A/N to 707: First, I want to give my condolences for your loss. I don't like to get too personal, but I've lost both of my parents, each during different phases of my life and under vastly different circumstances, and I can say that, at least in my experience, guilt was always there in some form. It didn't matter if I found out after one had already passed or if I was there to witness the other's final moments, my mind tortured itself for a long while over things I did, things I didn't do, and things I perhaps could've done differently. It took quite some time to come to terms, and I think it still left some marks, shaped me as with most big changes in life, good or bad. At the risk of sounding trite, I sincerely hope that you don't feel alone and that you find your peace.

I got misty reading your review. It helped affirm my confidence that I made the right choice when I decided to change THLS's genre and refocus its premise. This story has been a hard one to tackle for several reasons, but one of the biggest challenges was that it was hard to address grief without inadvertently tapping into my own, at least a little. Stephen King's famous advice is not to write what you know but write what you want as long as you tell the truth. In THLS's case, it was unavoidable that the process would end up being all three of those things. I'm glad that THLS has seemed to resonate with so many people because that's the goal, right, to form a connection with the reader? That being said, I'm sorry if this story has dragged up any unwanted negative emotions for anyone. The next installment of this series is way less of a downer, I swear. After THLS, I think we could all use the break.

As always, thanks for your readership, generous compliments, and encouragement.

Chapter 29

Apology Tour

"And that's chess," Alan said to Muffy. "What did you think?"

It was Sunday afternoon, the first of November. Alan's mother had complained of feeling under the weather with sinus pain earlier this morning, and Alan had jumped to volunteer for at least the later shift at the ice cream shop. Being the day after the anniversary, she had been hesitant. However, after assuring her that he was up to the task and eager to get back to work, she had given Alan permission to cover for her starting at noon so she could seek help for her ailment.

Historically, the day after Halloween had always been slow, the majority of Elwood City children satisfying their sweet tooth with piles of candy amassed the night before. Alan anticipated a handful of younger customers today and a majority of older patrons who had no sweets on which to fall back, but he knew business would be down overall for the next couple of days. To combat potential boredom, he had preemptively called Muffy and asked if she wanted to hang out and let him teach her how to play chess. Muffy had shown up today as soon as her showing of Deadlight had let out, and his set, formerly Lydia's, sat between them atop the front counter. Alan played white as he stayed on the business side of the counter, seeing to the needs of the occasional customer, while Muffy sat on a stool, nursing an apple crumble Cone-crete, playing black.

"I didn't…hate it," Muffy said, making a bemused face.

"But you didn't like it either," said Alan.

"I'm not really sure what just went down except that you wiped the floor with me."

"You'll get better," Alan assured her as he left her to attend to Rattles, who had just walked in.

Rattles ordered two chocolate malts to go, extra whip and two cherries on one, no whip and no cherries on the other. As Alan set to work, George, who sat at the far in of the counter spoke up.

"Alan, can I get a closer look at your set?"

"Be my guest!" Alan called over his shoulder as the shake spinner began to whir and grind.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as George got off his stool and walked to where Muffy sat. Once the noise had stopped, his voice was nothing short of awestruck.

"This is really impressive craftsmanship," he said. "Hand-carved? The guy who made this has a lot of skill."

"Too bad I was careless and ruined it forever," Alan said glumly, handing the malts to Rattles.

"Why do you think you ruined it forever?" George said, earnestly perplexed.

"Look at the corner."

"Oh, that? That's no big deal. So the miter doesn't come to a perfect point and there's a tiny chunk missing. I've fixed way worse than that before."

"Really?" said Muffy.

"How?" said Alan.

"Oh, some sanding, wood filler and sawdust," George said casually. "Light cosmetic work. Once it's done, you'd have to strain your eyes to be able to tell the difference. Would you like for me to give it a shot?"

Muffy gave Alan a look.

"Would you?" Alan said to him.

"Sure. Keep the pieces, and I'll have the board back to you in a couple of days. By the way, do you know who made this? I'd love to see more of his work."

"James Keegan made it," said Alan. "He was Lydia Fox's grandfather. This used to be her board. It's a family heirloom."

"Lydia Fox, huh?" said Rattles, checking his phone before shoving it into his pocket and grabbing the shakes once more. "Used to go to Glenbrook? I played against her a couple of times. Kicked my butt good on the first go-'round, but I got her back on the rematch… Then I heard what happened. I'm sorry, man," he said to Alan. "I know you guys were tight. That really sucks."

"Thanks," said Alan.

Rattles paused to take in the board.

"Holy crap," he said. "Little Georgie's right—this thing's friggin' beautiful."

"Little Georgie...?" George muttered to himself.

"You know, Alan," Muffy piped up, gesturing toward Rattles as if presenting a gameshow prize, "this is who you should be playing chess against, a man who clearly knows what he's doing."

"Hey, thanks, Muffy," Rattles said, sounding genuinely flattered. "Sounds good to me. I ain't had a decent match in a while. Hit me up if you ever want to go. In the meantime, I'd better bounce. She'll kill me if I make her wait any longer."

"Molly?" said George.

"Nah," Rattles said, his word a restrained scoff. "My girlfriend. Molls and I…we don't really talk no more. See ya."

Alan, George, and Muffy shared a quick look.

"I don't suppose you know what that's about, do you, gossip queen?" said Alan.

"I don't," said Muffy, sounding intrigued, her brow quirked as she stared after Rattles with piqued interest as he walked past the shop window, "but I'm sure it'll come out eventually."

"I should go, too," George said eagerly. "I want to practice some of my "Shipoopi" choreography and draw up a plan for this baby.

George said his goodbyes as he picked up the chessboard and held it protectively against his chest. As he exited the ice cream shop, Prunella walked in.

She looked apprehensive, as if she would rather be anywhere else. When she saw Muffy at the counter, she drew even more into herself. Muffy clenched her fist which had previously been resting atop the counter.

"Don't," Alan said lowly to her, barely moving his lips. "Let me."

Without a word, Muffy conceded by relaxing her scowl.

Prunella took a few timid steps forward and asked, "Hi, Alan. Am I allowed in here?"

"Everyone is allowed," Alan said.

"I meant more like 'in your presence'."

"He knows what you meant," said Muffy.

"Muffy, please," Alan warned evenly. "Sure, Prunella. Have a seat."

Prunella waved a hand. "I'm good right here, thanks."

She was easily ten feet away from them. Her expression was alert, fearful. Was she afraid to come closer?

"How are you feeling?" she said.

"Boy…" Alan huffed. "That's a loaded question."

"I get that," Prunella said. "Now. Finally."

She reached into her bag and took out an object wrapped in crinkling cellophane, tied at the end with a silky white ribbon.

"I baked this for you, to offer my sympathy. You know, for your loss. It's pumpkin bread with praline crumble topping. It's really good. Marina thinks so, and she always tells me the truth…even when I don't want to hear it. Look, when you of all people came to me for help—my kind of help—I was so…flattered? Ecstatic? I don't know what, but I thought it meant something, that I was actually powerful enough to change your mind. If you thought I had a gift, then it must be real. Instead of listening to reason, I bought into my own hype, and maybe that's not bad all by itself, but I dragged you into it and made things worse for you, at a time when you probably needed a different kind of help."

She stumbled over the last part, as if she were trying to speak honestly yet delicately at the same time.

"If I ever lost…someone I cared about that much, I'd probably be in the same boat as you. I'd try anything to speak to her—or whomever—again, even stuff I didn't believe in. So, what I'm saying is I'm sorry I let you buy into my hype too. I'm sorry I tried to manipulate your emotions. And I'm sorry I wasn't able to help. For what it's worth, I really was trying to help, there at the end, anyway. And Muffy?"

Muffy looked at Prunella.

"I'm sorry I used you."

"Apology accepted," said Alan, who hoped Muffy picked up on the pointed look he was giving her.

"Yeah," Muffy said. "Apology accepted."

Alan half expected her to add, "Just don't ever do it again," but she left it at that.

"I'm sure this is going to come as a shock," Alan said to Prunella, his voice laced with a light dose of dry sarcasm, "but I've been thinking a lot. While I don't have to agree with you, I don't have to constantly rip on you either. I wish I had done what Lydia said and just chilled out more, curbed my skepticism and pedantic impulses. I'm trying to be more like that now, to live and let live. It's a work in progress, like everything these days. I'm sorry for being so relentless. I'm sorry I got out of hand Saturday night. I didn't mean to frighten you."

"And I'm sorry I lost my cool," Muffy chimed in. "Look at us. We're all so sorry. We should start a support group or something."

"It's all good," Prunella said. "I'm not mad about it anymore."

She took a couple of small steps closer and extended the arm holding the pumpkin bread out, inching ever closer to the counter, as if she meant to drop it there once she was in range.

"I'm just going to leave this here for you…" she said cautiously.

"Prunella," Alan said firmly, "please don't be afraid of me." He reached out, offering his hand to her. "Let bygones be bygones?"

Prunella thought about it and relaxed. "You're right," she said as she placed the loaf on the counter and shook hands with him, "I'm being silly. I got pretty spooked Saturday night, and I guess it went to my head." Her expression suddenly brightened and she added, "Hey, maybe I can help you. If you're looking for ways to relax, I could teach you some yoga. It takes a lot of precision and focus—and I know how much you love that—but it's also calming and rewarding, plus you'll be more flexible, and that'll help you with sports."

"Um, I'll think about it," he said. "And if you ever need help with chemistry or a broken toaster, you know where to go. Have a seat and I'll make a Cone-crete for you. Cinnamon roll is my favorite, and Muffy likes the apple crumble, but you look like you'd be up for pumpkin cheesecake. My treat."

"It sounds tempting," Prunella said. "but could I come back later?"

"In a rush?" Muffy said.

"Kind of. I need to get to the gym. You guys aren't the only stop on the Prunella Deegan apology tour."

The Belinsky School of Gymnastic smelled the same as it always did, of warm air, stale sweat, and musty carpet, but that had been Prunella's experience with most gymnastics facilities. Ever since Marina made team at Bellow's school, Prunella had followed her around from clinic to clinic, meet to meet, and super smelly gyms just seemed to be the norm. Still, the odor was so strong it wafted into the lobby through the open door. Prunella briefly wondered if the real reason her mother burned incense during her yoga classes was to mask the smell when Marina caught her attention. Through the doorway, at the other end of the gym, Marina was busy at the bars, practicing kips. Prunella distinctly remembered the name of the maneuver because she loved the way it looked and the way Marina made it look effortless. As if in a trance, she drew closer and closer.

"Yoga girl!" called Bellow in his thick accent no sooner than Prunella had stepped through the gym's entrance. "This is closed session. We train for meet in two weeks. Come back at end of month for watch week."

"Please, Bellow," said Prunella, shaking her head slightly to break the spell she was under. "I need to talk to Marina, just for a minute or two? It's really important."

"You two have fight?" he said in a voice that was kinder and much quieter.

"We—how did you know?"

"Bellow knows all…and she's been in sour mood. Maybe you can fix it?"

"I'll do my best…"

"Very good. MARINA! YOGA GIRL HERE FOR YOU!"

Marina cast off the low bar, landed solidly, and then made her way across the gym, careful to skirt outside the floor boundaries, inside of which her teammates practiced tumbling passes. She navigated the gym with astonishing ease, no doubt knowing its layout as well as the interior of her family home. Marina slid her fingers out of her grips as she got closer, rolling her wrists to give them a break. Her face was contorted into a look somewhere between embarrassment and annoyance, embarrassed because Bellow had called upon her, annoyed because Prunella had tracked her down here.

Sour mood, indeed, Prunella thought, and instantly became more nervous.

As soon as Marina was in earshot, Bellow said, "You two talk in lobby. Make quickly."

"Yes, sir," Prunella and Marina said in unison. "Sorry, sir."

As soon as they had reached the empty waiting area, Marina crossed her arms, leaving white smears of chalk across the biceps of her dark blue leotard.

"Shoot," she said simply.

They both knew time was of the essence and Bellow would hold them to his order of "make quickly".

"Okay, so here's the thing…" Prunella began. "I couldn't do it."

Marina's jaw dropped. "Oh?"

Prunella launched into a recount of the second séance's details, spilling them out as quickly as she could speak, right up to the way she had fled from the Powers residence in terror, leaving a devastated Alan in her wake.

"You were right. I built up his hopes and I couldn't deliver. And when I let him down, it crushed him. I knew it was going to happen, just as soon as I told him the truth. I thought about trying to prevent it, just tell him what he wanted to hear—not to save myself but to make him feel better. He looked so sad… But I thought about you and the stuff you said and… I just wish I had done it sooner. I finally got the nerve to talk to him today. We made amends, but I still feel kind of ashamed of myself."

"I'm glad you did the right thing," Marina said softly. "I know that probably wasn't easy for you to admit, but I'm proud of you."

"Yeah. Thanks. I'm kind of bummed, though, knowing that I've wasted my life chasing an unachievable goal. This has been a big part of my identity, Marina. Who am I without it?"

"Maybe it's time you found out," Marina offered. "You're seriously a good baker. You could become a pastry chef. Or how about costume design? I got a ton of compliments on my Selene costume. Whatever you do, you'll still have your friends. And me."

Marina held out her hand, and it took Prunella a second to process what she wanted. She was distracted by the loose leather strip of the grip, which flopped to and fro as it dangled from its wrist strap. It occurred to her that Marina wanted her hand. Prunella reached out to meet her, and Marina caught her by the wrist first, only to slide down until they could hook fingers. Marina's hand was a mixture of contrasting and confusing textures. It was still coated in chalk, dry and calloused from repeated use on the bars, yet it was gummy and clammy in places where the chalk had mixed with sweat. Still, her hand had never felt more comforting. More inviting…

They parted with lightning-quick reflexes when Bellow spoke from the lobby doorway.

"Time's up, yoga girl. Want more time with Marina, either make team or stay in lobby until practice is over."

Prunella looked to Marina, who appeared hopeful. Maybe she would accompany her back to the ice cream shop after practice. Sure, Marina might not want a Cone-crete right now during her intense training, but at least they would be able to talk. How good that would feel, just to be able to talk to her again.

"Great idea, sir," Prunella said to Bellow as she plopped down in one of the lobby's chairs. "I'd be happy to wait on Marina."

To be continued…