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Voices: Lesbian Adventure Club, #21.5

Voices: Lesbian Adventure Club, #21.5

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Voices: Lesbian Adventure Club, #21.5

ratings:
5/5 (1 rating)
Length:
80 pages
2 hours
Released:
Aug 22, 2019
ISBN:
9781932014860
Format:
Book

Description

A shocking event leaves our narrator speechless. Who will be the voice of reason?

Lesbian Adventure Club, Book 21.5

Approximate word count: 19,000

Released:
Aug 22, 2019
ISBN:
9781932014860
Format:
Book

About the author


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Voices - Rosalyn Wraight

Addendum

Part I

Claudia

––––––––

Chapter 1

This is a story that Kate won’t tell you. She could, but she won’t. I think it’s important that someone does, though, and who better to do so than those who witnessed it. That, of course, includes me, and so, I begin...

It was the last day of February and a typical Sunday morning for us. We had lounged in bed far too long drinking coffee and tea while I read the newspaper. Kate had two big articles, one on the lobby renovation at City Hall, the other detailing a city council meeting about the proposed purchase of solar streetlights. Rather boring topics, but I always read whatever she wrote, regardless of my interest level.

We finally got up around ten, and Kate made a huge breakfast: bacon, eggs, hash browns, and bagels. Again, very typically, it was delicious; she’s a good cook. We tended to the dishes, and it was now close to eleven.

I snapped her backside with the dishtowel, and just as she prepared to retaliate with an oven mitt, our doorbell startled us. Messy hair, sweatpants, T-shirts, no bras, bare feet: naturally, we were not expecting visitors. I volunteered to answer the door and madly smoothed down my hair as I made my way.

If I had only known the can of worms that would be opened with that door, I honestly don’t think I would’ve answered it. But, I didn’t know. How could I have known? It never once, in eleven years, even crossed my mind that something such as this was even a possibility.

A woman stood on the other side of our door. The abundance of gray hair that mixed with dark blond and the depth of her wrinkles made me guess late fifties. She wore a camel-colored dress coat, and her arms were crossed over her torso. A hideous blue purse hung on her forearm.

Without any greeting whatsoever, she inquired, Does Kate Sutter live here?

While she seemed harmless enough, I was not about to answer her question, although I knew that anything short of no was an affirmative. She could’ve been a member of the city council there to complain about her name being misspelled in Kate’s article or something. Who knew? Who’s asking?

Her mother. I’m hoping...

Whatever else she said, I honestly didn’t hear. The word mother made my whole body feel sick and weak, as though I would fall over.

Unable to speak, my head mechanically turned to the kitchen, to Kate. Obviously, I didn’t need to tell her who was at the door. Her mouth was hanging open, and I recognized the look on her face as one of utter panic.

It seemed forever that we simply stood there staring at each other. I should’ve done something to help her or slammed the door or something, but I honestly couldn’t move or think or anything. Clearly, she couldn’t either, and I think I will forever feel guilty for not having done something in that moment.

Finally, she moved, and she seemed to stagger toward the door. That, for some reason, brought me back to my senses, and I partially closed the door behind me.

You don’t have to do this, I told her, trying to keep my voice down. I’ll make her go away if you want me to.

But, she didn’t respond. She was on autopilot. Or, maybe she wanted to see her. Maybe she failed to remember how her mother and father had abandoned her—moved away without a word after they shipped her off to college, left her unexpectedly homeless. If she remembered that, she couldn’t possibly want to see her.

My mind started chanting Please! over and over in my head, but to be honest, I’m still not quite sure what I was actually begging for. That she’d be okay? That she’d tell her to go screw herself? That her mother had come to deliver an apology for dumping her and for every goddamn thing they ever did before that day that eroded her self-worth? That this wasn’t really happening? Maybe I had heard her wrong. Maybe she hadn’t said mother. Maybe she had said... No, she said mother.

Her mother! Oh my God!

Without even making eye contact with me, Kate stopped next to me and reached for the doorknob. I quickly scooted out of the way, and when she opened the door, I stood right next to her.

Kate, this woman said. You look well.

Well? She hadn’t seen her in nearly twenty years, yet she thought to say she looked well? Not You’ve grown up to be a beautiful woman, but You don’t look sickly? I wanted to slam the door in her face. Or worse.

"Mom? ... Mom. ... Mom, what are you doing here?"

I came to see you.

Obviously totally dumbfounded, Kate stared at her for an awkwardly long moment before asking exactly what I wanted to know, "Why?"

Your father’s overseas, she answered. I thought it would be a good time to come and see you.

Then, Kate looked at me. Her eyes were big blue saucers filled with confusion and fear. The situation was surreal to me—one who had never had any emotional ties to this woman other than hatred and anger. If it seemed surreal to me, I couldn’t even imagine what Kate felt. I knew that way at the very core of her was a wound that would never completely heal, no matter how many strides she made or would ever make. And there, right in front of her, stood the primary inflictor of that wound. It was already bleeding; I could see that in her eyes, too.

So, what did I say to Kate? Me, this woman who loved her with all my heart, what did I do for her? I shrugged. In the very moment she

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