Chapter 7

Saturday was the homecoming.

Supported by both his wife and son, Tom gingerly walked through the front door. The steps had been tough, requiring a rest after mastering all three, but he was now home. Nothing else mattered. Standing in the living room were Betty, Ai, the three Cutter women, and a semi stranger. He stopped in the archway, looking around.

"Honey, while I was gone these people have changed my house."

Grinning, Shirley gave him a squeeze with the arm around his waist.

"That's what you get for wrecking the car."

While Tom wasn't bedridden, he was still far from healed, so the family had adapted to his needs. Both the TV and his recliner had been moved into the living room, which was closer to the kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom than the den. The recliner could also easily be slept in if he didn't want to move. The hospital had recommended renting a hospital bed, but Tom had nixed that idea. They could always bring one in tomorrow if this setup didn't work out.

Careful of the cast on his right forearm, Bill and Shirley maneuvered him over and into his chair. Legs elevated, Shirley brought the official family "sick blanket" over to cover him. The extra soft and fluffy covering was the traditional sign someone was to be waited on hand and foot ... but also the sign they were too sick to go play or anything. You never WANTED it unless you really felt like crap, but being covered by it was like being encased in love.

Now that he was safely settled, Betty and Ai came over to give him welcome kisses. He smiled at both his daughters, basking in their attention. Gretchen also gave him a kiss, and a wink. A sidewards glance at his wife got him rolled eyes but also amusement. Hmm. Maybe Shirley was ready to consider helping Gretchen with her needs. He knew better than to say anything, though. Let her bring it up when she was ready. His thoughts were interrupted by the two neighbor girls coming up to give him welcoming hugs, which he returned as best he could.

That left the newcomer.

"Hello ... Cynthia?"

The black clad redhead nodded, smiling shyly.

"Hi Mr. Darrow. Thank you, for letting me stay here."

"It's our pleasure, Honey." She blushed, enjoying hearing him call her that as much as when Mrs. Darrow said it. More so, maybe, so long had a father figure been missing from her life. "Our home is your home. Also, you break it you buy it." This got a giggle out of her, a surprisingly girlish sound, and laughter from the rest of the family. Ai looked at him with a worried expression.

"I don't have money to buy what I break!"

"I'll pay for it," Bill said, giving her hand a squeeze. This got him a tender kiss, and more laughter from the room. Tom let his whole body relax.

This was what life was all about.

It was late afternoon when Cynthia pulled Julie aside. Most of the women were in the kitchen getting dinner going, a turkey saved from the Thanksgiving sales of the previous November, while Bill and Tom watched a hockey game. Good natured sexist ribbing flowed between the two groups, resulting in Betty coming into the living room to help even the odds against the kitchen. Actually, she just really wanted to see the game.

Cynthia looked nervous. Julie took this in, and led the two of them into the computer/sewing room and shut the door.

"What is it, Cynthia?"

The taller girl blushed.

"I ... may I borrow your phone, Julie?"

"Wha... ? Of course! But why ... oh!" Her eyes widened. Julie reached out to touch her friend's arm. "Are you ready to call her?"

"Yeah..."

Cynthia had told the family about her adventures at the hospital, leaving nothing out. There could be no secrets now, as any detail could become important. She wasn't sure which had been more embarrassing, telling of how Ro had gained a soul ... or of her feelings for the teen she had saved. That being pleasured by a monkey was on the same level as being lesbian in her mind wasn't something she was proud of, either.

Seeing the turmoil in her friend's eyes, Julie quietly dug out her phone and handed it over.

"Take your time. She'll be as unsure about all this as you are, most likely."

"I don't think that's possible."

Julie gave her a brief hug, then left, closing the door behind her. Cynthia stood there. This was it. It had been agony, waiting three days, wanting yet fearing to dial those numbers written a seeming lifetime ago. Hand shaking, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the photo. It was already showing signs of wear, although the woman pictured was as beautiful as ever. Should she? COULD she?

The number was burned into her memory, but Cynthia turned the photo over anyway as she activated the phone. Her heart was beating a hundred times a second as, slowly, seven buttons were pressed. She put the phone to the side of her head, turning the photo back over to gaze at the stranger.

She could hear the phone ring.

"Hello?"

The voice was soft ... sad, and yet strong. Part of Cindy wanted to just hang up. Just go, try again later. She had made first contact, that was enough!

"Um, hi. Is this ... Violet?"

"Yes..." The voice was suspicious. Who else would be answering Violet's phone. There was a pause, then her voice became excited and hopeful. "Wait, is this ... my Redheaded Witch?"

Cynthia blushed, her face so warm she just knew the girl on the other side of the phone could tell.

"Um, yeah. Hi."

"Oh my god! It's you! Mommy Taylor said you'd call, but I didn't think you would! Wait!" She heard the sound of Violet running, and a door slamming shut. "Sorry! I just didn't want the kids bothering us! Hi! Cindy, is it?

"Ah, Cynthia, actually. I just sort of changed it the other day. It's a very long story..."

"I have the feeling," Violet said, humor coming through in her voice, "that we're both going to have lots of those. Cynthia ... I like it."

"Thanks ... I like you." She just blurted it out, her face becoming twice as red as she heard the words. Her immediate thought was to apologize, but she froze. There was a moment's silence.

"Do ... do you believe in fate, my Redheaded Witch?"

"I..." Cynthia swallowed. "I know lots of things, now. Enough that I can't say there is no fate, but also enough that I think fate isn't the answer most of the time."

"Our family, maybe, was created by fate. Daddy," and her voice choked up for a moment, "Daddy would always joke about it, but I think my mom's believe. I think I do too."

"My story is so strange. But I want so much to tell you everything. You're all I've been able to think of."

"I keep seeing you, standing there over my bed, your read hair framing those beautiful eyes..."

Cynthia closed her eyes, tears running down her face.

"I think I love you..."

She heard a gasp, and prepared for the heartbreak of losing her.

"I love you too..." It came out of the phone as a whisper, hanging there between them. Moments ticked by.

"Cynthia?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I see you? Tonight?"

"Yes ... have you eaten yet?"

The beat up old Ford came to a stop next to the mail box, then slowly pulled into the driveway. Parking next to the minivan, Violet turned the key off, set the emergency break, and sat back in the seat.

She was here.

Now what?

This was crazy. The whole week had been crazy. Her life was crazy. Images of her Dad again flooded her mind, but with effort she pushed them down. Later. She could mourn some more later.

Maybe that's why she was here. For the first time in her seventeen year old life, Violet was, to a small degree, an outsider in her loving family. The days she had spent unconscious were time the others had used to mourn Daddy, to come to grips with the new reality. Cindy had filled her in about everything: the chaos, Mommy Taylor going almost catatonic, and Mommy Rachel basically taking over the family and getting them over the worst of it. While Violet wouldn't have wanted to go through all that, when it had come time for her to grieve she had to do much of it alone. Her personality won't allow her to drag family that had finally climbed up a bit from the loss, and were ecstatic about her recovery, back to the first stages of grief. Who could she grab onto...