Authors Note: Hi, it's me again. I'm very aware this book probably doesn't really fit in here. I found Big Closet through Maddy Bell's Gaby stories long ago. I recently created a chapbook from the first 8 chapters and would like to get it out in the world somehow. I've always thought self publishing and zines are cool. If you have any ideas where I could send one let me know. This chapter is pretty intense, stuff happens. As always thanks for reading and I hope that 2026 is our year!

Chapter 12 September 26, 2025

Lucy parked at the consignment shop and stepped out onto the square. “Antique Capital of the Midwest,” she read the fading mural painted on the side of the old bricks.

Her mind drifted back to the 90s, she was just a kid. Mud Creek had been awarded a big Hometown Grant from the state. The downtown was revitalized around the theme of antiques and collectables. Every shop on the square was occupied, there were several antique stores, a baseball card shop, a candy store, boutiques, there was even a store that sold Beanie Babies.

Lucy remembered going to the shops with her parents, mostly window shopping but they let her buy the expensive jelly beans at the candy store.

In her memories the square was shiny and new, and now everything was faded like the mural. The steam train and pioneer family looked even more washed-out than she remembered.

‘They really thought selling old junk and cheap stuffed animals would save this shithole,’ Lucy thought. There was one store left open on the square. A low rent consignment shop, but sometimes it had good stuff and they were always cheap.

She crossed the quiet sidewalk and pushed open the door. The bell chimed overhead, and a wave of old-linen air drifted out. She was halfway to the back when she saw a familiar face crouched beside a rack of formal dresses.

Breanne Harris.

Of course.
The Christmas party lady.
The one who tried to rope everyone into her silly dance class while wearing sequins.

Breanne looked up, bright and surprised. “Oh! Lucy Whitlock, right?” she said, standing and brushing dust off her yoga pants. “We met at the Community College Christmas thing last year.”

Lucy forced a polite smile. “Yeah, hi. How’s it going…?”

“Oh, busy! Always busy. Trying to find props for my adult dance class. You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to find matching scarves in this town.” Breanne laughed as if this were thrilling.

Lucy nodded, “Yeah, um, not a lot of call for formal wear in Mud Creek.”

Breanne tilted her head. “Are you looking for anything specific?”

“No. Just… killing time,” Lucy said. Then it hit her, why wasn’t she at Darren’s conference? The question slipped out before she could stop herself. “So you’, you still teach Adult Ed, right?”

Breanne perked up. “I do! Ballroom dance on Thursdays. You should come try it, really, it’s not as intimidating as people think.”

Lucy held up a hand. “I’m more of a… walker.”
She managed a small laugh that wasn’t real. “Actually, I was curious. My husband said there was some kind of… conference today. For Adult Education instructors.”

Breanne blinked. “Conference? Today?”

Lucy kept her expression neutral. “Yeah. Something he had to go to. Maybe it was for full-time faculty?”

“Oh! I doubt it. Full-time faculty have in-service stuff in August. Adult Ed doesn’t do conferences. We’re… what’s the nice word… optional?”
She laughed lightly. “At least I wasn’t invited if there was a conference.”

The room tilted for a half second.

Lucy didn’t blink. Didn’t react. She even let a faint smile drift onto her lips, like she’d just realized she’d made a silly mistake.

“Oh. Huh. I guess I misunderstood him then,” she said easily. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Breanne shrugged, cheerful and oblivious. “Men don’t always explain things well, right? Anyway, if you ever want to try the dance class.”

“I’ll think about it,” Lucy lied smoothly. “Thanks, Breanne.”

“Of course! Good to see you!”

Lucy turned, weaving through the aisles with perfect calm until she reached the door. The bell jingled behind her as she stepped into the stuffy September air.

Only then did she let her face change.
Just a flicker.
A tightening around the eyes.
A cold line across her mouth.

No conference.
No misunderstanding.
He lied.

Lucy didn’t go home immediately.
She didn’t call Whit.
She just stood there for a long moment, letting the square settle around her, letting her pulse slow enough to think.

Then she walked to her car.

Back home she found the messenger bag Whit carried to class. Inside there was a folder with a form for each of his students. The very first one was Grace’s and there was her address.

Grace Miller
1049 County Road 8
Mud Creek IL. 62942

Lucy gripped her keys so hard the edges dug into her palm.

“Let’s see exactly where you are, Whit,” she whispered, and got into her car.

15 minutes later Lucy saw the rundown trailer, nestled into a Copse of trees and framed by the Palestine hills back in the distance. She crossed the small concrete bridge over the irrigation ditch and felt her tires squirm on the gravel. Recent rains kept the dust down as she craned her neck to see.

“No Jeep,” Lucy said as she slowed down. An old beat up pickup truck sat in the driveway. She rolled past and around the corner. The road narrowed. Lucy felt tears forming in her eyes.

“What the fuck am I doing?” she asked herself outloud. Driving around in the country like some crazy stalker. Darren wasn’t there, he was probably at a conference that the ditzy dance lady didn’t know about. The foliage closed in around her, the road started up and around a hill.

The road was getting worse, there was less and less gravel. Near the bottom of the hill the road sharply turned right. Lucy slowed down, she felt the tires slide. A driver accustomed to slippery conditions would know to let off the brakes and to avoid sharp movements. Lucy slammed the brakes, jerked the wheel and slid into the ditch.

Lucy’s body lurched sideways as the car tilted.

There was a hollow thump, and then nothing but the sound of the engine idling crookedly. She sat there for a second, gripping the steering wheel with both hands, her breath coming fast and shallow. She didn’t need to get out to know. The angle of the car told her everything.

She was stuck.

Well and truly stuck.

“Shit,” she whispered.

She put the car in reverse, tapped the gas. The tires spun uselessly, spitting mud. She tried again. And again. The engine whined in protest.

The front end didn’t move at all.

Lucy closed her eyes tight, her chest squeezing. “God damn it.”

She shoved the door open to climb out, and slid her foot down to the side of the ditch. As soon as she put weight on it she slipped into cold mud. Her knee buckled, and she pitched sideways straight into the ditch.

Mud soaked instantly through her jeans, up to her hip. Water splashed her face. The cold shock ripped a gasp from her throat.

She scrambled up the slippery bank, hands grabbing at grass and roots, her palms coated in brown muck. By the time she managed to stand, both legs were smeared with wet clay, her shoes making sucking noises with every step.

Lucy looked back at the car.

One front wheel hung completely off the ground, dangling like something broken on a toy.

There was no way she was getting it out alone.

The woods seemed too quiet. No birds. Just the drip of water off the trees and her own ragged breathing.

She wiped her face with her sleeve, leaving a streak of mud across her cheek.

She opened the passenger door and grabbed her purse and her phone. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said when she saw no phone signal. “Ughhhh!” Lucy yelled.

She turned and started walking, her shoes squelching with each step, wet mud weighing down her jeans.

As she made her way back down the narrow gravel track, the trees pressed in on either side, branches brushing her shoulders. The fading daylight pooled in the low places, blue and cold. Her heart hammered harder the closer the trailer came into view.

When she passed in front of the trees she saw it, Whit’s Jeep parked crooked beside the old pickup truck.

Lucy stopped dead.

Her breath caught, jagged. She walked up to the Jeep, and felt the hood. It was still warm, she’d just missed them earlier.

Her feet moved before she could think, carrying her across the gravel, up the sagging steps, toward the faint sound of a radio playing inside. She started to yell and beat on the door, but stopped. Some mischievous part of her brain wanted this to be a surprise, even better if she caught them in the act.

The plastic mobile home door wasn’t completely closed. It opened outward revealing a heavy blanket hanging over the doorway, Lucy was familiar with this technique to keep cold drafts out of thinly insulated mobile homes during winter.

She peaked through the blanket. The trailer’s living room looked like the room of a child, full of lavender, pink, blue and rainbows. Whimsical paintings and nature photographs decorated the walls. Shopping bags were piled on the couch. Whit’s shoes had been kicked off and were haphazardly laying on the floor. ‘Just made himself at home,’ she thought. She stepped inside and stood there.

She heard Whit’s voice from down the hallway, then Grace’s. Then he emerged from the dark, with a big goofy smile that disappeared when he saw her. Lucy’s eyes opened wide. Whit was wearing tightly fitting women’s jeans, and a loose knit orange sweater with a wide open V neck revealing a bra strap. His face was framed by a chestnut wig. She might not have even recognized him if half the thick makeup he was wearing wasn’t wiped clean across his face.

“Lucy,” he said. His wife’s clothes were stained brown with drying mud and a big smear of it ran across her face. He could see the confusion in her eyes turning to rage. “What happened, are you OK?”

Lucy gritted her teeth and took a deep breath, Whit could feel her fight or flight response clicking over to fight.

“Lucy, wait this isn’t what you think.”

She took two steps forward, drew back a fist which became a slap. Whit didn’t even try to dodge as it connected across his cheek and turned his face sideways.

“You bastard!” she yelled.

“Hey, what the hell?” Grace said as she came out of the hall.

“Shut the fuck up, bitch!” Lucy screamed, her voice cracking.

Grace lifted her arms up, “Whoa calm down lady, nothing happened,”

“Nothing happened my ass! What the fuck did you do to my husband?” Lucy yelled.

“She didn’t do this Lucy!” Whit said as he pulled the wig off his head.

“You’re a pervert,” Lucy said shaking with fury, “you need help!”

Something in Whit broke, the male stoicism that kept his emotions in check dissolved. His chin started trembling and tears came out of his eyes.

“I’m transgender, Lucy! I always have been. I was just afraid to tell someone.”

Grace’s eyes widened and her hand covered to her mouth, Lucy looked at the young transgender girl. “She’s pretty, prettier than me,’ she thinks.

And in that moment a strange, sickening realization slid into place.

They hadn’t been messing around.

Grace wasn’t flushed or flustered. She wasn’t half-dressed or scrambling to cover herself. Her makeup was perfect, too perfect to have survived sex. Her clothes were neat, her hair untouched. Everything about her looked prepared, not rumpled. Composed. Not intimate.

Nothing in the scene rang of an affair.

Instead, she saw something else, something that twisted her stomach even more.

Grace looked… proud of Whit.

Proud of the transformation, and proud that he’d declared it.

Lucy’s gaze flicked back to Whit, the bra strap, the eyeliner smeared from tears, the woman's jeans hugging legs she’d known for twenty years. Holding the wig at his side.

Lucy felt her throat close.

This wasn’t infidelity.

This was identity.

And in this realization she had been recast from her husband’s victim, to her husband’s jailer.

Her voice came out quiet, almost a whisper:

“You weren’t… you weren’t messing around.”

Whit shook his head immediately, tears still streaking his mascara. “No. God, Lucy, no.”

Grace swallowed, lowering her hand from her mouth. “Nothing like that. Sarah is my friend, I’m not even into girls.”

“Who the fuck is Sarah?” Lucy said

“Your wife,” Grace said.

Lucy realized the truth in front of her was bigger, heavier, more devastating than an affair. She was about to lose it all, her home, her family, and most importantly her husband. She wouldn’t let it go without a fight.

Lucy took a deep breath, and wiped the tears out of her eyes, staining mud across her face. “Darren, I got the car stuck down the road. Put your clothes on and get everything that’s yours and come help me pull it out.”

“Her name is Sarah,” Grace interjected.

Lucy turned slowly towards the young girl and channeled her inner Downton Abbey matriarch, “Grace,” she said with a voice of cold steel, “could I borrow a towel.”

Grace shrugged, “Um, yeah sure,” she said and walked across to the bathroom.

Whit stood there dumbfounded. “I… I should go clean this off,” he said pointing at his face.

“Yeah that would be a good idea,” Lucy said.

Grace handed Lucy a towel and shrugged, “Do you want to take a shower? I can lend you some clean clothes?”

“Thank you, but no,” Lucy replied formally. “Darren, I will be waiting in the Jeep,” she said and pushed her way past the curtain and out the door.

When she was sure she was out of earshot Grace turned to Whit and said, “She’s crashing out.”

Whit ignored her and went to the bathroom and started washing his face.

Grace could feel the emotional shutdown, “Sarah, you don’t have to do this.”

“My name isn’t Sarah, please don’t call me that, especially around Lucy,” Whit said.

Grace felt stung, but she also knew the pain that Whit was going through, “Whatever, don’t let her erase you,” she said and shut the bathroom door.

Five minutes later in his own clothes he said a quiet goodbye. Grace got up and gave him a hug, it felt like hugging a 2x4.

30 minutes later he had a come-along strap connected to Lucy’s car and towed it back on the road.

45 minutes after that he was stashing a Ross shopping bag in his closet.