Part One: Chapter Three

April 7, 1984

Sara sat silently in her room, pouring over her homework for the umpteenth time. She had already checked over it repeatedly for the past hour, but there was nothing else particularly interesting to do. Yes, there was her floor-to-ceiling bookcase filled with books, but she had read each and every one of them three times at least. She had long since outgrown the dusty dollhouse in the corner of the room. So here she was, going over homework…again.

Her eyes drooped with boredom and she attempted stating the facts out loud in hopes of staying awake.

"Acceleration is the rate at which velocity changes…know that…" She flipped the page over. "Gravity…blah…mass…blah…inertia…know that…" She slammed her science textbook down on the desk in resentment, folding her arms and setting them over the book, head coming down to land on top as a 'boredom sundae'.

There hadn't been anything to do ever since the bed and breakfast closed all those years ago. Michael's parents had filed charges for battery. Not surprisingly, Sara's mother was fined, so much so they were forced to sell their upper level to somebody else, a cranky old widow named Clarabelle, with tons of cats and a temper to match. She never liked Sara (or kids for that matter) and Sara felt the same way towards her, avoiding her whenever possible. The house was beginning to reek of cat feces and Sara was tempted many a time to go up there and clean up, no matter how much the old bat complained.

Sara's eyes closed atop the book and she breathed deeply, trying to get peaceful visions into her mind. Instead, a stick man flailing about on top of a car as it sped to a wall, crashing forcefully, then flying up over the top filled it.

Sara groaned, "Physics…" and opened her eyes in indignation, another angry sigh escaping.

Suddenly the sounds of clinking keys and an opening door reached Sara's ears. She sat up straight instantly and glanced at the radio-clock on her desk: 4:30 p.m.

"Dad?" she whispered to herself, disbelief flooding her words. Why would he be home this early? How could he be home this early?

She flung herself out of her jaded stupor towards the door, thrusting it open eagerly to spy her dad, setting his keys and jacket down on the kitchen table.

"Dad!" she exclaimed surprised, but beyond happy all the same. She ran up to him and flung herself around his neck. "I can't believe you're home this early! It's been so boring here, you wouldn't believe it! I—I can't believe it!" she stuttered. She clung to his neck, standing on tiptoes.

Her father chuckled.

"I can't believe how big you've gotten. I've only seen you when you're sleeping for the past few weeks. Is your homework done? Man I've been meaning to ask you that question for two months now…"

"You have no idea how done my homework is. What brings you home so early?" Sara asked excitedly, enormous smile on her face, finally letting go of him and looking up into his face.

"Oh—uh…" he blinked and gulped.

"Dad?" Sara whispered, smile fading.

"I…uh…"

"Oh…Dad…no…you haven't been…" Sara ran a hand through her hair. "You haven't been…fired…have you?"

Slowly, solemnly, her father nodded.

"But…" Sara blinked away the feelings of panic rising in her now. He can't be fired…no, he can't be fired. He was their only source of money! Her mother never went to college, dropped out of her job once she married. It was impossible for her dad to be fired.

"I'm sorry Sara." Jim whispered gravely.

"But…" She gazed up at him pleadingly, waiting for the moment where he'd burst out laughing because it was all just a big trick. "Why?" she asked, voice straining.

He looked out at the sun then back at Sara.

"Come with me," he mumbled. He strode over to Sara's bedroom and she followed silently, shock keeping her from properly grasping the facts. He held open the door for her and she entered, sitting down at her desk chair in a numb silence. Her father was soundless for a few more minutes, hands on his hips in hopes of forcing Sara out of awaiting an answer. It was foolish really; Sara would never back down from a needed answer.

"Sara," he began.

"I'm listening," she mumbled.

"You know how I…sometimes hit your mother?"

"Yeah,"

"Well…today at work, one of my coworkers made me mad, real mad. You know like the one time when you were six and a boy from school stole your book and threw it in the mud."

"Yeah,"

"Well, today, I got mad at her, and…raised my hand to her, somebody not your mom."

Sara dropped her jaw.

"You didn't actually hit her did you?" she moaned, eyes looking up at her father in an insistent glare.

"No, no, but I was mad enough to scare her and so…I was fired."

They sat there in a hushed silence for awhile longer. How could he be fired. It was all a dream. All it was, was a stupid dream, just a stupid dream that she would wake up from soon and she'd be five again, walking along the shoreline.

"I have homework to do dad." Sara finally muttered, turning her gaze away, glancing back at the stationary textbook. She stared hard at the cover and blinked away angry tears until she heard her father leave the room. How could he do that to her? How? What had she ever done to deserve all of this? The drunkenness, the anger, the hitting, the fights, the hospital visits, Clarabelle. She bit her tongue at the mention of the old hag and the reminder of the awful stench in the house.

She continued staring at the title of her textbook "Earth Science and Physics: 7th Grade" Suddenly, a soft pawing at her door brought her attention from the boring title. Curiously, she crept out of her chair and strode over to her door. Once she was outside it, the pawing stopped, she made to step away, convinced she had just heard things, but as soon as her foot was just about to step down, the pawing started again.

"What the…" Sara opened the door and an orange tabby padded slowly into the room.

"Great…" Sara muttered. "You'd think she'd remember to close the doorway seeing as how she doesn't even use it." She walked over to the cat who had now settled himself down on her bed. "Get, go on. Off!"

The cat didn't budge.

"Don't make me take you off there myself."

The cat yawned widely and began grooming itself.

Sara heaved a sigh and picked the cat up from the bed. It began purring gently and snuggled into her arm.

"You reek," was all she could mutter, but she still felt some comfort. "Let's get you back to…" she stuck out her tongue in disgust, "Clarabelle."

She walked out of her room and over to the doorway leading to the upper level. The door wasn't open so she knocked on the wood gently like she had all those years ago when the bed and breakfast was around and she wanted to play with the kids. She was never very skillful when it came to making friends. The only ones she really had were those temporary children that stopped by to sleep for a few nights and now that they were gone, she had almost no one except her teachers.

Sounds of somebody stepping slowly down the staircase reached Sara's ears. The door swung open and a batty old woman with glasses, gray hair, and wrinkled skin, appeared. She was wearing an aged tattered bathrobe and fuzzy pink slippers.

"I found your cat Ms. Clarabelle." Sara muttered politely, attempting to hold the cat clinging to her shoulder out to Clarabelle.

"Oliver," the woman muttered in a voice like ice. "I was wondering where you were." She reached out and snatched the cat roughly from Sara's grip.

"Now get Sara. Shoo, before I set my cats on you."

She slammed the door in Sara's face but she remained standing there, the horrible stench of cat poop reaching her nose, nearly making her gag. Why was she always so cranky around kids? There was no reason Sara knew of for her to be. Sara remained stationed there, to the point where the door swung open again.

"What do you want?" Clarabelle cried, standing angrily in the doorway, the stench filtering into Sara's nose again.

"Why do you hate kids?" Sara asked blandly, staring unblinkingly at Clarabelle.

The old woman's jaw dropped then she narrowed her eyes and stuck her lip out in an attempt at looking menacing.

"Now you listen here Sara," She shook a finger angrily in Sara's face. "I don't hate kids." Then she slammed the door in Sara's face.

"Then why do you hate me?" she called through the wood.

The door swung back open and Clarabelle glared back out.

"I don't."

"Then why do you act like you do?"

Clarabelle stood staring at Sara, mouth hanging open in shock of her boldness.

Sara stood placidly in front of her, waiting for an answer. Clarabelle closed her mouth, then waved Sara inside.

"You better come in," she croaked.

Sara stepped quietly onto the steps, following Clarabelle slowly seeing as how the woman was stiff with age. Several cats ran past her ankles and the stench of feces grew stronger. She tried her best to breathe through only her mouth but the air was thick and it was difficult to breathe past the smell.

"Have a seat Sara," Clarabelle muttered, opening the door into the kitchen and gesturing at a small table and two chairs. One was very dusty, probably because she never received any visitors…ever. The woman shuffled over to the refrigerator, opened it, and pulled out a jug of milk. Sara sat down quietly in the dusty chair and swung her legs distractedly, holding onto the sides of the chair, looking around the room.

Cat food littered the floor along with stains of pee and puked up hairballs. There were currently two cats in the room, Oliver being one of them. They were winding around and around Clarabelle's legs. The old woman didn't seem to notice as she poured two glasses of milk for her and Sara. When she finished she set the milk down on the counter and brought the two glasses over to the table.

"Thank you," Sara whispered taking the glass from her.

Clarabelle sat down and began sipping her milk quietly, gently patting one of the cats who had accumulated itself in her lap. Sara stared at the glass, still swinging her legs, not bothering to drink. Clarabelle watched her, becoming steadily more irritated.

"Well are you going to drink it or not?" she finally snapped.

"You haven't answered my question." Sara stared defiantly into Clarabelle's beady blue eyes. She stared back, but brown outdid blue, and Clarabelle was first to look away.

"Now, Sara, there are some things in life that one of these days you're going to need to understand. Death is one of them. When I was a young woman, younger than your mother even, I was pregnant and was going to have a baby."

Sara listened intently, her legs still swinging vaguely beneath her seat.

"Now, when I went to the hospital to have the baby, I was in labor for more than 72 hours. You know what labor is don't you?"

Sara nodded.

"Now, when I finally had the baby, it…" she blinked and bent down to pick up one of her cats from the ground.

"She was a still born. She was dead."

Sara turned her gaze down to the ground.

"Now, I tried again…but it died, a miscarriage. Then we found out that I can't have kids." She stared down at Oliver who was meowing around Sara's legs.

"I think he likes you." Clarabelle muttered vaguely, smiling for the first time Sara had ever seen. It revealed graying dentures. "Go on, pick him up."

Sara uncertainly reached over the side of the chair and picked the tabby from the ground.

"But I still don't get it. Just because you couldn't have kids doesn't mean you can't like them."

She looked down to one of her cats again.

"Well you know, ever since my husband died, about ten years later, I've been rather ornery. Do you know what ornery means?"

Sara nodded again.

"You're a smart kid Sara. You don't really deserve to live in this small little dump. I've seen your room. You like to read?"

Sara nodded yet again.

"I've got some books if you want to read those."

"Really?" Sara exclaimed.

Clarabelle nodded.

"Have you read Anne Franks Diary?"

Sara shook her head. "I've heard of it, just never read it."

"I'll be right back," the woman stood up and began walking away towards the bedroom. Sara sat where she was, stroking Oliver slowly behind the ears, waiting for Clarabelle to come back. She finally returned, carrying a small stack of books.

"Let's see, we've got Anne Frank's diary, Huckleberry Finn, Tom Sawyer, Moby Dick, and 20,000 Leagues under the Sea. The classics, not any of the junk you kids are reading today."

"Wow!" Sara exclaimed, gaping at the stack of books. "Are you sure I can borrow them?"

"You can keep them my dear." Clarabelle smiled as wide as her old wispy frame would allow. Sara beamed. Then, a faint call from the lower level interrupted their meeting.

"Sara! Where are you?" It was her father. "It's dinner time! I'm taking you out!"

Sara, arms tight around the stack of books, glanced down the stairs.

"I've got to go."

Clarabelle smiled.

"Come back some time."

Sara returned the grin.

"All right. I'll see you later."

Sara then tipped Oliver from her lap to the floor and walked out of the room towards the staircase, waving as best she could with one arm holding the load of novels.

"I'll see you later," Clarabelle repeated airily, watching Sara leave.