Chapter Two

November 23, 1978

"I want to watch the movie too," Sara whined. She was dressed in a blue, purple, and orange sleeveless dress with a white collar and ribbon across her waistline. Her curly hair had been left down, just brushing her shoulders. At the moment, she was standing in the doorway to the small living room of her grandmother's house, sticking her lip out angrily. The room was 'decorated' with ugly orange and brown carpeting and faded cream-turned-gray wallpaper. There was one window in the room, across from the doorway and covered with an old lace curtain. The otherwise dreary room was warmed by an array of family photos across one bare wall.

"You're too little," her cousin, Ted, replied flatly. He was lying on a foldout couch, blanket over his head and bowl of popcorn on the floor in front of him. Star Wars was playing on the television before the bed.

"Am not."

"Yes you are. You're only seven and I'm twelve. You're too little to see this movie. It's really, really scary, and besides, Grandma said she wanted your help in the kitchen with the turkey and mashed potatoes."

"I already helped Grandma with the food. I want to watch the movie with you."

Ted sighed, reached out and paused the TV, then stood up and walked to the door. He towered over Sara, both hands on either side of the doorway, staring down at her. She stared back, not intimidated in the least since her grandmother was bustling around in the kitchen a doorway down.

"Sara, listen…" Ted began. He was relatively chubby, with a double chin forming and a belly that just barely fit into his red t-shirt. His hair was curly and blonde and always in need of a haircut. "I don't think you really want to see this movie. They've got scary monsters and robots that shoot at people and people get hurt."

"So?" She didn't look away, determined as well as knowing Ted was only bulging blubber and big words.

"Look…umm…" Ted turned his head down the hallway and his eyes enlarged in fear. He pointed a finger down towards their grandma's bedroom door and stuttered, "S-Sa-Sara!"

Sara followed his gaze. "There's nothing—" And the door was slammed in her face. "Ted!" She pounded angrily on the door with her fists, but he had turned up the volume on the TV to drown out her pleas. This always happened. Ted hated Sara, as well as all their other cousins, even though they only saw each other on holidays. With a heavy sigh, Sara walked down the hall and turned to the right, into the kitchen.

"Grandma," Sara began, walking up to the counter and watching her assemble the cranberry sauce. "Grandma, Ted is being mean. He won't let me watch the Star Wars movie."

"You're too young," Grandma Taylor replied emotionlessly.

Sara pouted, hanging on the countertop with her fingertips and letting her knees give out. "But I want to watch it."

"I'm sorry, no."

She brushed past Sara, holding onto the platter filled with the red-violet gelatinous blob. Though she was still upset, Sara grabbed the giant bowl filled with mashed potatoes and staggered out after her grandmother into the dining room. Her mother, father, two aunts, three uncles, and four other cousins were all crowded into the room, chatting up a wave of noise. Sara could hardly blame Ted for locking himself up with the Star Wars movie.

There were her Aunt Sandra and Uncle Larry who had two kids, Heather and Stephanie. Sandra was the second youngest of Laura's three siblings. Lightly put, she was a ditz, loud and not exactly the brightest of the bunch. Larry was the financial and disciplinarian backbone of the family. He was a good lawyer, and was the firm hand that kept his daughters from being completely out of control.

Heather was very much little-miss-perfect, or as close to one as a five-year-old can get. Stephanie was in her terrible-twos stage, and was enjoying every minute of it. She yelled, threw tantrums, and threw whatever she was holding at anyone and everything that made her angry. People at the table also seemed currently oblivious to the fact that she was preparing to throw her spoon across the table and into the turkey

Then there was Aunt Diane and Uncle Paul who were the parents of Ted, William, and Christine. They were living with Grandma after taking a trip from their hometown in Ohio. Diane was very much like Laura, soft-spoken, motherly. Her husband was the oldest of Laura's siblings and was very responsible and successful at his job as a car mechanic.

William was Sara's favorite cousin, and the closest to her own age at six years old. However, Will was sick, and was not sitting at the table—banished to his grandmother's bedroom away from the noise and people. Christine was a drama queen in the shape and size of a four-year-old. She'd never really grown out of being two years old, though she had developed a substantial amount of arrogant sass.

The final person at the table was Uncle Donald. He was the black sheep and the youngest of the family, hiding a drug and alcohol addiction under his belt that nobody spoke of and the kids didn't know existed. He had been through three wives and five children, holding no custody over any of them due to several DUIs, a carrying concealed conviction, and a stash of marijuana found in the trunk of his car many years ago. Yet the family put up with him at each holiday.

"Dinner!" Grandma Taylor cried, setting the sauce next to the turkey and green-bean-casserole as well as grabbing the spoon from Stephanie's hand. Sara heaved the mashed potatoes onto the long table everyone sat at and scrambled into her respective spot between her mother and father.

The murmur of people only increased as the final dishes were set out. Grandma Taylor sat at the head of the table, with Diane and Paul on her right. The seats continued with Ted and William's empty chairs, and then Christine sitting next to Laura. Then came Sara, Allen, Donald, Larry, Heather, Stephanie, Sandra, and back to Grandma Taylor.

Grace was said quietly, and they began to pass around the food. Green-bean-casserole, corn, turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, yam and marshmallow salad, cranberry sauce, and Sandra's disgusting meatballs smothered in cream-of-mushroom soup. Sara grimaced as Laura shoveled a meatball onto her plate. The talk continued and the sound of the television could only just be heard beyond the kitchen.

"Ted wouldn't let me watch Star Wars," Sara stated, carefully moving the rest of her food away from the meatballs.

"Good. You're too young," Laura replied, cutting up Sara's turkey.

Sara heaved a sigh.

"Omigod, Laura! What's that bruise on your arm from?" Sandra asked from across the table. She was goggling at a large bruise on Laura's left arm, just a little ways down from her shoulder.

"Oh…umm…"

"Laura rammed into the door on her way out with the yam and marshmallow stuff. It was an accident," Allen said, stepping in with a pleasant tone. He reached across the back of Sara's chair and put his hand on Laura's right shoulder, squeezing gently and rubbing his thumb along it.

"You've been awfully clumsy lately, haven't you dear?" Grandma Taylor added, pointing her fork at Laura. "What's going on?" She leaned closer to her and whispered, "Is it that time of the month?"

Laura shrugged, smiling faintly.

Sara looked up at Allen expectantly, fork halfway to her mouth, but he didn't look back. He had just flat-out lied through his teeth to the rest of the family. Laura hadn't run into the door on accident; Allen had pushed her into it that morning. Sara couldn't recall the reason—the violence in the house wasn't exactly extreme. It was like an annoying buzz that just won't go away, subtle, yet still enough to stress the family.

Laura had come home from the hospital with just a concussion and a substantial bump on the back of her head, but that event had been the turning point in the Sidle home. Allen seemed to have interpreted Laura's act of being vague about how she fell to mean that he could continue to use physical force to end arguments in his favor. Bills came along one day, and they had argued over the costs. Squeezing Laura's arm to the brink of watering eyes, Allen had gotten his way. Stress at work came home with him, and it only added to the fire, giving Laura a small cut on her chin. Laura did nothing; she had only needed to go to the hospital the one time she had fallen, and saw no reasonto make a fuss about it.

"But Daddy—"

Allen turned his gaze to Sara and winked. She closed her mouth and lowered her fork, and then with a slow exhale, she turned quietly back to her potatoes as conversation continued around them.

"How's the business going, Jean?" Larry asked, turning to Grandma Taylor.

She paused, and with a feeble smile replied softly, "I'm thinking about selling it…"

Silence washed across the table.

"Why?" Laura questioned after about thirty seconds of shocked disbelief.

"Well, you know how these things are when you get old…you just can't handle things like you used to. The store is getting a little too out of control for somebody like me. I'm thinking about giving it to Marcus and his family—for a fee, of course."

"But…but Ma, we spent our entire childhoods in that store with Pop," Paul said, obviously shaken.

"Well I would have given it to you, Paul, but you and Diane don't live close enough. Sandra, I know how busy you are with the kids, and Larry wouldn't have time, being a lawyer; Laura, you're putting all your heart into that bed and breakfast, the store would be an unnecessary addition."

"What about me?" Donald asked from the other end of the table, head bent over his plate of food.

Grandma Taylor paused, then said, "You're broke."

"Exactly. I could use the money."

"You'd sell that store just for the money and spend it on—" she stumbled in her speech, and continued with discretion. " You'd spend it on unnecessary things."

Donald smirked and continued eating.

Nobody could come up with a proper argument to her way of thinking—she was just going to do what she thought was right, and Marcus Iverson was a good man who wouldn't use any money earned for drugs and alcohol. He'd worked at Grandma Taylor's store for a very long time. Still, the thought of the store being given to somebody outside the family was still painful to everybody, Sara included.

Her grandfather had co-owned the store with her grandmother. He died before Sara was born, but usually when Sara visited her grandmother for a weekend, they would spend much of their time down at the store. Sara took it upon herself to re-re-rearrange the small toy section in the back.

"Mommy?" came a rasping voice from behind them all.

The family turned to see Will standing crusty-eyed, tousle-haired, and snot-covered in the dining room doorway.

"What, honey?" Diane replied.

"I don't feel good."

"I know, baby."

"I'm think I'm going to—" And he threw up right in the doorway.

Everybody sprang into action. Diane leapt from her seat and swept Will up in her arms, running for the bathroom before anyone could blink. Paul andGrandmahad attacked the vomit with paper towels, and the other adults plugged their noses and that of their children. Sandra however, grimaced at the sight, and began to sway.

"Coming through!" Larry grabbed Sandra's hands and pulled her into the kitchen, where she puked in the sink.

Donald chuckled lightly and forked another slab of turkey onto his plate.

An hour later, dinner was finished and the family had dispersed from the table. Sandra's stomach had settled and Will was in Grandma Taylor's bedroom with his mother and the flu.

Sara was leaning against the hallway, next to the door where Will was sleeping. She hummed a nameless tune to herself, traced the shoelaces in her shoes over and over, and clapped a one-person version of Mary-Mack, all to keep herself occupied as she waited for Diane to leave and her chance to go in and talk to Will.

After a few minutes, Diane opened the door and stepped out. She held a finger to her lips, looking Sara's way, telling her that he was not to be disturbed.

"Come on, sweetie," Diane placed a hand to Sara's back and led her down the hallway, away from Will.

"I have to go to the bathroom." Sara stopped dead in her tracks and refused to go further.

Diane sighed and hesitated before replying, "All right, but stay away from Will. He's tired and you don't want to get sick too. Make sure you wash your hands."

Sara turned and tiptoed back to the bedroom. She cautiously turned the doorknob and proceeded into the room. Will was lying on his grandmother's bed, eyes closed, blankets tucked around him, and a big silver pot on the floor beside the bed.

"Will?" Sara whispered, coming close, her shoulders bent forward, her feet still stepping on tiptoe.

One of his eyes opened, and then the other, and when he saw who it was, he sat up.

"I'm sleeping," he said quietly, rubbing one eye. His hair was curly like Ted's, but shorter and brown. He shared the same face and eyes as Sara, but his head was narrower and his jaw more pointed.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay." Sara stood up straight. She looked around her grandmother's room. It was very quaint, sayings like 'Home is where the heart is.' nailed onto the wall surrounded with pictures. Her grandmother's armoire had plants along the top. A large rug filled the middle of the room. "I can read," Sara stated. "I could read you a book if you want."

Will sat in thought for a few seconds before he replied, "No, I don't…I…" Drool began to form at the corner of his mouth and he began to cry. "Mommy…" he moaned. And then he threw up again, all over the floor and Grandma Taylor's quilt.

Sara threw her hands to her face and covered her nose. She turned tail and ran to get her aunt. When she opened the door, she ran headfirst into Diane's stomach,fallingpainfully onto the floor. Diane stumbled and stopped to pick her up.

"Sara, I told you not to be long…what happened?"

"He threw up again."

Diane brushed past Sara and into the room, holding William as Sara watched from the open door. She held the pot to his mouth and her other hand to his head as he continued to heave.

"Sara, go on. You don't want to be here for this," Diane commanded.

With a sigh, Sara turned to leave. She froze at the open doorway to the kitchen. Her grandmother and mother were conversing in a heated whisper.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Laura hissed.

"I didn't want you to worry about me, you can't deal with worrying. Hell, Laura, you can barely deal with getting your period without crashing into things! You don't need to be worrying about your mother's health."

"Your health? Mom, this is your life we're talking about! Your life!"

Sara raised an eyebrow and peeked around the doorframe. She had thought they were talking about Grandma Taylor selling the shop, but that didn't really have anything to do with her life or health. She saw them standing in the far left corner of the room, by the pantry door.

"One year is still enough of a life for somebody like me. I've done my time here."

"No you haven't," Laura choked, putting the back of her hand to her mouth to hide an open-mouthed sob. "You haven't! Sara needs you here. I need you here, more than anything." She sobbed again, placing both her hands to her face, hiding the gushing tears.

"Laura Jean, pull yourself together. Your daughter's standing there in the doorway, gawking at you like you're from an insane asylum," Grandma Taylor said stoically, folding her frail arms and leaning against the wall, nodding towards the entryway.

Laura spun around and saw Sara, completely in the doorway now, gazing at her feet, biting her lip, hands clasped behind her back.

"I didn't mean to listen."

"It's okay, sweetie…" Laura sniffed. She walked over, bent down and hugged Sara.

"What were you crying about?" Sara asked, setting her chin on Laura's shoulder, absentmindedly brushing her finger along the edges of her mother's bruise. She didn't notice her grandmother leave the room.

Laura sighed and sniffed again, "Baby, your grandma is very sick."

"That's was completely inconsiderate," Allen remarked out of nowhere as he drove them down the back roads towards home. Grandma Taylor lived in San Francisco—the drive was approximately 45 minutes. The roads were twisty, sometimes on hillsides and sometimes on flat ground. Presently they were driving on a hill, the slope on their left and trees on their right.

"What was?" Laura asked numbly, her head pressed against the glass. The time was nearing midnight and Sara was fast asleep in the back seat of their station wagon.

"Your mother telling you on a day like today. You shouldn't say stuff like that on a holiday."

"Allen, please…" Laura began halfheartedly, but she drifted off at the end, as if the argument wasn't really worth it.

"Well God knows she's lived long enough…crazy old lady…"

"Allen!" Laura replied sternly, lifting her cheek from the glass and turning sharp eyes to him.

"It's true, and personally I'm glad she's got cancer. It's about time. I'm sick of her. She's never liked me, and you know that. You were an emotional wreck on our wedding day because you were scared she was going to object right in the middle of it at the 'anyone who has a reason' blah, blah, blah."

"That's not true," Laura said quietly.

"Yes it is!" He pointed a finger in her face and continued one notch below yelling, "She never thought I was good enough for you!" The outburst caused Sara to stir. "Don't you remember? When you found out you were pregnant, she said when you told her the news that it might have been best if you got rid of me before Sara was born—that I wasn't a very good influence."

"Allen, I don't want to talk about this now. Just…Just concentrate on getting home," Laura murmured, setting her head back on the window.

Allen avoided looking at the road and instead turned to Laura.

"I don't know how you could stand her and your father while you were growing up."

"Allen, just watch the road," Laura commanded, annoyance heavy in her voice.

"I don't need to watch the road. Look, you see? No hands! I could reach around and smack you upside the head, light a cigarette, sing Yankee Doodle, and stick my ass out the window and we wouldn't have to worry because no one is ever on these country roads."

He reached over and pinched Laura in the same location as her bruise to prove a point.

"Are we dead? No? I didn't think so." He still wasn't watching the street before him, though his hands were once again on the wheel.

Laura remained silent, closing her eyes. Her face was streaked with tears, not at what he had been saying or what he had just done, but in the mourning of a daughter for her parent. Sara watched them silently from the backseat. Allen was watching Laura.

"Daddy!" Sara unexpectedly screeched from the back seat, her face suddenly terror-stricken

"What the hell, Sara? What?" he replied, turning to look at her. She was staring ahead at the road, eyes wide, her hand gripping the door handle beside her.

"Oh my God Allen! Watch the road!" Laura too, screamed.

Allen turned his head to see a pickup truck careening towards them, horn blaring. "HOLY—" He wrenched the wheel to the right, but it went too fast and he drove off the side of the road, ramming the station wagon into the safety rail.

A/N: Thank you all very much for your reviews:) They really make my day--nothing quite like checking your email and seeing a bunch of compliments waiting for you.

Waffle: Sorry, got tired of waiting for you! And yes! I kept it! Caleb gave me an idea to use. :)