CHAPTER ONE, PART 2

Annie is horribly damaged by life.
She believes she cannot be loved.
Then Bud becomes her pen pal
and love finds them both...
in one way or another.

Every few days I will post a little more.
 Soon you will be able to read it all.
If you absolutely can't wait to find out
what happens between Annie and Bud,
(and I hope you can't!)
you are welcome to click a link and 

buy an e-book or a paperback copy. 

And now, today's post:

CHAPTER ONE
Part 2

Saturday, May 15, 2004

My reflections were cut short when I executed a full-body slam into the back of the driver’s seat, my face smashing into the headrest. I was sitting behind my dad in his beloved Cadillac, or had been up until a few moments ago, and he, my mom, and I were heading home from Bennie’s interment service. A dog had run into the street, forcing my dad to hit the brakes.

“Lawrence!” my mother yelled from the front seat. “Are you all right?”

On the day I was born, my dad insisted the world could do without an Avery Horace the fourth, so my mom named me Lawrence Harvey, in honor of her father and her grandfather. My dad thought Larry was a lousy name for a baby, so he just called me his little buddy, and, at some point it got shortened to Bud, and that’s what everybody calls me. Except my mom, obviously.

“I’m fine,” I said, climbing off the floor. “I guess I forgot to fasten my seatbelt.”

“Well for gosh sakes, put it on now.”

I did as she instructed. When my dad heard the click, he looked at me in the rearview mirror.

“That was a hard one, wasn’t it, Bud?”

I assumed he meant the funeral and not the headrest. I grunted in response.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come home?” he asked. “Have a little lunch?”

“No. I’m going to take a nap.”

It was his turn to grunt. He wasn’t much for naps. Neither was I, really, but I couldn’t imagine being awake for the next few hours. Grieving is hard work.

A few minutes later, my dad pulled up to the curb in front of my apartment complex.

“Thanks, Dad.”

I opened my car door. My mom opened hers, too, and we climbed out together. Wrapping her arms around me, she rocked me like when I was a child, and I lay my head on her shoulder, breathing in her love. When enough was enough, she broke the embrace, pushing me back so she could search my eyes.

“Are you all right?” she asked for the second time.

“I will be,” I told her. “I just need to be alone for a while.”

“I understand.” She patted my arm. “Come for dinner.”

My mom is like that. She feeds people. ‘Come for dinner’ was an invitation heard by hundreds over the years. Are you new in town? Come for dinner. New in church? Come for dinner. Been gone for a while? Grieving? Sad? Lonely? Come for dinner.

I thought it was corny when I was a kid, but standing there on the sidewalk, the memory of Bennie draping over my heart like an altar cloth, I understood it.

“Okay. What time?”

“When you get there.”

“Okay. Love you, mom.”

“I love you, too.”

One more hug, more mine than hers, and she got back in the car. My dad put the Cadillac in gear, and they pulled away.

Alone – and I mean really alone – for the first time in eight years, I stood on the sidewalk, building up the courage to go inside. At some point, my need for the men’s room overcame my dread of the empty apartment and I started moving, picking up the mail as I went.

Picking up the mail had not been a priority in the last week, for obvious reasons, and the pile was huge, with bills and condolence cards leading the number. At the bottom of the pile, smaller than the other items, was a letter in a plain, white envelope. It was postmarked from Boston and addressed to Bennie in a barely discernable chicken scratch. I recognized it immediately.

It was from Annie Parker, Bennie’s pen pal of the last seven years.

Chapter Two, Part 1 Coming Soon