Shifters of Grrr 2 (19 page)

The gravel cracked and creaked under the wheels of the sedan as they pulled into the driveway. The sound jarred Gabby awake.

"I'm sorry. I drifted off again, didn't I? How long have I been asleep?"

"Not long. Just since we reached Atlanta or so."

In reality, she had slept most of the trip, not counting a brief time at a rest stop outside of Florida. He told the little white lie so that she wouldn't feel bad about something as silly as falling asleep on the way home. He did this often.

She yawned deeply, reached over the seat to gather her small overnight case and then opened the car door. The light from the opening made her squint and blink. It took her a few moments before she could focus. Night air and newly awakened eyes never were a good combination for her.
 

She hated coming home after a trip. The phone always had messages to remind her of all the things she had been trying to get away from, and there was work ready to be done. And the bags. The luggage bags were the worst for her. Somehow there seemed to be twice as much baggage coming back as when they left. She had to unpack them, start the laundry, and then hang it back in the closet. Two weeks worth of clothes that needed tending to all in a matter of hours. She spent most of the evening getting loads of laundry started, shaking the sand out of socks and shoes, and trying to find where that malodorous smell was coming from. Twenty minutes after her search started, a decaying starfish in the lining of Tim's swim trunks turned out to be the culprit, and she was off to catch up on her email.

Timothy breathed a sigh of relief.
Home
. God, he loved coming home after a trip. To him, the few hours spent after just arriving home was the perfect peace that the vacation was supposed to be about. No more traffic, no more reservation hassles, and no more hurrying to get enough entertainment squeezed into two weeks that would last until next year's vacation. Yes, coming home was the best part of the trip, or at least it would have been if his toe would stop throbbing. Damn journal.
What kind of idiot leaves a tome that size in the sand?
He shook his head. He'd tried to throw the thing into the kitchen trash bin when she grabbed it from his hands. All he heard her say was "antique" and "heirloom" or something, he wasn't paying attention to what it was. For all he knew they would be appearing on the next
Antiques Roadshow
.
 
He didn't know where the thing was out after its retrieval from the trash, but so long as she didn't leave it lying around on the floor he didn't care. Mere seconds after kicking off his shoes and leaning back into the recliner, sleep found him.

She smiled at the sight of him, wrapped up in the comforter that was a permanent fixture on the couch. As a freelance author, she would write in between laundry loads until they were all done, and it was time to jostle Tim awake and go to bed.

Except this time, Tim wouldn't jostle awake. This time, Tim stayed asleep, much to Gabby's intense sadness. She tried not to think of the trip often, but it was still one of the most pleasant days of her and Tim's life.
 

The lasting pause that losing Tim put on her meant that it'd be two years until she thought to open the journal and start her life again.

Chapter Two - Landon and the Impossible Search

Landon Bishop wandered into that party on a dare. Newly single and unemployed, he was waiting for a call back from a warehouse for a potential job. He'd dressed in a blazer, which made all the women at the party immediately repel, but that didn't bother him as much as not knowing a soul there.

He stumbled around from the punch bowl to the appetizer tray trying not to stand out any more than he already did. He was tired from a random bout of insomnia and was ready to leave.
 

He'd just turned the corner to head out when he swore he saw Timothy. Timothy was his sister's former high school boyfriend. That seemed like a lifetime ago.

"Hey you!" he heard before he could casually make his exit.

"Hey Tim, looking good, who's the lovely on the arm?" he asked before it hit him. As soon as her head turned toward him, and he saw her eyes twinkle, he breathed in that earthy scent that told him everything he needed to know. As a shifter, that scent told him he was standing in front of the woman he'd been destined to find.

"Gabby. We're sort of a thing."

"Sort of?" she'd said while playfully punching him in the arm.
 

Landon could tell three things. She was his to find, she was desperately in love with Tim, and Tim wasn't going to be around much longer. There was some sort of shadow or cloud around him, an aura that told him that something was draining him of life and energy. It was the most unpleasant part of being a shifter.

"Been together over a decade now, probably time to put a ring on it," Tim had said to him, more for Gabby's benefit than Landon's.

Tim wandered off shortly afterward while Gabby had another glass of wine.

"You know, that blazer isn't going to melt panties. You need to up your game. A cute guy like you, you don't need much help, but that blazer is dragging you down."

"Hey, now, just because you can't appreciate the awesomeness of the tweed doesn't mean you can browbeat me, Missy." Landon even wagged his finger at her for effect.

Gabby laughed harder than he'd ever seen a woman laugh and then placed her hand on his shoulder. Such a simple gesture that felt as if she'd struck him with a lightning bolt.
 

Tim came back in short time, whisking her away as she haphazardly waved a 'bye' over her shoulder.
 

Landon knew that he'd follow her to the ends of the earth to keep her safe, happy, and loved.

Two years after that fateful party, he turned from filling up his Chevy convertible to see her there at the next pump. Flawless and beautiful, with an air of sadness, he could sense that she was alone now. Whatever shadow he felt over Tim that day at the party must have come true.

"Hey there," he called out and waved toward her, knowing she'd not recognize him.

"Hey there, you!" Gabby was a complete loss as to who the gentleman was but still didn't want to be rude.

"We met a couple of years ago at a party. You trashed me over my blazer. I'm Landon." He rambled on as he approached her, hand outstretched.

"Right, right. That blazer! What were you thinking, professor?" She laughed before even realizing how very long it had been since she'd done that.

"I was thinking about going to an interview afterward, and it apparently worked thank-you-very-much as I'm now employed." He tipped an imaginary hat as he spoke.

"Well, good for you. Listen, I'm late for class, so I need to run, but it was nice seeing you."
 

She hopped back into her small compact car and rushed off while Landon realized in that brief handshake that Gabby was the woman he'd been fated to meet. Gabby was going to be his forever mate, if he could just convince her of that. Gabby, on the other hand, forgot about the incident entirely less than half an hour after it happened.

Deep inside him, his leopard started to pace in excitement.

Journal Entry-
March 1, 1943

My first journal entry. Mamma says I'm supposed to tell about myself, so I guess I'll start there. My name is Catherine Elizabeth, I'm 15, and people say I have something called "dishwater blonde" hair. I don't think that's true because I don't wash my hair with the dishes at all; still it isn't as fancy as the people I see on the moving picture screen. I was born on August 12, 1927, in a town called Macon. That's in Georgia. My folks work in a factory, long hours, and most days I'm home long before they are. Kids at school tell me I'm white trash, but I don't see how trashy we can be with a brand new Plymouth in the driveway. Daddy paid $645 for it, and that's only six months salary for him.

I'm starting to think that I may not ever find a boy that likes me. Mamma was already near married at my age. I don't think I'm pretty. It may be my nose. Girls that have strange crooked noses like mine have a hard time, at least that's what Mary Costin down at the store told me the other day. She'd know too, her mom has the perkiest nose in the neighborhood and has been seen with many male friends lately. The closest I ever got to a boy was at the movie house down the street. I'd gone to see a double feature, saving up the forty cents out of my own money. It was "dish night", and I liked the idea of seeing two movies and getting some glassware all for my ticket money. During the intermission, a nice man named William came up to me and kissed me right on the lips. He tasted all funny, and I believe he had been drinking like Daddy does on the weekends. He had to have been at least 20; he was way old. I never told Mamma, for fear she would know the man, and he'd tell her that I was sneaking cigarettes. There are some things Mamma just doesn't need to know.

Anyways, back to "dish night."
 
I'm a collector. The glass is bright and colorful with little imperfections throughout, and you can get it just about anywhere now. Mamma bought a sack of flour down at the market and brought home a creamer set. I think it's the prettiest set I've ever seen. It's probably going to be very valuable someday. I've collected seven pieces so far, all by going to the movies. To me, it's a better investment than stupid old flour. One day I will be serving my children and my husband's important friends on this glassware, so I'm taking special care of it. It's down deep in my hope chest. I'm sure my future husband will appreciate the fact that I was so resourceful. None of the other kids at my school appreciate me; they just eye me funny.

Mamma says we are in a depression, but I feel fine. Maybe she's just sad.

Dad was real close to losing his job at the factory and lately the stores have charged a lot of money for their wares; maybe that's what is making her depressed. Maybe it's the war. This depression thing is one of the reasons I'm going to move out of Macon. I'm going to live by the ocean, someplace surrounded by sand and surf. Maybe even buy a little cottage and sell crafts. I don't know yet. I have months before I need to decide it all. I won't be an adult, Mamma says, until my birthday in August. I hope I get a cake, one of those really rich decadent ones dripping in coconut. After all, how many times do you turn 16?-
~CEC

Journal Entry -
December 5, 1952

Oh journal, finally the long passage from early spring to this cold winter morning is complete. Last evening, I gave birth to twins. Bobby swore I was getting as big as a Frigidaire by the time the midwife came. We named them Matilda Court Taylor and Naomi Court Taylor. I prefer my maiden name as a middle name, and he agreed. They came full of life screaming at the top of their little lungs. Naomi was even born with a little tooth already, not sure about nursing her.

Bobby seems the assured father; he's been ready for children since he was put into management down at the bank. All the important managers have large families. It seemed to have taken us a while before we were blessed with children. Nearly five years since we were married before these firstborns. Others we socialize with have a much larger brood. Why, the McKinley's have five now, and they are both in their mid-twenties.

Twins. I can hardly believe it. Twice the feedings and double the diaper laundry, but exponentially blessed. Naomi with her ashen tuft of hair, pale ice blue eyes, tiny little toes, and that one sweet tooth. Dear little Matty (Matilda), the carbon copy of her sister right down to her weight, however with darker hair and no tooth to be seen.

Mamma read the Bible to them earlier. It seemed to calm them right down, and they went off to sleep all peaceful like. I read somewhere that a couple of drops of lavender oil on their bed linens or a few drops of whiskey in their night milk will work too. There's so much to learn about babies.

Rose is a happy aunt. She fusses over them as if they were her own. She hasn't found her a man yet; she chooses instead to devote her life to her studies. She writes in her spare time, mostly on scholastic topics for review journals and academic projects. It truly seems that we were one person split in two in the womb. While I married and will rear children as my vocation, she is alone and publishes her research. She prefers quiet evenings by the fire, and I prefer entertaining large groups. I still will prod her to settle down with someone, but I know it is in vain. I wish we both could enjoy ourselves in this life, and she didn't feel the need to be serious enough for us both.

~CEC

Chapter Three - Gabby and the Primary School

The alarm sat silent as 6 a.m. came and went. Somehow Gabby's sleeping subconscious realized this and bolted awake. Her eyes slowly focused on the blinking "PF" on the alarm clock.
Power failure
. Last night's late storm had knocked out the power obliterating her morning wake-up alarm
. Damn, I bet this means the auto-pour on the coffee pot will be screwed too. Damn.
She now had only twenty minutes to shower, dress and be gone to start yet another season of substitute teaching. It started as a means to stay afloat after Tim died, and now Gabby found solace in the comfort of the children's faces.

Freshly showered, she walked naked into the closet and tried to find something that fell into both the comfortable and the school-appropriate category. Most of Gabby's comfortable clothes couldn't be worn in public, and most of her public clothes weren't comfortable. Over the course of her weight gain, she now filled out all her clothes. Gone were her days of size 4's, instead needing to move past the juniors department into the missus section. These days she was spending her time in double digit sizes, a barren sea of despair for Gabby. By the end of today's classes, the fastener to her pants would be imprinted on her stomach long after their removal.