling across the dusty ground, entangled in the parachute once he stopped. He attempted to thrash it off then grasped his blade. Slicing through the fabric and chords with comparatively lesser effort. Gathering his pack, securing it in place while he still recovered his breath. Lumbering forward he fell into formation among the waiting ranks.

Keeping in step in a staggered arrangement among the ranks, a steady pace towards their target. Feet away from Mason, his conversation partner Dasha. Her uniform’s sleeve displaying a handcrafted bear within a star. She continued as he saw his smile. “…stands for corrupt, careless, clumsy, clowns.” A nearby solider objected half heartedly with a raised hand. “Enough already.” Dasha glanced to him, a scoff, she then rattled off. “Ignorant, idiots. Assholes, Alabamans.”

Noticing Mason’s feigned glare, the young woman imitated in kind with an innocent expression. He couldn’t hold out against her embellishment. Once he wrested back control he still laughed. “Of all the place names and the ones with ‘A’ too. C’mon, you planned that one.” Her straight face proved more resilient than his, still cracking eventually. “Course. I noticed the accent. And your kind are our fiercest rivals.” A dramatic pause she then added. “Idaho.”

7 years of occupation were ended within 37 hours was how the announcer explained it, preceding the presentation of the condensed but uncensored audio from the front. Lucille lay in the lonely bed as she listened, utterly transfixed. She could sense herself. Back on the ship, her soles lightly thudding against the steel floor. Always run off her feet during ‘business hours’. When she was in her dorm, with her friends, her reminiscing sharply and abruptly interrupted by the news sweeper. Taken off guard her arms jerked, tangling her wrist in the dangling wire of the headphones, she stifled her reaction. The new announcer gravely intoned about reports of gunfire in central Manama, the lack of information due to security wasn’t of concern to Lucille, her mind remained elsewhere.

Sitting at the end of the couch in the front room, her daughter and granddaughter beside her, Lucille leaned against her elbow, an aside look to the pair, a playful smile as she waved with her fingers. Jess’ eyes darted, focusing briefly on Lucille. “When you were born there was a very young lady who overheard mam saying, something like babies don’t see for the first few weeks, just like kittens. She was all upset and mam had to find the nicest way to explain it to her.” Glenda smiled through her grimace, giving a nod she then brushed a finger against Jess’ cheek.

A short time later Veronika swept into the room, her brief forgetting of herself self corrected she blushed as she shut the door quietly and stepped softly towards the couch. Sitting beside her aunt, Glenda smiled warmly as she cradled Jess, the baby cast a glance towards her cousin. Veronika’s lingering curious look further encouraged Glenda’s smile, she gently cooed. “Roni, do you want to hold her?”

The girl stiffened, the surprise quickly left her she then smiled and nodded, Holding out her arms and patiently adjusting as Glenda directed her how to position herself. Leaning over, she lay Jessin Veronika’s embrace. “Gran was sorta right, babies can only see so far. But right now she can see your kind face, honey.” A nod as Veronika looked down as her smile widened. Glenda closely watched her as she hummed. “Jess is already bigger than last week ain’t she?”

The creaking of the landing drew Glenda’s attention, she lightly rested a hand on the girl’s shoulder then stood up. Moving across the room, she stood at the foot of the stairs, watching Amy peering around the corner. A soft laugh as she gestured to her, as soon as Amy ventured forth, Tracey followed closely behind.

The girls gathered in the front room, Jess laying soundly asleep in her crib, the colourful mobile overhead slowly turning. Lucille tilted her head up then smiled, quietly moving across the room. She unlocked the front room, leaning forward she kissed Phoebe and whispered. “They’re all here.” A quick smile as Phoebe replied with a nod. Lucille stepped aside as her wife casually strolled inside. “Shalom all.”

The girls’ attention turned to her, a ripple of excitement and barely contained delight. Phoebe crossed the room as she held a puppy in her arms. The gathered children’s delight escalated as she stood before them. “Christmas was last month, wasn’t it?” A warm laugh as she bent down to better show the tiny puppy to the others. “I’d put miss to-be-named down but…” Glenda shrugged as she smiled. “You carried her all the way here, Ima.” Setting the puppy on the ground, Phoebe sat near Glenda as the girls quickly crowded around.

Lucille taking her place beside her wife, their hands grasping one another’s for a moment. “I did have to relent, Jess had her allergy tests done and she should be fine with a dog too. And I think if.” A pause she quietened her voice then emphasised. “If we have any more babies it won’t be for a long time. Grand-babies maybe.” A knowing look from Lucille and Phoebe alike.

The puppy remained fascinating to the girls. From scampering around the room to yelping, they were enthralled. Some time later, Phoebe moved to sit on the floor, beckoning the dog to her. She leapt onto the woman’s lap, settling down instantly. “Now, our new friend needs a name.” The looks and whispers exchanged by the children persisted for a few moments. Phoebe glanced behind her, Glenda stood and crossed the room. Returning as she held a mewling Jess who slowly calmed, her tiny hand outstretched.

The silent gestures were far more telling than the young girls’ realized, their grandmothers noticed Dana’s frown with both Tracey and Amy displaying insistent expressions. After a stare-down, two on one proved decisive, Dana turned. A full smile. “They wanna call her Jessica.” She directed attention towards her twin sisters, the pair unperturbed by the firm tone, they giggled.

Glenda was simply baffled but Phoebe couldn’t hold back her loud reaction, quickly explaining between her bouts of laughter. “It’s not for me to say but mammy mightn’t approve.” With the collective attention on her, Glenda sighed lightly. “Girls. I know there’s a lot of excitement but…” Lucille broke the silence while also disrupting the tension. “Glenda, you remember when you and Mason were going to name Holly originally?” A nod from the other woman.

Lucille turned and addressed her granddaughters. “My dear we didn’t know when you’d arrive, so early on your parents were thinking of Mary-Anne.” She paused, then repeated. “Mary. Anne. Like my mother, Mary-Katherine. It’s a nice name too, but there’s no issue with people having similar names.” A lingering frown displayed on Glenda’s face, she hesitated, attempting a softer tone. “Mama, it’s the exact same name.”

Phoebe raised her hand then held up two fingers. “It’s only fair that baby Jess keeps the original moniker but our furry friend can be two. Jessica II.” Gesturing her raised fingers for emphasis as she spoke. Glenda remained dubious. Lucille ventured with a smile. “Or JT?”

January 22nd

Assume nothing. The phrase had been drilled into the entire force, they were contending an unknown enemy. The secretive nation was elusive, seemingly, even to those in the business. The massing American troops had arrived on the outskirts of Basra without incident, not a single shot fired. They held their position, sending forth scouting parties. Reports from within the city claimed the only sightings were of Russian sniper teams.

The temporary encampment lacked facilities, save for the minimal requirements. Leaning against a post, Mason cast a scrutinizing gaze towards the nearby city. The whisper network had churned up a new possibility that the Iraqi government had instructed the cities to be rigged to explode, not as a last resort but to strike a debilitating blow, to remove a multitude of American troops at once. And to outrage the public, turn the tide of civilians, families against ‘Robeson’s crusade’.

He remained focused on his discomforting thoughts of how correct the theory may be and the mystery of what lay within the city. So engaged that the roar of the jet overheard provoked a severe jolt. He stumbled forward, his unsteady posture almost righted as he grasped the beam behind him. The jet streaked across the sky, escalating out of sight, breaking into the clouds.

The air raid sirens had soared over the city as the troops entered, then began to fade, dying down until neat silence returned. per their commander’s orders they were to converge in the main square. The lone air strike had ‘neutralized’ the local government office as the negotiators must had been stalling intentionally. Mason remained doubtful about the effectiveness of the violent attack to remove the civilian authorities, any lurking military may act on their own initiative. Deeming they’d nothing else to lose, a suicide attack would inflict damage on the Americans also.

Days later, Glenda stood in her home kitchen, Jess in her right arm, clutched closely as the held the phone in her left. Her profanity laden thoughts became a tight lipped hiss as the dial tone continued to sound. Jess’s tiny hand reached out towards the dangling chord. As the time continued to drag, Glenda tutted. “No, no.” She willed the line to clear, for the voice she wanted to hear to come.

A smile as Glenda set the phone down, turning as she set Jess down in her highchair she passed a soft toy to her. “Isn’t this much nicer?” A wave of her hand as she scoffed. “Nevermind that silly ol’ thing.” Jess gazed at her as she gurgled. Letting her eyes remain on her daughter for a few moments more, the indulgence an earned one she told herself. Glenda stepped backwards and grasped the receiver again. Shutting her eyes slowly, she clenched and unclenched her free hand slowly. When the prompt came, the prerecorded message requesting the name and serial number of their contact. Glenda spoke slowly but calmly. The digits flowed with ease, she had committed it to memory upon first hearing it.

“Glenda?” Hearing his voice she clutched the receiver closer. “Mason!” “No one tells me anything.” He switched his tone to an irreverent impersonation. “Just ‘you’ve got a call Robinson’.” Her face lit up as she laughed. “Jess Anne, your daddy’s calling.” She crossed the room, extending the cord as she held it towards the less than interested baby. On the other side, Mason could hear her murmuring bringing his own full smile forth.

A sweetness in his tone lingered as he replied a few moments later once assured Glenda had returned the receiver to herself. “Honestly now, they’ve got a decent system here. Decent but I suppose this many folks on the ground, gotta do what they can. Lotta tension in the air, Glenda. And those fucking Soviets…” She waited as he paused, his voice lowered. “I get the feeling they’re watching everyone. Higher ups tells us don’t worry about it, they’re in communication with the RA commanders.”

An inflection from curiosity as she spoke. “And the Iraqis are pulling back? I mean retreating.” “Most I can say is there’s light resistance, not what we were told to expect. But the locals have come around, they’re comin’ out to see us on patrol. That’s a good sign I gotta think.”

Her excitement spurred her again. “It is, they’ll start opening up once they know there’s people like you there. Those who will listen.” A brief silence, his tone sombre as he recalled the vivid, recent memory. “Levelled almost the whole block with a strike. Just one bomb and it did that. They know where the generals or whoever are, just take ‘em all out. Same as the Nazis, right?”

She briefly looked to Jess. The girl bouncing in place as she stuffed her tiny fingers in her mouth. Glenda gave a wave that went unnoticed. “They may be fortifying, make Baghdad...” Abruptly ceasing her thought, she added. “Sorry.” He quickly added. “When’s Tracey’s recital?” She instantly recovered her “Late summer. So July-ish? And of course you’re my plus one.” “Even with all this distance, we’re still thinking alike.” She giggled and raised her fist, nudging the air.

The grand hall of the Mosque accommodated a share of the American troops along with a greater quantity of locals, with military translators and more fluent bilingual speakers aiding the conversations. Speaking with a pair of sisters Mason was settled into the conversation, the attending translator sporting a smile of their own while they recited his words in Arabic. “…Tracey is huge into dolls, but her twin, Amy you couldn’t bribe her to show an interest. For Christmas Tracey found a sheep doll, she designed its little outfit, like what Nadia Comaneci wore. Holly, her other sister, she’s a huge gymnastics fan.”

The pair applauded as they nodded approval. Feeling confident he added. “Tracey did much of the work as she could, hey I had to figure out that stuff by myself, so I’m glad to show her. See, when I was young I thought I’ll be darned if I don’t know how to sew.” The women’s confusion was apparent, causing his smile to slightly dim.

The break for a small meal lead to the gathering spilling outside onto the vacant pavement, quickly populating it with sporadic pockets of new chat partners. Mason remaining with the translator, content with his cup of coffee. They ate from a bowl atop a stack of supply crates. “I’m just wondering is all?” They showed a curious look in return then shrugged. “Nothing is ever one to one when it’s translated.”

“Sure, I get that but when I start going on about niche things. How’re they going to understand that?” The translator paused for a moment. “Sometimes it’s simple, someone says she likes going to see Kate Bush. I describe that as going to a concert, anyone can understand that. Doubt you would know what’s popular here.”

Mason gave a nod. They continued. “People are still getting to learn about their…let’s just say ‘visitors’. You’re strange but also exciting, my colleagues and I aren’t here to make friendships, just prevent deadlocks.

Mason, there were people in the USSR at the height of the boycott, they knew about The Flames to Permanence. Cassette tapes don’t show what’s on ‘em if you just look.” A brief laugh then continued. “There was an arrival in my neighbourhood who came with a list of all the bands she wanted to see, smart kid had a telephone tree that pieced together a whole map of shows. She sent back so many shirts to her friends back East that it probably started a fashion trend.”

Reaching over they patted his arm. “You don’t strike me as a lifelong soldier, no offence if you are.” He shook his head, they continued. “I had it out with the brass. They told me I look like a girl so in the eyes of the locals, I go around bareheaded they’ll taken offence. Won’t talk to me and by extension it’ll cause trouble for the entire force. So far I’ve been right. They ain’t blinked once.” A silent nod from Mason, choosing to refrain from voicing his question. “Simple terms? I’m not a woman nor a man. Beyond that, look I just live my life, same as anyone else. Yeah it’s a ‘leap’ for some. To understand it, but…” As they trailed off he offered a smile. “All I need to know is what you tell me.”

A smile in return as they replied. “For me, I just wanna go under the radar. But when people try and police me, I’m not backing down. Had enough of that before. And word of advice? When you want to make a joke land, just laugh. It’ll clue ‘em in.”

Crossing the front room as she held the leash aloft, Phoebe cooed. “Walkies Jessicas.” The rattling of the collar summoned the puppy to her feet. She bent down and slipped it into place, looking to the baby as she winked. “And the weather is ‘soft’ as your gran would say.” Jess lay on her back looking to her as she thrust her short arms.

Outside, Phoebe pushed Jess’s pram ahead at a leisurely pace, her left hand clutching the leash as JT scampered alongside. “Jess it won’t be long until you’re walking now your pet will grow quicker but that’s because she has four legs. She won’t get too large for you girls to handle. I rook all your mama’s requests on board.”

Jess wriggled in place as she gurgled. “And I heard a certain someone was talking to her Tatty.” A playful coo as she nodded. “He was so thrilled darling, didn’t I say it first? You brighten up every room.” A tilt of her head as she looked down to JT, Phoebe hummed. “And you my fine friend, the leash stays until you learn to heel.”

February 6th

Her adjusted uniform still fit her body shape, Glenda stood before her bedroom mirror as she inspected herself. The first day back was looming, she knew her mothers could handle the girls and pup too. She had time to spare, if things were fully normal. She turned on her heels, walked briskly as her still needing adjustment footwear would allow. Grasping her handbag from the bedpost.

Hobbling downstairs, her mental timing becoming scolding, she smiled as she gestured to Phoebe sitting on the couch. “I’ll see you in a few hours Ima.” Pausing at the doorway she blew a kiss as she cooed. “Bye Jess, mammy loves you.” Making her way outside the soft ground mercifully dry allowing her to quicken her pace slightly.

She found the time passed quickly once she arrived at the diner, greeted warmly by co-workers and regular patrons alike. A smile returned with ease. Chatting with a customer while jotting down their order she jerked her head as a voice called. An apologetic expression, she stepped away once a colleague stepped in. Passing the notepad to her, she dashed to the counter. Taking the phone, she grimaced upon hearing the wailing in the background. The gentle, soothing coo was a valiant attempt, she couldn’t fully ascertain who it was.

Hearing her mother she shifted her focus. “Glenda, so sorry to call you at work but Jess is inconsolable. Phoebe tried taking her outside and she put up such a fuss, she wouldn’t even let herself be dressed.” Glenda braced a hand to the countertop. “I’ll come right back.”

As she approached her home she could glimpse the pacing figure through the net curtains, Glenda didn’t allow herself to pause or slow, opening the door and stepping inside. In turn, Phoebe made her way over and handed Jess to her. Tilting her head to gaze at her, Glenda softly hushed her daughter as she cradled her. “Mommy’s here now.” As Jess settled down, Phoebe spoke gently, stepping back. “She was sleeping soundly then woke up, all normal. But then she took a few minutes to realize you weren’t here.”

A nod as Glenda showed a sympathetic look. “Maybe she’ll age out of it. Attachment is very serious…” Trailing off, she looked to Phoebe, the other woman giving an encouraging look prompted her to continue. “We’re not Victorians, babies need to be kissed, cuddled and touched. And for parents it does so much good too. My own grandmother wasn’t from that time but her mother was.” A pause, Glenda’s attention returned to Jess. Phoebe gently patted her arm as she whispered. “Mammy and daughter are so good for one another.”

Haditha was the latest location to fall to US forces, the troops swept through the city and dislodged the Iraqis with ease, forcing another surrender. The lessons learned from the Battle of Basra had served the Americans well, the enemies’ countermeasures rendered useless. Yet Sawadi had a final resort of his own. At the onset of the war, he’d demanded it be made available, rebuffed and chastised by the government he wasn’t deterred. As Iraqi fortunes collapsed, he approached the remaining generals. Permitted to strike a blow against the advancing forces, he directed a slower paced retreat to maintain his foe’s position.

The missile struck off target but the deadly cloud spread too swiftly for the Americans to organize a successful retreat, hacked transmissions of the radio signal provided snippets of the panic. The foreign troops only knew they’d been hit with non-conventional weaponry.

February 12th

The girls sitting in the back of the pick up truck, distributed on either side with a few items of luggage between them. Glenda sat in the driver’s seat with Lucille and Phoebe beside her. Jess sitting on the latter’s lap, fascinated by a large toy necklace sliding over her hands. A glance to the rearview mirror. Glenda started the engine and began driving slowly. Jess jolted then calmed almost instantly.

Phoebe smiled as she turned her gaze to her. “First trip Jess, another time we’ll bring your namesake too. Bonnie will take good care of her.” Jess remained enamoured with her new toy, oblivious to Phoebe’s presence and her surroundings too.

The moderated pace between Huntsville and Birmingham made the trip prolonged but Glenda’s spirited mood remained. “…thoughts mama? Ima too.” A warm smile as Phoebe kept her attention on Lucille, She laughed and waved her hand. “Just because a young woman knows how to drive doesn’t mean she gets a vehicle of her own too.” Glenda was withdrawn for a moment, responding simply. “Dana would like to move, she told us somewhere in the North-East.” Phoebe attempted to re-energize the small group. “New York, Boston, Philadelphia, D.C., Baltimore.” A pause as she whispered. “I’m not a game-show presenter ladies, tell me if one of those was right.” Glenda laughed softly as she hummed. “Or she had Kalaallita in mind.”

Halted in the airport parking lot, Glenda walked around and received Jess from Phoebe, the tiny girl softly gurgling as her mother purred. After a moment she glanced up with a smile. “Girls you can help carry your grandmothers’ bags, right?” Stepping aside as she slowly turned but Jess objected by trying to pull herself over her mother’s shoulder. Returning her position, Glenda stroked her back gently.

Lucille and Phoebe stepped away from the group, their bags divided between them. A pause, Phoebe bent down and retrieved a wrapped box from her luggage. Handing it to Dana as she whispered. “Consider it a parting gift from us. Oh and don’t open it yet. Wait until…” A knowing look from Glenda as she met her gaze, she interested. “I’ll let you know girls.”

As the month progressed, Jess’s sleeplessness had become a pattern and to counter it Glenda had made her own. She stayed up with her upset daughter, laying in bed as she held the girl to her chest, the contact and soothing whispers did put her at ease. While Jess slept atop her Glenda listened to old cassettes, using one headphone, the other ear trained on Jess. Listening to her own voice and her friends’ from so long ago heavily resonated with her. She still had Karen and Scarlett, other speakers were ‘gone’ in one way or another. One tape she encountered had to be set aside, pausing and ejecting it. She wasn’t ready to relive the events of January 1977. Scribbling a new note on the worn label, she returned it to a case of its own and dumped it at the bottom of her closet.

Glenda had promised the girls that when the weather improved and Jess was just a little older she’d take them to interesting places to try out the video camera. Their experiments so far had been confined to the house and yard. Tracey’s doll collection did prove useful for recreating scenes and bringing ideas to life. She knew they were patient, she appreciated it. But Jess was adjusting, she didn’t, couldn’t manipulate. Her way was simple demands, to be fed, held, changed. She likely was also too young to have developed phobias, not having closeness to mom was her concern, day or night.

Her thoughts continued to run through her head as she turned to lay on her side, gazing at her sleeping daughter. Jess seemed peaceful, still and quiet save for her faintly audible breath. Glenda slipped her headphones off of herself, setting the player on the bedside drawer. She remained laying towards her as she shut her eyes.

Sitting on the floor of her front room in Plano, Lucille gazed at the screen with concern. The word was Baghdad. It loomed and crept through the imagination as combined US and Soviet forces were rapidly approaching it became more prominent. The usage of brutal methods in the north by the invading Soviets had been critiqued by many but not the US government. Other anxieties swirled around it becoming the realized theories of Tokyo in 1945. She stiffened as she heard footsteps behind her. Phoebe remained in the doorway, a soft tut, she then spoke warmly. “Darling, come with Ike and I.” Leaning over as she whispered. “He’d like you too, not an order but an invitation.”

Grasping her wife’s hand and saluting the dog by her feet, Lucille hesitantly smiled. “What about another trip? I’m sure Jennifer would be happy to see us again.” A lingering thoughtful look as Phoebe crossed the room. “I’ll ask her.” A quickly added smile as she slipped her arm around Lucille’s waist as she added. “Now if that’s a no go, wherever else might you like?” Lucille reached down to pet Ike as she replied. “Kansas. Definitely my next choice.”

The children’s drawings on the wall, abandoned toys and overturned furniture immediately provided all the necessary context, it had been a nursery. A chill ran through the parents among the group. Any linguistic or cultural barrier was leaped over. Their pace slightly reduced, yet the others proceeded ahead. The explosion ripped through the hallway. An enormous crater formed in the wall, the floorboards beneath shredded, body parts scattered and metal shrapnel embedded in every surface.

Sabrina braced herself to the wall, raising her rifle. The other troops fell into place behind her. A moment elapsed, she ventured forward. A grimace upon meeting the sight of carnage. The shuffling footsteps behind her drifted ahead. She spoke flatly, making no effort to turn. “Stand down Medics, there’s not a goddamn thing you can do.” The sound ceased. A hand placed against her shoulder. “I’m still standing this long it ain’t shock.”

March 20th

Jess’s first day at work had been what would have been a lonely Valentine’s day, from then she’d become a fixture at the diner. Her small pen tucked into a corner where she could keep watch on her mother at work. Jess was becoming semi-vocal, when she saw something or someone she liked she greeted with an excitable screech.

Chatting with Glenda at the counter, Ida gave a wave to Jess then turned retrieving the small stuffed pony from a bag as she whispered. “It’s the same one my granddaughter based the design on my handbag from, I have a feeling baby Jess would appreciate a soft toy more than a bag.” A warm laugh as Glenda gestured. “Go ahead and give it to her Ida, she’ll be thrilled.”

A nod as the older woman, quickly concealed the toy, moving the bag behind her back. She feigned a dash towards Jess. The excitement prompted the girl to roll over onto her front, grinning with delight. Glenda kept her attention on the pair from afar. Bending over as she retrieved the toy from the bag she set it down before Jess. “For you sweetie.”

March 21st

Addison pushed Toyah’s pram slowly along the sidewalk. Her hands tensed as she grasped the handle firmer. It’d been weeks, she’d began to trust. That this could be permanent, her new haircut was a treat, the cheapest but still impactful change she could make. Glenda had suggested dropping by any time, meeting the other ladies or just seeing how things work at the diner.

Her own efforts had been conducted clandestinely but quickly, hanging agreements to come by to talk further the most developed. Glenda wasn’t a stranger in the city nor some newcomer. Unlike Addison herself. She was still circling the block, holding out. She had the address committed to memory and written down, either as an assurance if the other was lost or somehow impaired.

She turned carefully, always conscious of her own baby. Toyah’s head lolling to the side as she took the trip as relaxing, some fresh air and sunshine. Addison’s smile flickered as she made her way down the street, another turn then approaching the diner. She stood aside, flashing a smile as a patron exited. He reciprocated and held the door for her, making only a curious glance at her attire. She quickly entered then took in her surroundings.

In the corner was a baby, Jess. It had to be. She found herself staring then broke the gaze as she guided Toyah and herself to a vacant table. Sitting by the window she glanced down and was met by her smiling daughter. A nod as she unfastened Toyah then set the girl on her lap. “We’ll say hi real soon.” She held her baby close as she nervously jumped her attention from one portion of the space to the next. Finding no sign of Glenda caused her doubts to rise, the wrong time, even day, she’d been misled.

The television set had evaded her attention but the sudden raise in volume attracted Addison and the room’s attention. The breaking news sweeper concluded as the sombre expression of the newscaster met the camera. “We are awaiting confirmation from the Pentagon.” The rushing of people towards the screen a distraction but allowing Addison to sight Glenda. “The Kremlin has declared an state of emergency throughout their occupation zone. We can anticipate the United States will follow…” He paused, halting as the words died before he could attempt to say another syllable. The painful pause was broken with exertion. “I am being told we now have official confirmation, Iraq has used an unknown chemical weapon.”

Glenda could only scream.

Addison tensed, frozen in place, she willed her body to obey her mind’s orders. The rush had been brief, the other patrons exited. a couple of Glenda’s colleagues came to her aid. Addison stood, holding Toyah firmer as Jess wailed. Rooted to the spot, laying on her knees, Glenda’s throat burned still from the scream. Panting as she grasped the offered hand of her colleague, she stumbled in her haste towards Jess.

Addison stood by, once Glenda took Jess into her arms, the brunette whispered softly as her daughter clung to her. Addison then approached, intentionally slowly as she could. The other waitress watched her but didn’t intervene or impede. Her voice stuttered through her speech. “I wanted you to meet Toyah.” Glenda’s head turned, she then moved her body also. Bringing Jess and Toyah within one another’s eye-lines. Her expression softened, an attempt at a smile. “Hi Toyah, this is Jess.” A caught sob as Glenda whispered. “Say hi sweetie.”

The tears spilled from both women’s eyes, they remained at a distance from one another. “Glenda.” Uncertain if she was being heard, Addison continued, her voice quivering too much for her to attempt the reassuring words that sounded so effective in her head but wouldn’t leave her lips.

Located in the shadow of a remote Italian mountainside, the base lit up as the personnel rushed into position. Armed guards kept their weapons raised, closely scanning their surroundings. A closely positioned formation surrounded the soldiers pushing the large cart across the tarmac. Loading it onto a waiting helicopter, the on board guards held their positions as the others secured the case in position.

The helicopter briskly flew to a larger base, landing on the zone as another group of heavily armed soldiers and two man transport crew approached. Hastily retrieving the case, the group moved towards a large cargo plane. Repeating the process on board.

The plane touched down in Saudi Arabia in record time. Careering along the runway of the air force base, it then glided into a large hanger. The doors clanging shut and reverberating across the base.

Hours later, three jets departed near simultaneously. Their flight paths staggered as they approached the Iraqi theatre. The lead plane continued forward, the latter two dropped off, maintaining a significant distance. The pilot continued forward, eyes remaining open, hands tensing, she willed away her anxiety.

Mentally counting down as she approached the target. In position, she struck the release switch then swung upwards and throttled, the warhead tipped bomb descending rapidly towards the ground. The jet streaking across the sky at a far faster pace. The whistle of the impending munition tore through the air.

In the kitchen, Glenda held the phone against her shoulder as her other hand pressed to the counter. “Hey Jack, can you ask Veronika not to come over…we’ve got two babies now.” A heavy pause, on the other side he didn’t interrupt her silence. “But I’ve also got Addison too, and Scarlett is doing her damnedest to get back. They don’t know every inch of either border. I hate to keep her away, I won’t. I mean she’s always welcome here.”

Glenda made her way through the following days with Addison’s support a crucial element. Jess’s nocturnal disturbances also reduced. She and Toyah objected more to being apart then sharing their spaces. She couldn’t bear returning to work, soon but not yet. An imposed blackout on the news extended to her friends and family alike, she refused to hear anything more. Returning to her bedroom to collect herself whenever the chance presented itself. The solitude revived her stamina, allowing her to feel she could get through the remainder of the day.

Addison fiddled with the dial of the pocket broadcaster, Lucille had confirmed that she’d forgotten to bring it with her when she and Phoebe departed but she had no special attachment to the device, it could be claimed by anyone. Addison frowned as she trained her ear on the low volume, dialogue slowly emerging among the static, in the nearby room, Jess and Toyah sounded as if they were comparing vocal scales. The girls yelping and squealing back and forth.

The ring of the landline was piercing, shrill. She bound across the room to answer it. “Hello, Robinson home.” The voice across the line was similarly caught within swirling noise. “Whoever you are, put Glenda on, now.” She could still recognize the voice. His brusque tone was understandable. “I’ll get her, now, right now.” She lay the receiver on the counter and dashed to the stairs. Stumbling upwards as she called trying not to raise her voice and startle the babies. “Glenda, Glenda!”

Waking with a start in her bedroom, Glenda raced across the room, in the hallway she called sharply. “Addison?” The teen nodded as she moved aside as she spoke in a quick, hushed tone. “Mason’s on the line.” Glenda froze, her eyes widened but she couldn’t will herself to move. Addison scrambled down the stairs, shifting aside as Glenda approached behind her.

A gentle pat against Addison’s shoulder as she passed her by, Glenda snatched the phone as she breathlessly spoke. “Mason, what’s happening?” “I’m fine, the bombs weren’t anywhere near us.” Allowing a moment to pass, his own relief temporary, he cautiously continued. “We’re facing down a lot of unrest, it’s full on riots out there. Soviets pulled out and we’re all seen as minions of the great Satan.” She grasped at the cord as her chest tensed. “I couldn’t keep up with the news, it was too much.” “Janiszewski is missing a lotta troops now, she’s gonna have to readjust the attack plan for Baghdad. War’s not over, they’re going to be calling up cops at this rate.”

She settled only with intent guiding her to maintain calm, exhaling sharply as she failed to fully contain herself. “Are you going to be in trouble for this? Calling without permission.” He responded instantly, a solid confidence displayed with ease. “Fuck ‘em. The Soviets dropped their stuff and ran, we made use of it. Worst they can do is drum me outta the ranks.”

Almost every adult in the neighbourhood had come to the local hall for President Robeson’s special address to the nation. Lucille and Glenda sitting closely together amongst the crowd. At the back of the room, a handful stood. Uncomfortable body language was rife. The tension loomed over the occupants. The television set played on with little attention paid to it, advertisements accompanied by a timer in the corner.

Attention shifted suddenly as the moment approached closer. The room filling a little more as the latecomers arrived. The screen flickered as the new feed was piped in. In the Oval Office, Robeson sat behind his desk. Gazing to the camera, he began slowly. “Good evening, my fellow Americans. The loss of life we have experienced can never truly be comprehended. If I were to read the name of every man and woman who perished, it would still not suffice.

This attack was not within the rules of war, it was a barbaric assault. I justify my use of a nuclear strike on Iraq as this has settled the conflict. There can be no further escalation. Some will claim this was an act of vengeance, that it is no more right then Iraq’s chemical usage was.

I reject this assertion in the strongest terms. As commander in chief, the final decision rests on myself and myself alone. I have sought guidance to inform my choices, but I fully accept that I began this war.” The low hissing suddenly erupted as the screen flickered then cut to black. The lights overhead similarly dying a rapidly onset blackout.

April 15th

The house to themselves. The pair sat in the kitchen on opposite sides of the counter. Glenda waited for Addison to set her cup down then spoke. “Addi, how old are you?” The younger woman stiffened, tapping her fingers against the cup. Glenda remained patient, offering just a smile. “Doesn’t make much difference which way I tell it, huh? So I’m either going on 16 or I’m 15.” A nod from Glenda as she replied. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. But I had to be direct.” Addison leaned back, muttering to herself. Glenda didn’t question her, a flash of concern across her face. “Can I explain?” A long moment passed, the teen nodded slowly.

“When I was your age, even younger too.” An abrupt pause, Glenda gestured to herself as her tone sharpened, her body language also heightened. “Look, this is speaking about myself alone.” Addison gave another nod, feeling encouragement she continued. “I got a stipend every week, dad took care of the essentials, food, light, heat. That money, I split it. And also put aside a small amount of my share, for mama’s birthday. The rest I’d spend it on records and comic books mostly. I didn’t have a sweet tooth.” A sigh then a hesitant laugh. “Treats would’ve left me a lot better off, a few extra pounds ain’t bad.”

Glenda met her friend’s gaze, a pained expression was met by Addison’s genuine sympathy. “Back then I was sure I was having a hell of a time. Fucking with abandon was fun, it really felt like that. Sometimes I was high as a kite. It was self inflicted impairment, I never accepted even a beer from someone else. I knew what I liked.” A stiff smile as she added bluntly. “Acid was a huge favourite, at least I had an idea of what the strain was then, who knows these days.

Yeah I indulged in all kinds of risky behaviour and some additions like that did enhance it. Drugs won’t kill you, tobacco is by the far the worst of them. But you’ve gotta be careful. On a night out it’s almost mandatory to have a designated driver, unless folks have got their ride home already arranged. If you’re tripping you need someone sober to keep an eye on you.

I know, I’m getting off track but I’ll keep it short. Scarlett, I’m so lucky to have her, to know her. She’s my platonic soulmate, and another time I’ll tell you all about that. Then she was looking out for me, steering me away from trouble. But I was such an impulsive kid, I’d give her the slip too.”

Another prolonged pause, Glenda swallowed her anger but couldn’t hide the tension. “Addison. Make no mistake, they knew, all of ‘em. That I wasn’t of age and the times when I was intoxicated. Didn’t stop them having sex with me. And it took me such a long time to realize it was wrong. That I wasn’t special or privileged because adults wanted to and did fuck me.

I was absolutely taken advantage of. It was rape.”

"And then there's the 'theorists' the people who think they know me, that they've got a better understanding than I do. Bullshit. My bisexuality is a part of me, same as anything else. I wasn't 'lured' or tempted by women. I also was never a lesbian. One time someone told me, to my face, that I was a walking stereotype. From promiscuity to settled down with a man." Addison tensed yet Glenda remained collected and calm. "There's being rude and then there's that.

What a bare faced insult, but I looked 'em straight in the eye and rebutted. I ain't a stereotype because I'm a living, breathing person." A sense of relief allowed Addison's intrigue to return to the forefront, a fleeting smile from Glenda. "Being bisexual is personal, I'm not being evasive. Not after all else I've told you. But it really is that, Addi. I can only describe it as sex is just a part of sexuality. Romance, attraction, there's a lot going on.

I do agree that you can notice a fellow queer person if they're sending signals, it's like a mutually understood code. But you can't 'know' before someone does themselves. I don't know if my babies will inherit my sapphism, doesn't make any difference to me. I only want them to be happy. And I will not let anyone make them unhappy. Sometime, you should talk with my moms, both of them, they've lived such long lives and I couldn't even summarize what they could tell you.

But lesbians and bisexuals aren't some separate class of women, we're part of womanhood too. I feel they've both got so many life lessons that folks need to hear." A pause she then lightly laughed. "And don't worry if Ima teases my mama, it's their way, how they are as a couple. It's been oh decades and mama isn't 'out' but she always introduces her wife."

Addison moved to sit beside her friend, lightly stroking her hand as she maintained her gentle expression. “I only knew that when my mama explained it to me. Manipulation is a form of coercion.” She grasped Addison’s hand firmly as she continued. “I don’t doubt your story, that your boyfriend was passing through and got rushed away by the Klan. They lingered after the civil war, the depression and the insurgency. They can’t ever be rid of completely, there’s always a new wave rising. I am speaking from the heart, you have to forget about him.

Toyah can have another mom or a dad someday, but she’s got you. You adore her, I know you know that but I want you to hear it. The foundations he and you share are not the kind to build a future on.” Feeling Addison’s own tense grasp, she lightly winced but persisted. “The people I hooked up with, I still see some of ‘em to this day. We’ve moved beyond it, there’s nothing to discuss. I don’t want an apology or explanation.”

Addison dabbed at the corner of her eyes with her free hand, brushing the side of her hand against her damp eyes. Glenda leaned closer, softening her voice. “You’re the fourth person to hear all of this, setting aside Scarlett she already knew. And I wanted, needed to tell you because we’re more than friends.

We’re partners. You don’t have to stay here, even in the State, I’d be thrilled if you remained close. Jess and Toyah too. But I want to be your Virgil.” The teen nodded slowly. “Show me the way, right?” A fuller smile as she responded, holding her gaze with Addison’s. “Exactly, honey I’m not your mom and I’m not trying to be. I’ll give you the unvarnished truth. You can make up your mind from there.”

Addison threw herself into an embrace of Glenda, the hold then becoming mutual. The pair supporting one another. The sharp knock on the front door grabbed their respective attention. Glenda walked ahead as Addison followed closely behind.

Glenda opened the door, met by an unfamiliar, well dressed man. Holloway gave a glance to Addison then a polite nod to Glenda. “Mrs. Robinson, as yours is a military family your home has been selected for our network project.” Her blank stare prompted him to elaborate, maintaining his tone. “We understand this has been an especially trying time, we feel that this new medium will allow for great strides. We chose to prioritize military families as you too are aiding the nation.”

Glenda’s blunt tone matched her expression, Addison staying by her side mirroring her look. “How long will it take?” “A couple of hours, we need to install cables but we’ve hired the best staff, from top to bottom. Think of this as an electronic version of the highway system.” A smile that revealed nothing as she scoffed. “How old or young do you think I am?”

He evaded the question awkwardly. “We can begin the instillation-” She had no qualms with her direct response. “Give me your number and I’ll call you when I’ve decided.” He retrieved a card, handing it to her, a noticeable flustered quality gone as he spoke again. “Picture a telegram or letter arriving near instantly on your screen. It’ll allow you to keep in touch with far flung relatives, as this technology will progress.” A hesitant laugh, he watched her then continued. “Similar to the transition to color film.” A pause as he added, glancing between the pair. “Maybe ask your mothers.”

July 4th 1991

Across the nation the date was a subdued affair, from the cancellation of President Hale’s address to muted and sparse gatherings. Alphaville had been no different, the faint party had long concluded by early evening. Mason sat on the porch of his home. Jess balanced on his lap as her excitable gurgling bounced off the wooden beams. He tilted his head, meeting her gaze and showing a smile. Lifting her slowly as she squealed with delight, babbling as she threw her arms up.

“Hey Jess.” The familiar voice didn’t phase Mason, Jess craned to look, Mason turned her around to face the speaker. Jackson’s own smile warmed as he reached out to take her hand. She grasped at his large digits as she gurgled. Mason met his brother’s gaze, in turn the other man nodded. Passing Jess to him, Jackson held her then sat on the porch. Jess rambling on as she resumed her excitable bouncing and reaching.