AN: If I was a more disciplined writer I'd probably engage in some editing since I usually like to keep my chapters to around 1,000 words and this one is over twice that, but, well, I'm not, so I won't. :) Lucky you? Anyway, the song is "Abandoned," by Lucinda Williams.


I left early that night. When I saw her again the next afternoon, it was as if she had become someone entirely different. I caught her alone in a hallway at the club. She leaned against the wall for support with one arm as she moved slowly away from me. I came up from behind and put my hands on her hips and said something inane that I can't remember now as a greeting. What I do remember is this: she stiffened quickly although she knew it was me and her skin was cold. She moved away from me, which seemed to take considerable effort, before turning around. She looked like she'd been dead for a week.

"Are you okay?" Definitely one of the stupidest questions I've asked in my life, up there with "What does the tooth fairy do with your teeth?" and "So, Annie, you write songs too?"

She kind of laughed and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I'm perfect."

"What's wrong, I mean?"

"I don't know. Of course I couldn't sleep last night. I ended up throwing up everything I've eaten in my entire life instead."

"You're not--?" I wasn't horrified by the idea exactly, so I'm not sure why it was the first thing that popped into my mind.

Another half-laugh. "No, that's definitely not it."

"What do you think it is, then?"

"I don't know, but it's bad." She coughed as if on cue.

"You should go see a doctor right away," I said, moving toward her.

She moved away in perfect step, kind of a tragic dance, with her hands raised against me in surrender or warning. "I'll be fine. Just don't--don't interfere."

I could tell then, by the somewhat stricken look on her face at my concern, just what or who she thought had caused her sudden illness. I did some backing up of my own, not sure what to say to that. She took a few tentative steps in my direction and smiled a little as if to soften the already-landed blow of what I'd realized. I was about to find the right words when she simply fell.

all of my love
has been taken for granted
I've been fair
but you've been underhanded

We couldn't do much but cancel the show and take Molly home. I told my mother that she had been resistant to the idea of going to a doctor. "Yeah," she said softly. We stood in the doorway, watching for any sign of change. "Don't worry about it. I mean, we all knew what was going on. It was bound to catch up with her, and it has, and we have somewhere to go from here." I guess she was trying to be reassuring.

"It's not what you think it is," I insisted.

"How do you know?"

"I just do."

She looked touched by my naivete. "Look, I've been through this before with her. We'll get through it." She squeezed my shoulder and walked into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

What was that supposed to mean? Been through what? I found the idea of not knowing the answers to those questions increasingly disturbing. I made my way down the hall into the living room and sat down hard in the center of the couch. What the hell was she talking about? How could I not know? When? Why? And why didn't anyone tell me? And, for that matter, why didn't--

I've been disgraced
but I can't bear to face it
'cause the truth is
my heart has been abandoned

Thankfully, the phone shut me up. I found the cordless, after about a thousand rings, disconnected from its base and loose on top of the refrigerator. "Hello?"

"Hey! So she's on her way, right?"

"Um, I'm sorry, what?"

"Carey! Mom is on her way, right?" Of course.

"Fi?"

"Little slow, aren't you?" I could hear that old familiar grin.

"Where are you?"

"At the airport," she said slowly. "I guess Mom isn't on her way, then?"

"No, not exactly."

"You had no idea I was coming?"

"Not a clue."

Long pause.

"Well, I'd love to spend the night here, but, you know--"

"Why don't I come and get you instead?"

"Good boy."

The voice in my head wouldn't shut up during the entire drive to the airport. Forgetting to tell anyone about Fiona visiting? That was so unlike her. Or was it? Could I really claim to know just what was like her and what wasn't? Maybe I didn't know half of what I thought I knew about her. Maybe that crazy insomnia story had been a cover, a lie. Maybe she hadn't felt comfortable enough to tell me the truth. Maybe our entire thing existed entirely because she had been constantly under the influence for the last couple of days. How could I know for sure what was really true?

It's pretty sad when you actually start to annoy yourself.

I wandered around in the arrivals area for a while until I spotted Fi. She hadn't changed much, physically. Still short. Long hair. Still my pseudo-kid sister. But she had changed, clearly, in other ways. I walked toward her as she scanned the crowds, then watched her face literally light up when she finally noticed me. "Carey!" she shouted, and ran toward me for a fierce embrace.
She talked pretty much the entire way home, about Seattle, school, Melinda, the kids, her friends, the band she saw last week, the coffee, the school newspaper. I only tuned in once in a while, catching brief fragments like a radio searching for signals. "it's really cold right she's pretty cool but told her, your writing needs" I felt bad about not being able to concentrate on what she was saying, but I just couldn't pay attention. We were halfway home before I remembered that no one had told her about Molly.

"Sick?" she asked. "Sick how? Like the flu?"

"It's kind of hard to explain," I said, but tried anyway.

She seemed concerned, but not overly so. Hell, maybe she was in on the secret. It made sense--why wouldn't her own daughter know? I tried to think of clever ways to approach the subject, but after a brief discussion of her sympathy for Molly, she returned to her previous topics and I gave up for the rest of the ride. When we got back to the apartment, Fi took her bags to her room while I headed down the hallway to tell Mom or Molly that Fi was home. The door was still closed. I tried to open it, but it was actually locked from the inside this time. I knocked lightly and Mom finally came to the door, looking particularly weary. "Fiona's here," I whispered.

"She is? I didn't know she was coming."

"No one did. So how is she?"

"I'll tell her about Fiona. She's not really ready to talk yet."

Mom began to close the door, but I suspiciously held it open as she continued to lean against it. "Is everything okay?"

"It's fine. Don't worry," she said authoritatively, and I backed off, more as a reflex than anything. The door closed firmly and I heard the click of the lock.

I was hopin' for heaven
but baby I ain't blind
this ain't the first time
I been undermined

Like a spoiled child I stomped back to the living room. I hated being left out and I especially hated that particular bit of information being dangled before me and then snatched away. Extraordinarily frustrated, I flopped back down on the couch in the same position I'd been in before. This time Fiona interrupted my train of thought in the flesh. She sat down on the chair but was silent now.

It was strange. I had known things would be different between us the next time I saw her. They would have to be. I couldn't tell her, but I needed to tell her, I wanted to. Now was clearly not the time. I decided to try again to get information out of her. "So has she ever had symptoms like this before?"

Fi shrugged. "Not that I know of. I mean, it just sounds kind of like a stomach flu, doesn't it?"

I shook my head. "I don't think so. If you'd seen her"

"Speaking of which," she interrupted, "I'd kind of like to. What's going on in there?"

"I don't know. I don't think they want us in there, though." I tried not to let my face betray my mounting irritation.

sad eyes and crooked smile
that I remember well
now it looks like
all I got is time to kill

"This whole thing is so strange," she sighed.

"Speaking of which," I teased her, "any aliens in Seattle? Werewolves? Vampires?"

"You know, I really haven't been keeping track. Turns out people will take you much more seriously if you report news they can actually believe. I figure I can gain their trust first, and then" She laughed self-consciously and during the awkward silence that followed, I suddenly realized that while things were different between us, it wasn't for the reason I had thought it would be.

How could I tell her without actually telling her? I was really ready for this day to be over.

you can't fool me, I see it your eyes
you can't fool me, I see it in your eyes
everything I thought we had has all been cast aside
you can't fool me, I see it in your eyes

"You look tired," she observed, perhaps picking up on that vibe.

"Yeah," I said. "Kind of a long day."

"Why don't you go on home? Doesn't your mom have her own car?"

No, Fiona, I don't want to go home because I have some very pressing questions about the woman I thought I genuinely loved six hours ago, and now I'm not so sure because it's quite possible that she's been lying to me. "I don't want to leave her here alone," I explained. "My mom. This way if she gets tired, she can go home for a while or go get something to eat and I can take over her shift."

"I'm here now, though," she pointed out.

"I don't mind staying. I don't have anything else to do."

Awkward silence.

"Well, I'm glad you're here," she smiled. "It's nice to know that someone's glad to see me." Was I?

"You don't look any different," I said. I meant it as a compliment, but it seemed to annoy her. Whatever.

"I am different. Older." I didn't respond. "You don't look different either."

"I guess it hasn't really been that long."

"No, I guess not," she said quietly, and I just knew there was a deeper meaning to that, one that I was supposed to figure out. Now I was more tired than ever.

"So what have you been up to?" she asked after a while. "Any girlfriends?"

"No, not really. Just playing with the band, hanging out at the club. She's got a steady gig four nights a week, keeps us all busy enough."

"Is that all you do?"

"What do you mean?"

"All you do is work?"

"I don't really think of it as work," I shrugged.

"What about going back to business school?"

"What's the point? I have a job I love."

"Don't you think you're a little old to be living at home and playing in my mom's band?"

"Well, I guess it can't last forever," I felt rather melancholy and decided not to say any more on the subject. She asked a few more leading questions--I think journalism was a bad influence on her already overly-inquisitive nature--before getting the hint and shutting up for a while.

"So I'm alone in this, aren't I?" she said finally.

"Alone in what?" I asked warily.

"This."

"What's oh." I didn't say anything. She took my silence as encouragement, I guess, because she moved over from the chair to the couch, decreasing the distance between us.

"I just thought that when I came back, maybe finally something I don't know. I guess it was stupid."

"Well, it's just that--"

"I know! I'm just a little kid. I'm your little sister, practically. Nothing's changed." A rueful smile. "Maybe next time, huh?"

I couldn't quite think of anything to say to that. I guess I should have put her off somehow, but I wasn't thinking clearly. My thoughts snapped into focus when I felt warm lips on mine. I kind of pushed her away slightly. "Whoa, that isn't that's not Yeah, no."

She looked really hurt and I felt terrible for rejecting her, but what else could I do? The love of my short life might be a liar or insane or worse, but this was just wrong. "It's not you," I said.

"It's me," she chorused. "Yeah, yeah, I get it."

"Whatdo you get?"

"It. I get it. Don't worry. It's fine."

"It is?"

"Yeah. I always kind of had a feeling about you."

"You did?"

"No offense, but do you often see capri pants on straight guys?" She giggled. "It's cool. I'm sorry. I should have been more sensitive."

"I"

"Yeah, well. I'm sorry. I'm just gonna go to bed now. See you in the morning, or whenever."

I didn't bother to set the record straight, as it were. I heard the door to the guest room close and lock and stretched out on the couch in preparation for a long quiet night. Fi was right; I could just go on home now, but despite all my questions and anger, part of me still just couldn't stand the thought of leaving.

So I stayed. And I waited.

these boots are the same boots I was wearin' then
but these blues are something new
they came around when I lost you
and it looks like I got stuck with an empty hand
...