Chapter 2

“Wow, this place could use some work,” Tracey said as she walked up to Neal and Rose who were standing near the front door. A faded sign painted in 80s neon declared this to be, “Swankies Fun Center.”

There were 7 cars in the parking lot including the three that Rose, Neal and Tracey arrived in. Rose smiled and pointed towards the door, “Don’t worry guys, this is perfect, it’s the exact vibe we need, and it’s going to be cheap.”

They walked into the small tight lobby full of air brushed paintings of skates and big goofy smiling faces. There were two narrow doors and a window. A relaxed young guy was sitting back in the office looked up from his phone.

“Hey, umm, you guys want to skate?” the guy said, walking over to the counter.

Rose used her best professional voice, “I’m Rose from Derby City Angels, we have an appointment with Mr. Swankie.”

“Oh yeah, the roller chicks,” the guy said and then saw Neal, “Or um, people.”

Neal rolled his eyes, long past trying to explain that Derby was more or less a co-ed sport now. The door buzzed and the guy told them to wait.

Loud pop music, black light, and a slightly musty odor greeted them inside. A handful of mostly young kids rolled around the polished wood floor. Beeps and flashing lights came from a small arcade area and past that black carpet with with neon shapes as far as the eye could see.

“Yeah, this place rules,” Neal said sarcastically.

“Hey, welcome to Swankies,” they turned to see an older grey haired man in an Adidas track suit coming their way. “So you’re the roller derby people,” he said as he jutted out a hand.

“Yes sir Mr. Swankie, we talked on the phone,” Rose said as he shook his hand.

“Well, let's go over here to the concession area and get comfortable.”

They followed him past the counter to a row of plastic tables bolted to the floor. The snack bar lights hummed overhead. An excited Mom filmed her daughter as she stomped her way across the floor in plastic Barbie skates.

Rick Swanky dropped into a chair like it was his throne. He spread his arms wide, palms up.
“So. Derby.” He said it like it tasted funny. “I get calls all the time from groups wanting special deals. Hockey guys. Speed skaters. Some church group wanted to do, I don’t know, praise skating.” He snorted. “Everybody wants cheap floor time.”

Rose stayed standing. Neal noticed that. Rick noticed it too.

“We’re looking for a regular practice space,” Rose said. “One night a week. Off hours. We don’t need staff, music, concessions. Just the floor.”

Rick smiled without warmth. “Yeah, well, tell you what I can do. Private party rate. Two hundred fifty a night. That’s the number.”

Tracey let out a short laugh before she could stop herself. Rick’s eyes flicked to her.

“Two fifty?” Rose said calmly. “Rick, you’ve got seven cars in the lot tonight and three of them are ours.”

Rick leaned back. “Yeah? And this floor costs money. Insurance costs money. Kids break things.” He tapped the table with one thick finger. “You want exclusive use, you pay exclusive prices.”

Neal crossed his arms. “We’re not throwing a party. We’re practicing quietly. Boring. Half the time we’ll look like we’re doing drills for gym class.”

Rick waved that off. “Still a liability. Someone falls, sues me, next thing you know I’m selling funnel cakes at the county fair.”

Rose tilted her head, studying the room. The flickering light. The empty tables. The echo of wheels on wood. “Rick,” she said, “what do you make on a Tuesday night between eight and ten?”

Rick laughed, “I close at 7 on Tuesday night. Look I know this looks slow, but on most Tuesdays I’ve booked a party and have 20 rugrats rolling around in here. I do OK.”

“Because we’ll be here every week,” Rose continued. “All year. We’ll bring people in. Adults. They buy snacks. They bring kids. They book parties.”

Rick squinted at her then laughed, “Yeah I’ve heard it before, you’re going to try to sell me on free advertising?”

“Yeah, not only free, we’re advertising and we pay you. Plus there are no people more loyal than derby people” Rose said. “And we don’t have two hundred fifty dollars.”

Rick laughed again, but this time it was thinner. He leaned forward.
“Alright. What do you got?”

Rose didn’t miss a beat. “Fifty bucks a night.”

Rick barked a laugh. “No way.”

“And,” Rose added, “we help with birthday parties when you’re short staffed.”

Tracey raised an eyebrow. Neal looked at Rose like she’d just volunteered his soul.

Rick stared at her. Long enough that the pop music seemed too loud. Finally he rubbed his chin.
“Fifty,” he said slowly. “You all sign waivers, no liability, and someone can come early when we have a party?”

Rose smiled. “Yeap.”

Rick stood and stuck out his hand again. “You break my floor, you buy it.”

“Fair,” Rose said, shaking.

Rick grinned, all teeth now. “Welcome to Swankies, The new home of the Derby City Angels.”

As they walked back toward the door, Neal leaned close to Rose.
“You just signed us up to be rodeo clowns. You know that.”

Rose shrugged. “Cheap rent has a price.”

Tracey glanced back at the rink, kids wobbling under black lights.
“Honestly,” she said, “I used to love skating parties.

Chapter 3

“What have I got myself into,” Rose thought as Swanky handed her a black and white referee’s shirt. It was the week of their first practice and Swanky asked her to come in early for a birthday party.

“Do you have a bigger one?” Rose asked.

“Nope,” Swanky said with a shit eating grin on his face. The young man with Rick behind the counter rolled his eyes.

“Grandpa, you know we’ve got one in every size,” he said.

Rick glared at him, “Mikey, you’re ruining it.”

Rose smiled, “If its a show you want,” she said and pulled a referee jersey out of her duffle bag. It was small and stretchy, the back was emblazoned with her derby name, “Queen Black Heart,” and the number 21.

“Allright, allright, allright,” Rick said.

A few minutes later Rose was skating slow laps with big lazy cross overs on the floor with 20 kids all shuffling around. The kids eyes widened as she casually transitioned from forward to back and continued her forward momentum with backward crossovers.

A girl fell to the floor in front of her and Rose leaned forward on her toe and slid to a stop, gracefully spinning forward and reaching down to help the girl up.

“How long have you been skating,” the girl asked as she got back on wobbly feet.

“A long time kid,” Rose smiled. A 13 year old boy came flying around chasing another kid and nearly ran over them.

Rose rolled her eyes and yelled, ‘Hey hot shot calm it down.”

***

“Oh my God, she’s reffing,” Neal said as he followed Tracey in. They both carried big duffle backs of gear.

“You guys are early,” Rose glided to the wall and hugged Tracey.

“Having fun?” Neal asked.

“This is actually great roller derby training, dodging all the kids on the floor,” Rose chuckled.

Tracey smiled, “We’re going to warm up, how many recruits do we have tonight?”

Rose shrugged, “You know how these things are, it takes time to build up again.”

“So no one,” Neal deadpanned.

Tracey placed a hand on his shoulder, “If you build it they will come,” she said.

***

“Trisha are you even listening?”

Sitting in the concession Trisha tore her eyes away from the red head referee and looked at her Mom, Sister, and Brother In-Law with her in the booth.

“Um, sorry, what?” Trisha said.

Her Mom rolled her eyes, “I was just telling Nick that you used to be quite the ice skater back in the day.”

Trisha frowned, ‘Yeah, that was a long time ago,” she said.

Nick smiled, “Why’d you quit Trish?” he asked.

“That’s a sore spot,” Trisha’s sister said.

Trisha smiled, “I really don’t want to talk about it,” she said.

Trisha’s Mom studied Rose and her friends from across the floor and curled her lip, “Different strokes I suppose,” she said to herself.

Nick followed her gaze to Rose and her friends and laughed, then looked back at Trish, “Did you ever roller skate?”

“Sure, most kids do,” Trish replied.

Kate grinned, “She was Queen of the ice rink by day, the roller rink by night in sixth grade,” she said.

Trish huffed, “Kate…”

“So what happened?” Nick asked.

Trish smiled and threw up her hands, “I got fat, OK. That’s what you want to hear?”

Her Mom shook her head, “You were just bigged boned dear.”

“Mom, the other girls said I was going to break the ice when I jumped,” Trish said.

Trisha’s Mom frowned, “Well, you were really quite graceful, and besides, everyone has to grow up. You had to stop skating sometime.”

The happy facade that Trish had been projecting fell away. She turned and looked out on the floor watching giggling kids skate by. She was 24, a registered nurse, a responsible adult, miserable and alone. Six months ago she and her fiance called it off. He needed to go to Montana and find himself.

She watched the red head referee effortlessly glide across the floor and felt a deep longing in her chest. “I had to stop skating?” Trish said turning back to her Mom.

Her Mom frowned. “Well honey, I mean look out there, it’s for kids,” she said.

To emphasize her point, Kate’s daughter rolled up and nearly crashed into their booth. “Mommy, aunty Trish, did you see me skate.”

Kate’s eyes lit up and she leaned down to her daughter, “We sure did honey, you were so good!”

“Are you going to skate with me?” she asked.

“No I’m afraid not dear, Kate said.

“I will,” Trish said.

Her Mom sat up, “Trish, um are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Trish squeezed her way out from the concession stand booth. She’d been big-boned as a teenager, now she was now a bit past that.

“Relax Mom, it’s like riding a bike, you don’t forget.”

Trish made her way over to the skate rental counter and got a pair of skates. She almost changed her mind as sat down on the black and neon carpeted bench and started slipping them on. She stood and took a few wobbly steps and felt muscle memory, long neglected slowly asserting itself.

“You can do this, Trish,” she said as she shuffled out on the floor.

The noise hit her first. Wheels, loud pop music, shouting, the low hum of the floor vibrating up through the skates. Trish stayed near the wall at first, one hand brushing it as she pushed off. Her niece shot past her, laughing, and Trish smiled despite herself.

Okay. Edges, she thought. Just edges.

She took a longer glide, then another. Her feet stopped fighting her and started listening. “Just bend your knees,” she said to herself. Soon she was away from the wall and gliding. It felt amazing. Her quick and sloppy strides were smoothing out. This was easy, something she was good at.

That was when a kid cut directly in front of her.

Trish reacted on instinct, tried to check her speed with a t-stop, and her right foot caught just wrong. Her balance went, sudden and undeniable. She wind milled once, twice, then went down hard on her hip with a sharp thwack that turned a few heads.

She lay there for a second, staring up at the ceiling lights, heat flooding her face.

Of course. Of course this is how it goes.

“Trish!” her mom called from the booth.

“I’m okay,” Trish said quickly, waving one hand. She rolled onto her knees before anyone could come help her. Getting up was slower than she remembered, but she didn’t rush it. She planted her skates, breathed, and stood.

Rose skated up behind her and spun to a stop. “You OK?”

“Yeah, I’ll probably feel that tomorrow,” Trish said. Rose smiled and skated away.

Trish pushed off again. She let herself glide into open space, feeling out the floor. One long stroke, then another. She shifted her weight and carved a shallow curve, clean and controlled. The skates responded immediately.

Her confidence came back in pieces.

She crossed her feet once, tentative but precise. Then again, smoother. She leaned into a wider arc, knees bent, shoulders relaxed, tracing a clean oval through the chaos of wobbling kids. It wasn’t flashy, but it was unmistakably intentional.

Then after several laps she felt her balance returning, she felt stable on one foot.

“You’re pretty good Aunt Trish!” her niece said, rolling up behind her.

Trish smiled and then without thinking she craned her arms out to her sides and pushed off with her right leg allowing it to gracefully lift up behind her. She bent her left knee and tilted her waist forward then glided across the floor.

On the far side of the rink, Rose slowed to a stop.

She watched the woman who had just fallen skate past again, this time looking like a figure skater, a large and powerful figure skater. Rose smiled.

“That’s interesting,” she murmured.

Trish felt eyes on her and almost looked back, then decided not to. She lowered her foot and heard her niece go wild. Another little girl proclaimed her amazing.

Her chest felt tight, but in a good way. Like something waking up.

When the song ended and the rink cleared briefly for the next group of kids, Trish coasted toward the exit, breathing hard and grinning despite herself.

As she stepped off the floor, Rose was there, leaning on the wall.

“You can skate,” Rose said simply.

Trish laughed, a little breathless. “I used to. A long time ago.”

Rose nodded. “Yeah. I can tell.”

She held out a hand. “I’m Rose. Have you ever thought about roller derby?”

Trish blinked at her, caught completely off guard. “Me?”

Rose glanced back at the rink, then back at Trish. “Yeah, I run a team and this is where we practice. We’re the Derby City Angels, and we’re looking for recruits.

Trish felt that deep ache in her chest again.

“You want me?” she asked.

“Yeah, you. What’s your name?” Rose said with a chuckle.

Trish frowned, “I’m Trish. But you notice, I’m not exactly athletic. Sorry, but I don’t think it’s for me.”

Rose smiled, “You looked like an athlete to me. Look Trish, roller derby is a unique sport. Having size in derby is an asset. You’d be awesome. Think about it. Here’s a flyer.” Rose handed her a folded up sheet of paper.

Rose looked at the flyer. Isn’t Roller derby is for like… oddballs? “OK, sure, I’ll think about it.”

“Next week practice starts here at 7:30,” Rose said and skated back onto the floor.

***

The last of the kids was gone, the skates were scattered all over the counter, and Swankies Grandson Mike was locked in at a Star Wars pinball machine. Neal, Trish and Rose were sitting on the neon carpeted benches putting on their gear. Old man swankie came out of his office and slithered over to Mike.

“Allright Kid, make sure they are out of here by 10. Don’t forget to check the doors,s and for Chist sakes get that skate counter organized,” old man Swankie said.

“Sure Uncle, will do.” Mike said without looking up from the game.

Swankie puffed out his chest and walked over to the three skaters, “So this is it? Just the three of yous?” he asked.

Rose smiled, “We’re just starting back up after a long break, we’re going to grow. I’ve got several new recruits coming next week.

Swankie turned around and walked you, yelling over his shoulder, “Sure ladies, and um, gentleman. Have fun and don’t break my floor.”

Neal got up and rolled to the pinball machine to watch Mike play. He was incredibly skilled at the game, manipulating the machine with supple pressure and hitting lit targets at will. The digital screen showed that he had 38 credits racked up.

“Dang, you’re a pinball wizard,” Neal said.

Mike chuckled. “I grew up in this rink, I got plenty of practice time here,” he said.

Rose and Tracey were gathered around watching now. Rose looked to Tracey and smiled. “Do you skate?” she asked.

Mike carried on the conversation without looking up from the glass, “I used to, but got kind of bored of it.”

“Well Mike since you’re stuck with us here anyway, if you want to practice with us, you’d be welcome,” Rose said.

Mike allowed his ball to drop and turned around to look at the small group. They were all wearing helmets, elbow pads, wrist guards and huge knee pads. Rose and Tracey were both wearing tank tops, sports bras and short lycra shorts. They had various colorful tattoos up and down their legs. Neal on the other hand looked to be dressed for PE class with long baggy gym shorts and a baggy T-shirt.

“Umm, are you guys going to skate or go jump off a cliff or something?” he asked.

Rose continued to smile, “It’s a contact sport and we take safety seriously.”

Mike nodded, “Makes sense, but I think you guys might be a bit more hardcore than me.”

Rose nodded, “Well if you change your mind we need skaters.”

Mike nodded and went back to his game. Rose, Neal and Tracey went through some warm ups and some core work. Eventually Mike rolled out onto the floor in skates and did some slow lazy laps before skating up

“Mind if I do some laps?” he asked.

Rose laughed, “It’s your skating rink, but hey, umm. At some point in the future we’re going to need to tape a track onto the floor. Is that going to be a problem?

Mike shrugged, “Will it damage the floor?”

“No it’s just tape, but we can’t tape down a new track every week so we’ll need it to stay,” Rose answered.

Mike smiled, “Allright I’ll try to smooth it over with the old man.”

Mike watched the three of them go through drills, they were all very good skaters, better than him and by the end they were soaked in sweat. Sure he had good basics, he did grow up in a skating rink, but it never really clicked with him. The style of skating that is popular in roller rinks, involves lots of flair, it was a little to much like dancing for him. But what they were doing was interesting, more like a sport as opposed to just rolling around showing off.

At 9:30 the skaters began a cool down routine and Mike rolled in with them. “You guys got extra gear, like those knee pads and a helmet?”

“Yeah I have a huge bin of extra stuff, why do you ask?” Neal said.

Mike put his hands in his pockets, “I don’t know about this derby stuff, but it looks like you guys were getting a good workout. I wouldn’t mind giving it a try next week.”

Neal looked at Rose, who looked back at Tracey, “Mike, welcome to the team,” Rose said.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Mike said while the others laughed.

Chapter 4

Sophie Brooks pushed her cart up to the line and checked her watch. She was in her shapeless kitchen uniform and still had her ID lanyard around her neck. There were a couple people in line in front of her. The red head in the punk jacket directly in front of her turned, made eye contact and smiled.

Oh God, I know her. Sophie smiled, nodded and quickly looked down.

Oh my God, that’s Rose.

The redhead turned back and then quickly spun around. “Andr…” Rose froze and got a guilty look on her face. “I’m sorry, you look like somebody that I used to know.”

Sophie blinked, then looked up and smiled, “I really like that song.”

Rose smiled back, “Yeah it was really catchy.”

“Hi Rose, it’s been a long time,” Sophie said.

Rose turned around to see that the customer in front of her was still unloading groceries. “Yeah, remind me of your name again,” Rose said with a sly grin

Sophie smiled, Rose always had a way with people, “I go by Sophie now. You haven’t changed a bit,” she said.

“Clean living, Rose said as she pointed to a 12 pack of PBR in her cart. Sophie, that’s a really beautiful name, you look amazing.”

Rose glanced back to see that it was time for her to unload her cart. After the case of beer, she pulled out a few bags of chips, some coffee, a few frozen meals, ice cream and lots of soda.

“Still a health nut I see,” Sophie chuckled.

Rose grinned. “Yeah… Hey, you got time for coffee? I want to catch up.”

***

Sophie sipped her purple and orange bubble tea. Rose slid into the booth across from her with a latte. “So?”

Sophie looked up from her drink, “So?”

Rose sat her drink down, “I’m really happy for you. That you get to be yourself.”

Sophie nodded, “I’m a work in progress, but thanks.”

Rose bent forward with excitement “OK girl, tell me everything.”

Sophie took a long sly look at her ex and nodded, “Well when we split up it wasn’t long and I got with Janet.”

Rose blurted out a laugh, “Janet?”

Sophie shook her head, “You barely knew her.”

Rose laughed, “I knew everything I needed to know, she was so square. Mrs. Hollier than thou, direct line with Jesus. Wait. You got married!”

Sophie quickly turned away, and wiped her face, “2008, we dated for 3 years, and we have a son, but I don’t see him often.”

Rose’s smile melted, “You’re not together? I’m sorry.”

Sophie turned away for a second. “Divorced, but not because of this. I mean not directly, I didn’t transition when I was married. We were having issues.” Sophie buried the pain and smiled, “That’s enough of my shit, let's hear about your shit. What happened to you?”

“Not much to tell. The band fizzled out and I sold my bass, never really learned to play it right anyway. I dropped out of college, and started working.” Rose picked up her cup and held it out in front of her for a toast. “You’re having coffee with the head of shipping and receiving at Zan Metric Medical.”

Sophie tapped her cup. “That’s awesome, congratulations.”

Rose smiled, “It’s seriously the most boring job in the world, but the pay’s decent. Did you finish college?”

Sophie nodded, “Yeah, business management and I worked my way up to General Manager at Silo.”

Rose blinked and shook her head.

Sophie frowned “It’s a swanky restaurant for rich people downtown.”

Rose gave her a thumbs up, “That’s awesome.”

Sophie shook her head, “Nope, they suck. The owner determined they were too swanky for a transgender manager.”

Rose giggled then covered her mouth.

“That wasn’t supposed to be funny,” Sophie said.

“No, no, sorry. There’s this guy… Swanky, he’s a trip. Sorry no.” Rose wiped the smile off her face, “I’m sorry that’s bullshit, is that why you’re here and not in Louisville?”

Sophie took a sip from her drink, “Yeah, This is embarrassing but I’m living in my Mom’s basement apartment. I got a job at the hospital, I’m assistant manager of the kitchen, which just means I fill in for whoever didn’t show up.”

Rose laughed, “Your Mom hated me so much.”

Sophie smiled inwardly.

Rose grabbed her hand, “You look really good by the way, like I mean, you’re a doll.”

Sophie felt her cheeks blush, “Thanks, you’re looking fit yourself.”

Rose sat up straighter. “I got to stay fit for roller derby. Hey, you still got those rollerblades?”

Sophie found herself squeezing Rose's hand, then self consciously pulled away. “Roller derby? That’s awesome. Yeah I actually skate the greenway on weekends sometimes. You do roller derby, like from Whip It?”

Rose leaned forward in excitement, “Babe, I was one of the founding members of the Derby City Roller Angels in 2010. We had to shut down for Covid but I’m bringing the team back. You gotta come skate with us.”

Rose pulled out a folded up flyer from her button covered messenger bag and handed it over. “Hey, remember that joke I told you when you first showed me your cool Rollerblades?” Rose asked.

Sophie smiled and said, “You know what the hardest part of rollerblading is?”

“Telling your parents you’re gay,” they both said together and giggled.

“Kind of ironic, it turned out I was gay,” Rose said.

Sophie’s eyes opened wide, “That’s why you dumped me!.” she said.

Rose smiled coyly, “Guess you should have just stuck it out a bit longer?”

Sophie looked over the flyer “Tuesday nights, huh. Yeah, I guess I’ll think about it.”

Rose didn’t respond, she was studying the face across from her. It was so different, softer, rounder, her skin, her eyes, her hair. But still, unmistakably the person she used to like. Rose was working a puzzle in her mind, shifting pieces of memory around and reframing them in a new light. Trying to make sense of her feelings.

“Rose?” Sophie asked.

“Oh shoot, I was just thinking about my ice cream. I better get going. Sophie, meeting you has been a pleasure. Come check out the team Tuesday. You won’t regret it.”

Sophie stood up and they hugged, then Rose bolted for the door.

***

“There’s my girl,” Sophie's Mom said as she entered the kitchen carrying grocery bags.

“Hey Mom.”

Sophie’s Mom shook her head, “You didn’t need to go buy groceries,” she said and rushed over to take a bag from Sophie.

Sophie laughed, “You sure do move quick for 64 years old.” Her mom laughed and they started sorting through the bags.

Sophie stopped for a second, “You’ll never guess who I just had coffee with.”

Her Mom stopped and smiled, “You had coffee with someone?”

“Yeah, do you remember Rose?” Sophie asked.

Her Mom frowned, “That punk red head you used to hang out with?”

Sophie laughed, “We dated for like 2 years, Mom.”

“So what’d you talk about?”

Sophie smiled, “This is crazy but she invited me to join her Roller Derby team.”

Her Mom threw her hands up, “Seriously Sophia, what are you trying to do to me? Have you seen what those girls do to each other?"

Sophie laughed, “No Mom, I guess I haven’t?”

Her Mom raised her hands, “It’s awful, just awful I’ve seen it on TV. They go after each other like animals, hitting and punching,”

Sophie laughed, “Animals you say, tell me more.” Her Mom threw her hands.

“Well it’s not very lady-like, I can tell you that.”

Later that night Sophie watched several videos about roller derby from across history. She giggled that her Mom thought all that fighting in the 80s was real.

She saw that the current version of derby was very different. It was played on a flat track, instead of a banked one. The rules were strictly enforced and there was no fake fighting. Just a lot of women pushing each other around on skates and a lot of very real looking hip and shoulder checks.

She also read an article about how Roller Derby was the most gender inclusive sports in the world, along with tennis, badminton, something called korfball she’d never heard of, and the less than magical version of Quidditch.

***

Nick shouldered his backpack and walked out of the classroom. He was the shortest guy in the class, and the only one with a backwards ball cap. He stalked down the hall like he his next stop was the OK Corral and not the Derby City Community Workout room.

He walked in and did a double take. There was a new flyer on the bulletin board and the words printed in bold on it caught his attention “Do you want to Reach out and HIT new people?”

Nick walked to the poster. It was purple and yellow with lighting bolts, skulls with wings and hearts. “Derby City Angels Roller Derby League is hosting Open Recruitment.”

No experience necessary.
Can’t Skate? No problem.
No gear? No problem.
All genders are welcome.
Nick heard some chuckling and looked over to see a group of “bros” with shredded muscle T-shirts lifting dumbbells. They weren’t laughing at Nick, they didn’t even notice him. Nick felt his chest binder under his Louisville Cardinals T-shirt.

He reached over and tore one of the tabs off the poster.

A few minutes later, sitting on a bench press he sent an email message to someone named Rose.

I saw your flyer. Can you tell me more about hitting people?

Chapter 5

Drew Fairchild stepped out of his Tesla model 3 and pulled out a mint condition Zuca Roller Derby bag emblazoned with flames. He sat it on the gravel parking lot and examined his surroundings.

The expansive gravel parking lot of Swanky’s Fun Center was mostly empty; a handful of cars were parked near the front door. He studied the once colorful, but now dull paint chipping off the metal walls and took a deep breath. “This place is so real,” he said and checked the time on his Apple watch.

Drew snaps out the handle of his wheeled bag and begins to walk. He’s wearing a brand new Lululemon hoodie in charcoal grey, and the matching sweats. He wonders if the gravel is going to damage his new Hokas then realizes it’s already scratching up the wheels on his bag so he picks it up and carries it the rest of the way.

In the small entryway he sees Mike in the office on his phone, “Hello, I’m here for Roller Derby.”

Mike lazily looks up from his phone, “Oh hey man. Um it’s like 6:45, and practice starts at 7:30.”

“Oh yeah, I know, I just wanted to get here early and do some reccee, catch the vibes, you know,” Drew says.

Mike grinned, the guy looked like he was 35 and talked like he was 20, “Oh, well OK, the session ends at 7, but if you just want to come in and hang out you’re welcome to,” Mike said as he buzzed the door.

“Thanks Bru,” Drew held out his hand, “Drew Fairchild, I’m joining the team.”

Mike’s grin grew from ear to ear. He took his hand, “Oh cool, I’m Mike.”

Drew came on with the energy of a car salesman on a tight quota, “So tell me Mike, what's the story on the team, how they shaping up?”

Mike played along, “Well sir, I don’t know much about it. They practiced last week, looked like things are off to a good start.”

Drew nodded and stepped through the door and into the rink. Mike turned around and faced him from the office window that faced into the interior and gave him a thumbs up.

Drew scanned the interior and turned to the window, “MIke, you want to direct me to the locker room, or wherever the team meets for practice.”

Mike could barely contain himself, he pointed towards the row of tables in the concession area, “Well Drew, right there is the warmup room, if you’d have a seat at one of our benches I’m sure the others will be here soon.”

“Sweet,” Drew said. The warmup room currently had 4 bored parents on their phones. Pop music played at a low volume as 8 kids skated on the wood floor. Drew saw the brand new purple lines of tape that created a regulation roller derby track in the middle of the floor. His eyes followed the faded neon airbrush artwork around the rink. He took a deep breath, “This place is real,” he quietly said as he checked his watch again. He saw a mirror hung near the bathrooms and paused, straightened his hoodie, and adjusted his meticulously sculpted bedhead.

At 7:15 Rose, Tracey and Neal walked in together as the last parent was pulling out of the parking lot from the evening session.

“Hey guys, you already got a new recruit in there,” Mike said with a big grin.

“Awesome, see guys, this is going to blow up,” Rose replied.

Rose turned back to Mike, “I’m expecting a few others so can you keep the door open?

Mike smiled and wedged a doorstop in. “Yeah and wait until you meet this dude.”

Tracey smiled at Mike and followed the others inside, “So we’ve got a track now? How much did you have to pay Swanky for that?" she asked?

“Easy, Swanky gets his logo on our new gear and 10% of Merch sales. Oh and guys, you can rest easy with the budget because we’re not paying a dime for practices now.”

Tracey and Neal’s faces rose, ‘That’s incredible, how’d you swing that?” Tracey asked.

“Just a deal maker, you know that,” Rose said.

“She works here now, she’s reff’n Birthday parties on the weekends.” Mike deadpanned.

Rose smiled, “Swanky’s got a thing for redheads apparently.”

Neal took a sip from his coffee and walked in first with his beat up backpack. His eyes landed on Drew Fairchild fiddling with his gear.

The skates were the first thing he noticed.

They were immaculate. Riedell Solaris Pro 2.0 with custom flame leather panels. Reactor Pro plates, and big oversized Derby toe stops. All completely mint.

Then the helmet, an S1 Lifer, with visor. Letters were airbrushed across the back of the helmet that Neal couldn’t read.

Then the guy, dressed like a tech bro CEO heading to the gym.

Neal turned behind him to Tracey and whispered, “That guy’s got some good gear.”

Tracey took less than a second to clock Drew, “That guy is a poser,” she whispered.

Drew got on his feet. Neal and Tracey dumped their beat up backpacks on the ground.

“Welcome,” Rose said, stepping past Neal and Tracey and planting herself in front of the concession tables like she owned the space. She took Drew in in one smooth glance, skates to helmet to posture, then met his eyes. “You must be one of our fresh meat.”

Drew straightened immediately, a little too fast, he’d practiced for this.
“Yeah! Hi. Drew Fairchild, he/him” he said, then added, with practiced confidence, “but my derby name is Maximus Slamamus.”

There was a half-second of silence.

Rose nodded once, neutral. “Cool. I’m Rose. Queen Blackthorn. This is Tracey Dropkick Murphy and that’s Neal Blue Screen of Death” She gestured without looking back. “We’ve got some others coming soon.

Trachey reached out her hand, “You can just call me Kick or Drop, or whatever.”

Drew smiled, and took her hand. “Awesome. I got here a little early just to, you know, get a feel for the space. I’ve been doing a lot of research.”

Neal shifted his coffee to his other hand. “Yeah? On skates?”

“Derby,” Drew corrected, friendly but firm. “The whole system. Strategy, rotations, jammer endurance, pack dynamics.” He motioned vaguely toward the track. “It’s actually really fascinating when you break it down.”

Tracey snorted and didn’t bother hiding it.

Rose ignored that and looked down at Drew’s skates. “Rad skates. Did you just buy them?”

Drew beamed. “Thanks. I figured if I was going to commit, I should commit all the way. Didn’t want equipment holding me back, you know?”

“Sure,” Rose said. Her tone was unreadable. “How long have you been skating?”

Drew hesitated just a beat. “Uh. Not long. But I’ve done a lot of cross-training. And I’ve watched a ton of footage. Like, a ton.”

Neal glanced at Tracey. Tracey raised an eyebrow.

Rose nodded again. “Alright. We’ll get you on wheels soon enough.”

Tracey sat down at her own table, “So who else is coming?”

“Three. I hope.” Rose replied as she sat down and took out her phone.

Nick was the next to arrive, 5 minutes early. He stormed in with quick steps, inquired if he was in the right place and dropped into a seat.

Trisha wandered in a minute later, looking anxious and made a joke that she hoped she didn’t die.

Rose checked her watch, 7:31. No Sophie. She was about to speak when she saw Sophie enter the rink, tentatively, scanning the room the way people do when they’re not sure where they belong yet. Her eyes landed on the tables, on the gear laid out like a showroom display, on Drew standing just a little too straight.

Something in her chest tightened.

Mike shut the door and had a seat, Rose waited until everyone had settled, then leaned back against the table and crossed her arms. “Alright. Welcome to your first practice with the Derby City Angels. I’m Rose, but here I’m Queen Blackthorn, but usually on the track it gets shortened to thorn.

“She took a notebook from her messenger bag and gave everyone a handout. “We all need to sign this, just a standard waiver. You know that skating and derby can be dangerous, skate at your own risk, most importantly you can’t sue the venue, the team, or a team member. If that's OK with your sign it.”

Everyone signed, then Drew took out his phone and photographed the document.

“I’ll just run this by my lawyer,” he said.

Rose collected the forms then took a central spot in the room.

“OK, everyone, let's do introductions. In derby we usually go by nicknames, but you don’t have to. Tell us what you want to go by, your pronouns, and why you are here. I’m Queen Blackthorn, but usually just Thorn for short. She/her. And I’m the team president. Derby is what I live for.”

Tracey stood up and did a little curtsey in her floral skirt. “I’m Dropkick Murphy, I usually go by Kick. She/her. Derby is my center.”

Neal stood next. “Neal or Blue Screen of Death, just Blue or Blue screen is fine. He/him I’m a computer programer. I like playing derby.

There was a short pause that was quickly filled by Drew, who stood and pivoted as he addressed the crowd like he was performing on stage. “I’m Maximus Slamamux. Maximus is fine. He/him. I’ve been looking for something that’s physically demanding, strategically complex, and community-oriented. Derby just checked all the boxes.”

Since Trisha was closest she went next, she stood slowly and looked down, “I’m just Trisha. She/her. I used to figure skate as a kid and thought this looked like a fun way to get back into skating.”

Nick was across from her and didn’t stand up before quickly speaking, “Hey ya’ll. I’m Nick, I’m in college, I’m He/him. I’m looking to get into a team sport.”

Mike was standing out behind the tables and chuckled, “OK I’m Mike and as you can plainly see I’m a guy. People used to call me Tilt back in the day so that’s cool. I’m skating with you guys to try to get back in shape.”

Sophia went last, she stood up, “I’m Sophie, sorry no cool nickname. She/her. I like to rollerblade, and Rose, or um Thorn, invited me to join. So I’m here.”

“Me and Sophie go way back,” Rose almost showed her embarrassment before catching herself. “Before anyone gets hurt, confused, or overly confident” she glanced briefly at Drew “we’re gonna go over the basics.”

She looked at Neal. “You wanna do the honors?”

Neal set his coffee down and nodded. “Sure.”

“Forget the roller derby you saw on TV, obviously if we were out here throwing punches and stomping each other with skates on, people would be leaving in ambulances.”

“That’s a relief to hear.” Trisha said.

Neal paused a moment and nodded, “But, that doesn’t mean it’s not a physical game. A 2 minute jam will be the longest 2 minutes of your life, and people do get hurt. I’ve seen plenty of broken fingers, sprains, concussions, shoulder injuries, ankle injuries, tailbone injuries…” he saw Trisha’s mouth hanging open.

“OK you get the point. But if you train and play smart your chance of getting hurt is much lower. Safety is our top priority at all times. Proper safety gear is an important part of that so before anyone is on wheels in practice they will be geared up.”

Neal paused and pointed to the track. “Derby is half race, half football game. Ten players will take the track. Five per team. One of those players will be the Jammer. Who's kind of like the quarterback. That player has a star on their helmet. Only the player with the star can score points.”

“What about the Pivot?” Drew asked.

Neal paused and smiled. “Well get to that. Points are scored after the jammer initially passes and laps the pack. One point is scored for every opposing team member the Jammer passes.”

“Keeping the Jammer from just going around and scoring points is the job of the blockers, but besides blocking the opposing jammer they can also block opposing blockers to make holes for their jammer.”

“There is one other position. Maximumus, want to tell us that position?”

Drew cleared his throat and spoke, “That would be the pivot, designated by a stripe on their helmet cover. The jammer can pass them the star and then the pivot can score points like a jammer.”

Neal nodded, “That’s correct. Now that the basics, any questions?”

Drew raised his hand.

“ “At what point do we start thinking about jammer rotation? Because from what I understand..”

Rose didn’t raise her voice. She just interrupted, calmly, “We don’t have jammers yet. We have people who have never played Derby.”

Drew blinked. Then nodded, a little flushed. “Right. Of course. Totally. Basics first.”

“OK everyone if you have your own gear, go ahead and start warming up, everyone else lets go over to the skate counter,” Rose said.

Drew began putting on his gear, and the other new skaters all were issued loaner knee pads, elbow pads, and helmets from a huge plastic tub of extra stuff Rose had dropped off earlier in the week. All of the gear was mismatched and worse for wear, but fully functional. It took some time to train everyone on how it all velcroed on.

Rose watched the group skating casual warm up laps. Once everyone was out on the diversity of skill level became very apparent. Mike, was easily the best skater of the 4 noobs. Trisha, while rusty, wasn’t far behind. They both could do crossovers, balance on one leg, control their speed, and skate backwards. They just needed derby specific skills.

Sophie had benefited from her inline trail skating. She could go forward fine and T-stop. Drew and Nick both had the farthest to go. They could both stay on their feet but their strides were short and choppy and they couldn’t figure out how to stop. They both fell down a couple times in 5 minutes of warm up.

“This floor is so different from where I have been practicing,” Drew said as he got off the floor.

“Where have you been practicing?” Tracey asked.

Drew smiled, “I have a small indoor gym at my house,” he said.

Tracey nodded, “Well that tracks.”

Rose called everyone to the center of the floor. Neal came in quickly and slid to a sudden stop. Tracey rolled in with controlled plow stops.

Nick came in behind Drew, “Hey, um, shit,” he yelled as he crashed into the man and they both tumbled to the ground.

“It’s all good, I’m fine,” Drew said.

Rose smiled, “OK. We've all got alot to learn but I see so much potential. Before we can start learning actual contact you all have to pass the minimum skills assessment. so training for that will be our first priority. We’re going to divide into groups so that we make the most of our time.”

She scanned across the group, “Blue Screen you’ll take Mike and Trisha. See if there is anything they need to work on. Kick, you take Drew and Nick. Mike and Sophie, you’ll be with me.”

“Remember there is no I in team, but there is a u in suck, and if you don’t want to suck then you’ve got to practice.”

Sophie laughed, “Feeling inspired now coach,” she said.

“Great, let's get inspired on some planks. On your bellies!”

Darren “Whit” Whitlock punched in his code and walked into the mailroom. As usual he was greeted by the smell of cheap coffee. He rubbed his eyes and made a beeline for the breakroom where took his stained St. Louis Art Museum mug from the shelf and filled it from the ancient stainless steel coffee pot.

Fred walked in, chipper as always, his cup of Casey’s Coffee steaming. “Well good morning sunshine,” the old man said as he sat down and opened up a paper. Whit smiled, Fred’s uniform was at least two generations older then the current model and stained, but who cares. Fred was the oldest employee in the office, a 69 year old City Carrier. Everyone joked he carried at least two uncashed paychecks in his wallet, saving them up so he only had to go to the bank every couple months. No one could understand why he didn’t retire.

“Looks like a big day, alot packages,” Whit said as he glanced out of the back pallet of cardboard boxes the clerk was sorting.

“Yeah, pain the ass, you know there was a time when we actually delivered mail, but now I spend so much time dragging boxes around. It’s like these people can’t go buy their own shit anymore, know what I mean.”

“I hear you,” Whit said and went out to his case. As a rural carrier the rules were a bit lax, he could start early and the dispatcher wouldn’t say anything. City carriers had to follow the rules and start at 7:30 on the dot.

Whit pulled out his phone and checked his emails, he cursed under his breath. His package would arrive today and for some crazy reason it was being delivered by UPS. He cursed under his breath. ‘Maybe she won’t open it,’ he thought.

Whit put his phone down when Carrie waltzed into the office, the young red head was wearing a long knit sweater, and capri tights. She smiled at Whit and lifted her Starbucks cup to her mouth. He couldn’t help but admire the way the sweater enhanced her curves. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned, “What you looking at there Whit?” Fred asked.

“Oh, I’m…”

“I know what you’re looking at son,” Fred laughed hysterically and slapped the younger man on the back.

Fred shuffled off, still chuckling.

Whit smiled, shook his head, and turned back to his coffee. Carrie was already gone, the echo of her laugh trailing down the hallway. He checked the clock—7:15. Time to get moving.

At his case the day’s mail waited in tight rubber-banded bundles. He slipped his headphones in, one ear only, and hit play. Pink Rabbits by the National. A sad song for a Sad Day. You didn’t see me when I was falling apart, I was a white girl in a crowd of white girls in the park. Matt Beringer’s melancholic baritone sang while Whit started casing letters: hands on autopilot, brain floating. Bills, flyers, the usual. Then he hit the first yellow “PARCEL” slip and groaned. A big one. Oversized. Address: Grace Miller, 1049 County Road 8.

He recognized the route number instantly, the old trailer way after the blacktop turned to gravel. The name had been popping up there a lot recently, another online shopper. Everybody was an online shopper now. “Hey, you've been working on your masterpiece?” Carrie asked.
Whit looked up in confusion and Carrie pointed at his arms. Blue paint stained his forearm. “Yeah I guess I didn’t see it,” Whit sheepishly said.
“I’m still waiting on my painting,” Carrie says.

“Yeah me too Whit, you’re said you’re going to paint me something pretty,” Fed yells out from across the room eliciting laughter from the other carriers.

“One day,” Whit says. He slid the slip aside, finished sorting, and began loading the LLV. The morning light came through the bay door like a thin sheet of gold, turning the dust into glitter. For a second he thought of the studio he’d had in college, the way light could make even a cracked wall look holy. Then Fred yelled something about the Cardinals’ bullpen and the spell broke.

A tall box stood out in the row of parcels, the box was from Amazon and plainly said it was a “professional artists easel” Whit checked the tag, Grace Miller. Well Grace you’ve got good taste in art supplies at least. Whit thought as he stacked the boxes.
Whit made a quick pit stop at his car and grabbed his camera. By the time Whit rolled out of the parking lot, Mud Creek was yawning awake: kids at bus stops, tractors already crawling down county roads, the diner’s neon sign flickering OPEN. He sipped the rest of his coffee and thought about the package again.

Grace Miller, 1049 County Road 8.

Four hours later, Whit pulled into the gravel drive.

It was hard to imagine anyone living in the beat-up trailer tucked behind the pines. The metal siding, once beige, had gone dark green with moss, and the porch sagged like an old man’s jaw. An ancient Ford pickup sat half in the weeds, its tailgate tied shut with a bungee cord.
He cut the engine and just sat there for a second, realizing he felt… tense. Out here, so far past his regular route, it wasn’t the distance that unsettled him, it was the quiet. You never knew what kind of people lived this far off the map.

Then the truck door creaked open, and a long, fake-fur-lined boot stepped onto the gravel.

The boot belonged to a tall, long-legged girl in black tights and a short dress, a flash of silver jewelry at her throat. She looked like she’d stepped straight out of one of his old art-school cigarette breaks in front of Fanner Hall. She certainly didn’t look like the woman he’d imagined living in this shit hole.

Whit felt the weight of his own years tug at him. He tugged his jeans higher over his soft belly and cleared his throat.
“Grace Miller?”

There was a pause, long enough to make him think he’d made a mistake, then a cautious, “Yes.”

The voice caught him off guard. It wasn’t a man’s, not exactly, but not quite a woman’s either. It landed somewhere in between, fragile but steady. Something in the back of his brain lit up, a mix of curiosity and guilt.

“I’ve got a package for you,” he said, “and some letters.”

“Awesome on the package,” she said, flipping her hair back. “But if those letters are bills, you can just keep them.”
The joke was old; Whit had heard it a thousand times. Still, he laughed, more out of relief than humor.

Grace took the mail, looked down the stack, and sighed. “Yeah, bills.”

Whit lifted the rear door and slid out the box. It was heavier than it looked.

“I can take this in for you… if you want.”

“Yeah, that’d be great. I was just leaving for work, so perfect timing.”

She dashed up the steps, quick and light, almost graceful—like a deer startled but not afraid. Whit followed, balancing the box on his hip, and the smell of cold pine and shampoo drifted back toward him. She opened the ancient plastic door revealing a plaid blanket blocking the entrance way. Whit sat the box down in front of the door and the girl heaved it past the curtain into the darkness.

“Thanks, Mr. Mailman,” she said.

“I’m Whit,”

“Hi Whit, I’m Grace, but you already know that,” she said and then shut the door. He shook her hand like he’d just sold her a car.

“So you paint?” he asked.

“I took an art class in high school, but really I needed the easel to balance out the grand piano.”

Whit laughed, “I teach painting at the college on Thursday nights, you should come to my class.”

Grace frowned, “Umm don’t think that’s how college classes work.”

“It’s not a college class, it’s adult education. It’s like 100 bucks a semester, but it’s no big deal.”

“Well thanks but I can’t afford real college, don’t have a 100 bucks for your painting class.”

“I can waive the fee, it’s no big deal, I’ve got plenty of supplies.” Whit said a little too quickly.

“OK I work on Thursdays… but.. You got a flyer or something?”

“Yeah one sec,” Whit pulled his camera bag out of the LLV.

Grace walked over and checked out the beat up digital SLR in the bag. “Hey, 5D mark ii, a real classic,” she said.

“Wow, I’m impressed you know cameras.”

Grace shrugged. “My dad used to take wildlife photos, deer, mostly. He had a Canon too, 7D, but he liked shooting film on his old Nikon better.”

“Film’s romantic until you have to pay for it,” Whit said, handing her a folded flyer from the back pocket of the bag. “Here. Thursday nights, six to nine. We’ve got good light, terrible coffee.”

She smiled, studying the paper like it might test her. “You think I could just show up?”

“Sure you’d fit in. But I warn you, the others are a bit older”

Grace raised an eyebrow. “Fit in where? I bet it’s all retirees painting barns. Plus I’m not always that popular with some people.”

Was she hinting at being trans? Whit wanted to ask so many questions, but he knew better, he wasn’t even sure. “Mostly,” he admitted. “But the barns are good practice, but I promise you’d fit in.”

She laughed softly. “Maybe. Depends how desperate I get for excitement.”

Whit nodded, pretending he didn’t care either way. “Well, if you change your mind, we’re in Room 104. Back of the art building.”
She folded the flyer and slid it into her boot. “Got it. Thanks, Whit.”

“No problem.”

For a moment neither of them moved. Then she waved, climbed into the old Ford, and started the engine, an uneven rattle that sounded like it might quit any second. Whit watched her taillights bounce down the drive until they disappeared behind the pines.
He stood there a beat longer, the smell of exhaust hanging in the cold air, and thought about how strange it felt to miss someone he’d met five minutes ago. His phone buzzed and he pulled it from his pocket.

A message from Lucy, “What the Fuck is this?” followed with a photo of a package of Bali Comfort stretch briefs, black with lace sides.

“Shit,” Whit said.

Chapter 2: Lucy Sep 8th

Lucy crouched beside the recliner and unlatched the valve on Anothony’s catheter bag. The plastic hissed softly as the urine emptied into the pitcher she kept for this. She checked the line, wiped the spout, and tugged at the edge of his disposable brief, clean, thank God. No mess today.

“OK Anthony lets get you on the toilet,” Lucy said in her loud and forced cheery caregiver voice. The old man fussed, and then cussed but eventually gave in. Lucy helped transfer him to the toilet and encouraged him, but her mind was on the text message from her Mom: call when you get off work.

Truly this job wasn’t bad, how many people get paid $15 dollars cash to watch old westerns half the day. Sure about every other day she had to clean up this old man’s shitty ass, but back when she worked at the nursing home she had to clean up dozens. She should consider herself lucky, Gunsmoke would be on in 15 minutes and Anthony just managed to use the toilet. By Lucy’s standards It’s a good day.

Anthony stayed awake for the whole episode and they occasionally talked about it. She remembered seeing this episode as a kid. Sheriff Matt Dillion has to go pick up a Tomboy from a farm after her Dad dies in town. Her wild independent days are over now, she’s got to learn to be a proper woman. Lucy couldn’t help but think she’d be better off alone on the farm.

After cooking lunch and watching Bonanza, Anthony’s Sister showed up for her shift and Lucy was in her car calling her Mom. As usual no one answered. Lucy sighed and began the 7 minute drive out of town to her parents' trailer.

She parked in gravel and made her way across the yard. Lucy couldn’t help but frown at the sight of her parent’s home, the old trailer had seen better days. The wooden porch sagged and needed to be replaced. Her Mom’s large and cheery flower garden made quite the contrast to the rundown home it surrounded. She found her parents both tucked away in their recliners watching TV, both with their scrubs on ready to go to work.

“I tried to call Mom?” Lucy said, unable to hide her annoyance.

“I’m so sorry honey, you know how bad reception is here, metal roof and all. We were going to just stop by your house. I hate to ask, but can we borrow 40 bucks.” Her Mom asked.

Lucy’s brown furrowed, “Why do you need to borrow 40 bucks Mom?”

“Well your brother called us, and he’s got all the kids tomorrow night. They’re going out to eat and he asked if we wanted to go. You know I wouldn’t ask, but this is about the only way we can see them.” she explained.

Lucy could feel the rage building up, the jealousy, the red and green cloud of envy and anger forming over her eyes. “Seriously Mom, seriously?” she said.

“Just forget about it, I shouldn’t have asked,” her Mom says and looks away. Lucy couldn’t understand it, how in the world did her parents not have 40 dollars? They both worked part time and her Dad got social security now. Besides that, how could they ask her for this knowing how much it hurt.

“You know you should go, you haven’t seen your brother and the kids in a long time,” Lucy’s Mom said.

“That’s because I don’t want to see him Mom, and I don’t really give a shit to see his dumbass kids either.”

Lucy’s Mom huffed, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

Lucy looked over at her Dad, his eyes were glued to the TV screen, checked out. “No Mom, I’m sorry. I’m being a bitch as usual.” Lucy took her wallet out of her purse and gave her Mom 40 dollars. She didn’t hesitate to take it.

It wasn’t really the money. Yes, every dollar counted for Lucy, but her parents always paid her back. They weren’t deadbeats, just really bad with money. It was the fact that no one in the world seemed to give a shit. 18 years of marriage, no kids, but her brother had six with two different women. It was hard not to be jealous.

On the drive back to her house Lucy turned up the radio trying to drown out her thoughts. “At least I live in a house,” she said as she pulled into her driveway. As far as houses go in Mud Creek it was nice, Just a bit out of town in a little subdivision. Small, but really too big for just her and Darren. Her eyes lit up at the site of a package in front of the door. She walked in and dropped her purse on their cluttered dining room table that was only actually used for dining twice a year.

“What have you bought Darren?” she said out loud as she opened the bubble mailer and took out the package of panties. “No. Fuck no.” she said and threw the package against the wall. “I can barely afford Hanes! And you're buying this shit! Son of a bitch.”

An hour later Darren Whitlock came in through the back door and immediately walked through the kitchen where Lucy was frying hamburgers. “Hi honey, I’m home.” he said and gave her a quick hug before heading through the house to the front door.

“Looking for something?” she asked.

Darren frowned, “Did I get a package?”

Lucy pointed to the package on the floor where she’d left it, then crossed her arms. “So you’re buying women’s underwear now?”

Whit blinked, and sighed, “Lucy…” He made his way over to pick up the package.

“Why did you buy those?” she said in a calm voice with a fake smile.

Whit shrugged, “Lucy… please just, drop it.”

“That’s all you’ve got? My name?” she snapped. “You can’t even lie about it? That’s where we are?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. His shoulders curled inward like he was trying to make himself smaller.

“Say something,” Lucy demanded.

“I…” He stared at the floor. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Oh, come on,” she said, stepping toward him. “You ordered panties. You know why. Just tell me.”

Whit shook his head, voice tightening. “I can’t. I don’t know… how.”

“That’s bullshit,” Lucy said. “Do you think I’m stupid?”

Whit winced.

“You’ve been checked out for months,” she went on. “And now I find this? And you won’t tell me why? You won’t even give me a bad excuse?”

He leaned against the wall as if he needed it to stand. “Lucy, please. I’m trying.”

“No,” she said. “You’re avoiding. There’s a difference.”

He flinched again, eyes damp. Lucy hated the way her chest tightened seeing it. It wasn’t sympathy, it was fear. Fear that she was losing him.

She turned away, grabbed her purse off the table, and slammed it down again. “God, I need a drink.”

Whit inhaled sharply. “Lucy! don’t say that. Please.”

She turned back. “Why? You can order panties off the internet, but I can’t say I feel like having a drink?”

His voice cracked. “You know why, we’ve been through this.”

“That was forever ago.”

“No it wasn’t.” Now he was shaking. “Not for me.”

She stared at him, suddenly thrown off balance. “Well it sure feels like a fucking long time for me!”

“I won’t go through that again Lucy, I won’t.” He wrapped his arms around himself, breathing too fast.

“Then tell me what the fuck is wrong with you, are they for your girlfriend, or for you?”

Darren scoffed, “I don’t have a girlfriend, you know that!”

“OK so they are for you, I guess you want to be a girl again?” Lucy saw that Darren was tightening, like a clock that had been over wound. “Darren, you should sit down,”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” she said. “You’re acting like you’re about to”

Before she could finish, Whit slammed his fist hard against the doorframe, which split with a sharp crack. Lucy jumped.

“Darren! What the hell?!”

He pulled his hand back, cradling it. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, sinking down until he was sitting on the floor, head in his arms.

“Jesus…” Lucy knelt in front of him. “Whit. Look at me.”

He wouldn’t.

She reached out, hesitated, then touched his shoulder lightly. “I’m sorry… I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know who you are half the time.”

He let out a choked breath, not quite a sob. “I don’t either.”

Lucy sat back on her heels, stunned.

The package of panties lay on the floor between them, a stupid pastel landmine in the middle of the kitchen.

Darren’s eyes focused behind his wife, then he jumped up, and ran to the smoking frying pan on the stove, “Shit!” he said as he pulled the frying pan off the burner.

“Goddamn it,” he said as he ran water over the smoking pan. Grease snapped and exploded.

Lucy began to cry, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said not really to Darren.

“It’s fine I’ll order a pizza,” Darren tossed the burned meat in the trash and picked up the panties on his way out of the kitchen. He made beeline for his closet and stashed them in a backpack where he kept a few other odds and ends.

Chapter 3 -Flushed- November 4th 2010

It was well past midnight and Whit was still up at his computer. The dark monitor in front of him split between two windows, one filled with text and the other scrolling through anime style pictures of sissies, elaborately dressed in over the top feminine costumes.

Goodgirl_Sophie
Did you put the panties on like I told you too

Whit swallowed, his fingers clicked the keyboard as he bent forward in the dark.

Secret_Sissy
No, my wife’s asleep. I can’t.

Goodgirl_Sophie
Girl, you’ve got to learn to plan ahead, but whatever.
Be a good girl, tell me how you look.

Whit closed his eyes. He told himself he was going to stop doing this, why was he still doing this? He typed:

Secret_Sissy
I really need to go to bed.

Goodgirl_Sophie
No you don’t, you’re doing exactly what you need to do.
Come on, describe yourself for Daddy.

Whit’s breath caught, his mouth felt dry. He wiped his palms on his legs. He’d done this so many times, yet every time it was hard. Like he had to twist himself to get the words out.

Secret_Sissy
I’m about 5’10” long black hair tied back in a loose ponytail. I’m shy and smile but look down. I’m soft.

Goodgirl_Sophie
Goodgirl, don’t be shy, tell Daddy what you’re wearing.

Whit bent even more forward over the keyboard, he felt his heart beating faster and words flowed out of him.

Secert_Sissy
I’m wearing a satin dress, pink and short, showing off my legs. It’s very girly with lace and ruffles. I have white lace stockings and garter. I have a big pink bow…

Whit’s description was cut off when he heard steps, the door to the computer room was thrust open. Lucy was standing there in her nightgown.

Whit quickly closed the browser, a scenario that had played out many times. But this was different, there was no anger in Lucy’s voice, she was crying.

“Darren, something is wrong, we’ve got to go to the hospital,” He could see blood running down her leg.

Whit couldn’t really remember what happened over the next 4 hours. It was a waiting room, followed by an exam room, nurses taking Lucy and bringing her back. A blur of clipboards, questions, and instructions.

Then crying, so much crying, the only thing that remained vivid in Darren’s mind was Lucy trembling in his arms choking out the same words over and over again:

“They flushed it down the toilet.”
Whit held her, he didn’t cry, didn’t speak, and worst of all inside he felt a hollow space where grief was supposed to be. He wasn't going to be a father after all.

Chapter 4 September 10th 2025

Grace pushed the big shopping cart thing and searched for the specific jar of pickles that had been eluding her for far too long. It wasn’t so much that the job of “personal shopper” at Wal-Mart was hard, it was just very dull. It did have it’s advantages, she could leave her earbud in and listen to music, and she didn’t have to talk to people.

She glanced left and two young guys whose t-shirts confessed their love of hunting and cage fighting were coming her way.

“Umm excuse me, can you help us find cliff bars,” one of them asked.

Grace would have to speak, but she had been preparing for this and lifted her larynx. “It’s in the cereal aisle, by all the granola bars. Two aisles that way,” she said.

She could see both guys’ eyes look at each other and immediately knew what was going on.

“Great thanks,” one said and they went off snickering. “See I told you man, pay up,” he said as other handed him a 5 dollar bill from his wallet.

“Fucking redneck assholes,” Grace said under her breath. She had one more item for this order and quickly found it while fighting back tears. As she pushed her cart towards the back the two guys were coming up the aisle carrying a box of cliff bars.

“Thanks, found them,” he said and then the other started giggling as they walked by.

She wanted to tell them off, but for what? They hadn’t even had the decency to misgender her, she was just a joke to them.

Grace felt the heat climb up her neck. Her throat tightened, her eyes flickering between the cart and the gleaming floor. She kept her head down. Don’t give them anything. Don’t give them the satisfaction.

She pushed the oversized blue cart toward the back, fighting the wobble in her knees. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, the whole store suddenly too bright, too loud, too exposed. She made a beeline for the breakroom and grabbed her purse out of her locker and then dashed for the restroom, ignoring the old man eating his lunch.

The moment she shut the door behind her, her breath collapsed out of her. She locked the stall, sat down on the closed toilet seat, and pressed both hands over her eyes.

The tears came immediately, hot, stupid, unstoppable.

“God, why do I keep doing this to myself,” she whispered. No answer, of course.

She dug in her purse for the small composition notebook she kept with her. A cheap one, cover peeling at the corners. She opened to the middle pages, the ones full of cramped handwriting:

Reasons to kill myself

She turned past multiple pages filled with writing.

She clicked her pen and wrote under the left column:

79. Two guys at work settled a bet on whether I was trans.

Her hand shook as she wrote it. She stared at the number, seventy-nine. She hadn’t realized it was that high.

Grace sniffed hard, wiped her face on her sleeve, and forced herself to breathe slowly. In, out. In, out.

Then she flipped to the “Reasons not to” pages.

There were fewer items there. Smaller handwriting. Things like:

I want to go to college
Hormones might help
Maybe I could move someday
The forest
She tapped the pen on the page.

Finally, she wrote:

23 . I want to learn to paint.

She closed the notebook carefully, like something fragile might spill out of it. Another shaky breath. She splashed some water on her face at the sink, trying not to look too closely at her reflection.

Her eyes were still red, but she lifted her chin anyway.

“Okay,” she whispered to the mirror. “Back to work.”

She pressed her earbud back in, turned on her music, and stepped out of the bathroom, one more order to finish, one more hour until lunch.

Grace tied the laces of her worn and stained hiking boots, a gift from her Dad. She attached the 300mm lens to her camera, another gift from her Dad, and starts walking down the gravel past her trailer. She stops to take a picture of the cows standing around in the field to her right. The Minnonites who owned the cows lived up in a house about a mile away. She saw them on their side by side every now and again, but they kept their distance and she kept hers.

In front of her the gravel road deteriorated into rough sandstone. Every so often off roaders would come out here and take the old fire road up into the hills. The early settlers named this area Palestine, which Grace always thought was funny. The Palestinians lived in exile in their own land, and she lived in exile here.

She made her way up the old road and down the first trail, following the dry creek bed. The forest was starting to get good again. The brutal summer humidity was down, the brush was drying up, and the spiders weren’t as thick. It was still green, hot and she had to brush webs off her face. Her feet seemed to be taking her somewhere without any input from her brain, but she knew where she was going. It was a two mile walk, but she had time. Eventually she came to the overlook, a place she frequently walked to.

Grace approached the edge and looked down. It was at least a 40 foot drop, probably not enough to actually kill her. Maybe if she jumped headfirst? Suddenly scared she took a step back. Grace sat down and took in a deep breath, smelling the pines that the CCC planted here 90 years ago to fight erosion. There stepping in between the pines was a deer, a large buck with great antlers. He paid Grace no attention as he slowly walked closer to the overlook.

Grace raised her camera, zoomed in, composed, half pressed the shutter to lock focus, composed again and took the photo. The deer turned and looked in her direction. Grace felt her breath catch in her throat, and took what she was sure was the greatest photo anybody had ever taken in history.

“Paint me,” the deer said clear as day though his mouth didn’t move.

Grace let the camera slowly lower and hang from the strap. She didn’t imagine that, she heard the words spoken with deep masculine authority.

Back in her trailer sitting on the ratty old couch she pulled out her notebook.

24. The Deer

Author's Note: There is a plot, it starts to take off in this chapter, but there will still be chapters that focus more on Whit and Lucy's relationship and trauma. Something I haven't made clear that I will need to in future edits is that the story is taking place in a rural town In Illinois called Mud Creek. It's the kind of place that has very powerful gravity. My three main characters, Lucy, Whit, and Grace are all stuck in Mud Creek. Thank you reading and I so appreciate the comments!

Chapter 5 Dead Battery September 11, 2025

Whit walked into the classroom. Troy and Angie Phelps already at their table with their easels and paintings set up. The older retired couple were his most consistent students and sadly neither of them could paint their way out of a paper bag. But they loved it and that’s all that mattered.

“Hey teach,” the older Mr. Phelps said with a big grin.

“So what have you got for me tonight?” Whit asked.

The old gentleman held up a printed photo of a small country church, “We’re going to paint the old Harvest Chapel. This is where it all started.” Mr. Phelps said with a grin.

Whit checked out the photo of the church, it was small, out of focus and taken in the middle of the day. Colors were washed out, values were crushed, the composition lacked any semblance of balance. He knew it would make a horrible painting.

“Great photo Troy, it’ll make an awesome painting. It’s amazing that Harvest Chapel went from that to, what, 500 people?”

“607 last week,” Angie said. Whit smiled. He did not like Harvest Chapel, the fastest growing church in the whole region, but then again he didn’t really like any church, but it was best not to mention that in these parts.

“We’re saving you and Lucy pew, we hope you can make it Sunday,” Troy said.

“Thanks Troy, I’ll talk to Lucy about it.”

Over the next ten minutes a few more couples and solo students came in while Whit opened up cabinets getting out bottles of acrylic paint, brushes, and canvases. Finally he made his way over to the ancient little CD player in the corner and dropped in “Yanni Live at the Acropolis,” a crowd favorite. He turned to see Lucy walk in.

She took a few cautious steps in and scanned the room until her eyes locked with Whit. She was wearing a long black dress and hiking boots. Whit waved and she smiled. As she walked towards him she saw the Phelpses and her shoulders tightened.

“Grace, I’m so glad you could make it!” he said.

The girl held her sketchbook to her chest like a shield, but smiled. “Yeah, I thought I’d come lower the average age of class a few years,” she said quietly.

Whit laughed, and turned back to the class, “Hey everyone we have a new student joining us tonight, this is Grace, I deliver her mail, and her painting supplies, so I invited her to join us.

The assembled adults all offered polite greetings to which Grace nodded and took a seat. Whit addressed the class, telling them about a few events the college had coming up and announced that everyone would need a painting finished before Thanksgiving for the Fall art exhibition.

Then he turned to Grace, “So what do you want to paint?”

She frowned and opened up her sketchbook showing Whit a pencil drawing of a deer near a cliff. It had a whimsical style, very two dimensional, reminding him of a cave painting. While it was simple it seemed intentionally so. The deer, rocks, and trees were rendered with grace and the composition was grounded in asymmetrical balance.

Whit’s smile grew from ear to ear, “Oh Wow, this is amazing!”

“I didn’t copy it, it came from this,” Grace opened up her phone and showed Whit the photo she had taken the night before.

“Did your Dad take that?” Whit said remembering she said her Dad did photography.

Grace shook her head, “No I did. I got lucky last night.”

Whit felt like he’d won the art student lottery, this girl was an amazing photographer, and she could draw. “If you send that to me I’ll print it out for you,” Whit said. A few minutes later Grace had a 16x20 Canvas, and a full page print of the deer photograph.

Whit grabbed a book from a nearby shelf and flicked through to images of cave paintings, “This might be helpful for reference, but really I think your sketch should be your primary guide. You’ll need to figure out how you want to approach color. There are some color pencils in the drawer over there if you want to experiment in your sketchbook.” He spent a few minutes contemplating her line style, and the sense of balance and unity her sketch showed.

Grace blinked at him, surprised at how easily he moved through art principles, like someone who did this a living.

“Sounds great, I wish you were my high school art teacher, I might have not dropped out,” Grace said with a laugh.

White smiled and nodded, then began moving around the room to help other students.

As the students filed out for break, Troy and Angie hung back, hovering near Whit’s paint cart. When the door finally shut behind the last person, Angie leaned in.

“I’m real glad you invited Grace,” she said. “This will be really good for them.

“Yeah… They’ve had a tough time, I’m sure this is good for them,” Troy said.

Whit tilted his head confused by the sudden they/them pronouns. He leaned in close, realizing that he was about to receive some good ol fashioned gossip, “I’ve been trying to figure out why she’s living in that dump out in the boonies, seems like she’s the only one living there.”

“You don’t know about them?” Angie asked.

“Know what?” Whit asked.

Angie lowered her voice. “Her name wasn’t always Grace. It used to be Grayson. She’s… one of those transgender kids.”

Whit looked back at the empty door, “Grace, that girl?” he asked.

Troy nodded, happy to keep the story going now that the seal was broken.
“Family lived over in Rado. They used to go to Harvest with us. Good folks. But the dad left a couple years back. And then, on the kid’s junior year, they caught him, or well, her, I guess, sneakin’ girl clothes to school. Changing in the bathroom and all that.”

Angie made a noise in her throat, something between pity and disapproval.

Troy continued, “Parents tried to put a stop to it. Didn’t work. She ran off for a bit. Came back. Now she’s livin’ out at her dad’s old huntin’ cabin. People say he’s lettin’ her stay there, but nobody really knows.”

Whit felt his stomach drop, “Wow, that’s crazy. I hope she’s OK.”

“We’re praying that he comes to his senses, and whatever devil got in him to turn him like that, gets out.” Angie said.

Whit had no words to form a reply, he just nodded.

“The worlds a sick place Whit, poor kids these days are being raised by sickos on the internet, turning em into fruit cakes.” Tory said.

Whit faked a smile, “I’ve got to go to the restroom.” He made a beeline for men’s room and sat down on the toilet. This couldn’t be a coincidence could it? The universe was trying to tell him something. He knew he had to talk to her, but how could he without coming off like a creep.

Whit stood up and flushed the empty toilet and went to wash his hands. “This too shall pass,” he told his reflection in the mirror and went back to class.

Whit nodded goodbye to the janitor and walked out to the parking lot, there parked a few spots back from his Jeep was Grace’s truck under the yellow halo of the lights. She was standing beside it looking at her phone.

Grace looked up from her phone, “Won’t start,” she said.

Whit looked over the 30 year old truck, taking in it’s rust holes and mismatched tires. He took a deep breath, “OK, let me check it out.”

Whit was no automotive expert, but his Dad believed in getting his money’s worth which often meant crawling around under the hood trying to fix things. Grace thanked him profusely as he slid in the cab and turned the key. The truck made a clicking sound.

“Dead battery, did you leave your lights on?” he asked. Grace was sure she hadn’t. Whit pulled his car around and pulled out some jumper cables. Without thinking about it he began giving Grace a lesson in how to jump a battery. Soon the old Ford truck fired up.

Whit dropped the hood with a bang and turned to Grace. “I’ve got bad news for you, your batteries 6 years old. You’ve got to get another one,” he explained.

“Shit, well thank you so much. I’ll see if I can figure it out. Thanks for inviting me to the class,” she said.

Whit rolled up the jumper cables and started to get in his car, but stopped. “A battery is like 100 bucks, can you afford one?”

“No, at least not for a week,” Grace said as she stepped in.

“OK, look, it probably won’t start tomorrow. I’ll buy you one and you can pay me back next week, OK?” he asked.

Grace shook her head, “I really can’t do that, thank you though.”

“Grace if your truck can’t start, what are you going to do out there in the middle of nowhere?”

The girl looked at her rear view mirror then turned around and shrugged.

“It’s no big deal, just follow me to the Rural King, alright?”

Grace nodded.

An hour later Whit dropped the hood of the truck again and wiped dark grease onto his old paint stained jeans. Grace was beaming, “Mr. Whitlock, you must be the nicest person in Mud Creek.”

Whit smiled, “Just keep coming to class, you’re too good an artist not to.” he said.

“I will, and now I owe you one.” Whit reached out for a handshake and Grace took it then squeezed in for a hug.

Whit smiled and started walking back to his car but he felt the weight hit him. The pressure of countless sleepless nights. This couldn’t be a coincidence could it? The universe was trying to tell him something/

Whit quickly turned around as Grace shut the door. “Wait!” like from a scene from a cheesy Romantic Comedy that he pretended to hate.

Grace rolled the window down, “Yes Mr. Whitlock?”

“How did you know?”

She scrunched up her brow. ‘How did I know what?”

Whit looked around and stepped up close to the window, “How did you know you were a girl?” he asked.

Grace’s smile evaporated and she shook her head. “Great, this is why you’re being nice.”

“No.. No I…”

Grace cut him off, “Well look, how do you know you are a boy?”

“I don’t know. Or erm, I’m not sure that I am a… Boy.”

Grace blinked.
“Oh. Oh.”
She let out a shaky breath. “That’s not where I thought this was going.”

Whit winced, already stepping back.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I should go.”

“No.” Grace put a hand out, not touching him,. “You asked an honest thing. I can answer it.”

Whit froze halfway out

Grace stared out the windshield, her voice soft but steady.
“I was six. Sitting in church with my mom and dad. And these girls came out to perform a song… all in matching dresses. Big, floofy monstrosities. Petticoats everywhere.” She laughed under her breath. “They looked ridiculous. But I wanted one. I wanted one so bad it hurt.”

Whit felt like he could melt.

Grace turned and looked at him. “I didn’t have a word for it. I didn’t know what it meant. But I knew.”

She tapped her chest lightly. “In here, I knew that I was a girl.”

Whit was silent for a long moment. Above him the Rural King parking lot lights buzzed thick with the late summer insects and trying to get closer to the light. Whit was crying.

“I’ve got to go, I’m sorry,” he said.

“OK, thanks for helping me again, and you’ve got my number if you want to talk or something,” Grace said. Whit nodded, wiped his eyes and drove home lighter then he’d felt in years.

Chapter 6. Lucy Wal-Mart September 12th

Lucy’s feet hurt, it hadn’t been a good day. First Anthony had a really bad day. His dementia was worse, he kept trying to leave and go to work. The more she tried to correct him the more argumentative he became. Then to make matters worse he shit himself.

After that it was a trip to the vet for their cat, Mistletoe. . Top all that off with a trip to Wal-Mart and Lucy just wanted to go home and put her head in the sink. She had one final item on her list, canned pineapple.

A young man pushing an oversized shopping cart was standing nearby on his phone. “Excuse me sir, do you know where the pineapple is?” she asked.

“The boy dropped his phone in his pocket and sighed then clicked his airpod. “What?” he asked with obvious annoyance.

“Sorry, I’m just looking for pineapple,” Lucy said again.

The young man rolled his eyes and jutted his finger out, “Fruits and vegetables are that way,” he said. He clicked his airpod and started to leave.

“No I’m not wanting a fresh pineapple, I want canned pineapple,” Lucy explained.

The young man clicked his earbudy again and spun around, under his Wal-Mart vest was a black T-shirt depicting a mouth full of razor teeth and wicked eyes, emblazoned with the word “Disturbed.”

“Look at the signs lady, next aisle, Fruits and Vegetables, can’t you read?” he said and shot off.

Lucy felt rising humiliation, “I can read,” she said but the boy was already gone. The damn burst and tears flowed.

Lucy stood there, cheeks burning, tears spilling before she could stop them. She pressed her fingers to her eyes, trying to get control, but the humiliation of being scolded like a child after the day she’d had was too much.

She turned into the next aisle, and there was the pineapple right in front of her. She snagged a can off the shelf. “Why am I the one crying?” she asked between tears.

She leaned against her cart, breathing hard, the bright fluorescent lights turning everything sharp and loud. Her eyes blurred again. She hated crying in public, hated that the stupid pineapple had been the thing that did her in.

A soft shuffle of footsteps approached, slow and hesitant.

“Um… excuse me?”

Lucy looked up. A young woman in a navy Wal-Mart vest stood a few feet away, hands clasped nervously in front of her. She was soft, friendly looking, with her hair pulled back and her eyes wide the way someone looks when they’re not sure if they’re allowed to speak.

“Are you Okay?” she asked.

Lucy blinked hard, embarrassed. “I’m fine,” she said quickly, wiping at her face.

The girl took one small step closer and held out a neatly folded Kleenex.
“You’re not,” she said softly. “But that’s okay.”

Lucy took it without thinking. “Thank you.”

The girl nodded, but didn’t smile. She looked like she wanted to, but couldn’t quite manage it.

Lucy inhaled shakily, pressing the tissue to her eyes. “It’s just been a really hard day.”

The girl nodded again, slowly. “I get that.”

Lucy looked at her more closely, taking in the vest, the posture, the quietness. Her gaze dropped to the nametag clipped to the girl’s chest.

GRACE.

Lucy’s breath caught. “Grace?” she said before she could stop herself.

Grace stiffened, hands twisting in front of her. “Um… yeah?”

“My husband, Whit, teaches the painting class at the college. He mentioned a Grace.”

Grace’s eyes widened with something like fear, like she was waiting for a blow that hadn’t landed yet. “He… did?”

“He did,” Lucy said, softening. “He said you were talented.”

Grace blinked rapidly, as though no one had said something kind to her in weeks.
“Oh,” she whispered. “Um… thank you. Your husband is a good teacher.”

Lucy managed a watery smile. “You didn’t have to help me. I appreciate it.”

Grace shrugged, looking down. “Most people don’t cry in the canned fruit aisle,” she said, trying for humor. It came out small. “I figured… someone should care.”

Lucy let out a shaky breath, “More people should care,”

Grace glanced toward the end of the aisle. “I should get back to filling my cart for the people too cool to come in here and shop. They’ve probably got an AI watching me.”

“Of course.”

Grace hesitated, just long enough to show she wanted to say more, then gave a tiny nod and walked away, pushing her cart of boxes, shoulders slightly hunched.

Lucy watched her disappear around the corner.

She wiped her eyes one more time and whispered to no one:

“Whit was right about her.”

And for the first time all day, the knot in her chest loosened.

***

The groceries were put away, Whit was home from work and they both sat down on the couch with slices of a frozen pizza. “I saw that new student of yours, Grace, today,” Lucy said.

Whit froze in mid bite, “Umm, yeah, where at?”

“She works at Wal-Mart, she was really nice, some asshole worker made me cry and she gave me a tissue.”

Whit sat his pizza down, “Wait, what, who made you cry, what happened?” he asked.

“I don’t know some worker there, it was nothing, he just said something rude. But Grace seems really nice,” Lucy said.

“I wish I’d been there. I'd give that kid a piece of my mind.”

“I was no big deal,” Lucy said and took another bite.

White felt a rising panic, yeah he was annoyed some kid made his wife cry, but even more worried what Grace might have told her. He tried to act cool, and slowly turned. His face was too blank, too careful. “What… exactly did she say?”

Lucy blinked. “Why do you ask it like that?”

Like what? Just curious.” He dried his hands on a towel though they weren’t wet.

Lucy studied him, a knot forming.

“She didn’t say much, Whit. Just that most people didn’t cry in the canned fruit aisle, oh she said you were a good teacher.”

Whit exhaled, maybe a little too hard. “Okay. Good. That’s… good.”

Lucy frowned. “Are you worried about her for some reason?”

“No,” Whit said quickly. “No, I just, it’s fine.”

Lucy watched him a moment longer. He wouldn’t look at her.

Something strange passed through her chest, suspicion. No, Whit wasn’t messing around with this girl, there’s no way.”

“She seems very sweet,” Lucy said softly.

Whit nodded without speaking.

Lucy got up and went to the fridge and leaned against the counter. “You really like her as a student, don’t you?”

Whit swallowed. “Yeah. She’s… very talented, and she’s also all alone as far as I can tell. Living in a dump out in the woods and she’s… I’m just worried about her.”

Lucy didn’t know what that meant. But she knew how it felt. Like there was more here than he was saying.

They finished eating in silence and then Lucy turned to her husband, “We have to talk about the other night. I’m sorry I made you so upset, I just don’t understand what’s going on. I thought you were done with that stuff?”

Whit’s chest tightened like a vice.
He knew exactly what she meant.
The clothes.
The dressing.
The thing he’d sworn years ago he’d buried.

He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again.

“I…” His voice cracked before it even started.

Lucy stepped closer, her expression uncertain,not angry, not judgmental. Just scared. “Whit, I’m your wife. You can tell me if something’s wrong.”

Wrong.
The word hit like a hammer.

Whit dragged a hand through his hair and stepped back, needing distance he couldn’t explain.

“There’s nothing wrong,” he lied. Too fast. Too sharp.

Lucy’s face pinched. “Whit…”

He turned away, gripping the back of a chair until his knuckles whitened.
He didn’t want to lie to her.
He didn’t want to hide from her.
He wanted, God, he wanted, to say it out loud.
The thing bubbling up in him ever since he’d sat in that truck with Grace.
The thing he was terrified even to think.

But saying it would break the world open.
Saying it would make it real.
Saying it would mean Lucy would look at him differently forever.

“I’m just tired,” he said finally, voice rough. “I’m… I’m overwhelmed. Work’s been busy, the class. You know it was just something I do alone to unwind.”

It was cowardly.
He knew it.
Lucy knew it too.

She swallowed. “I feel like you’re hiding from me.”

Whit closed his eyes.
Because he was.
Because the truth lived bottled up in his chest, clawing its way up his throat.

“I’m not hiding,” he whispered.
Another lie.

Lucy stepped forward and touched his arm lightly, like she wasn’t sure he’d let her. “I love you, Whit. I just need you with me. Not… somewhere else.”

He looked at her hand on his sleeve and placed his over it. No wedding rings. Both lost over twenty years of life and never bothered to replace.

He wanted to tell her. Wanted to trust her with it.

But he couldn’t.
Not yet.
Not tonight.

He gently pulled his arm back and managed a strained smile. “I’m here,” he said. “I promise.”

Lucy nodded, but her eyes said she didn’t believe him.

Chapter 7, Whit, October 27, 1998

Darren Whitlock is following his mother through Wal-Mart with his head down.

“No Mom, I’m not doing Halloween this year, I’m 12 years old now. Besides, I haven't dressed up in years.”

“Come on Darren, it could be fun, you could help hand out candy, and surely someone’s having a costume party,” his Mom said.

“Mom, no, I’m not doing it,” Darren said.

“I don’t understand what’s gotten into you, all you want to do is sit in your room and draw from your silly books. You used to love dressing up.”

It’s true, Darren loved dressing up, until about the 2nd grade. That was when he noticed how different the girl’s costumes were. Girls could be princesses, witches, and genies, he was stuck as something lame. Anyway, dressing up was embarrassing, people would laugh at him, he was better just as himself.

“I’m going to look at cards,” Darren said.

“Don’t you want to help me pick out Halloween candy?” his Mom asked.

“No,” Darren said as he sulked away. He found himself drifting across the store, taking a round about path to where the collectable card games were. He cut through the girl’s clothing section then stopped when he realized he was alone.

Early this day he had read a fashion article in the school newspaper written by Stephanie Crawford, a girl that he’d had a crush on for months. The article covered fall fashions and mentioned how sunflower prints and layered pastels were “totally in right now.” Darren had pretended not to care, but he’d read the article twice, tracing the pictures with his eyes.

He hadn’t expected to find the clothes right in front of him.

There, on a rack endcap under a flickering fluorescent light, hung a soft yellow ribbed sweater with tiny embroidered sunflowers near the collar. It was simple, not fancy like the stuff in the mall catalogs, but it still made something bloom warm and anxious in his chest.

He stepped closer. No one was around.

He reached out and pinched the sleeve between two fingers.

Soft. Softer than any shirt he’d ever owned. The kind of soft that made your brain go quiet.

He glanced around again. Still alone.

He lifted the hanger just enough to hold it at eye level. The sweater was shaped in a way he couldn’t describe, gentle somehow. Pretty without trying. The way girls at school could be pretty without trying.

He imagined wearing it.

The thought hit him like a punch, bright, dizzying, wrong, right, everything all at once.

His heart thudded.

“Now that’s a cute one,” a voice said right behind him.

Darren nearly dropped the sweater. He spun around.

An older woman in a blue Wal-Mart vest stood there, smiling like she’d walked in on something adorable. Her gray hair was pulled back in a neat bun, and she had a name tag that read Marjorie.

“You picking that out for your girlfriend?” she asked warmly.

Darren’s cheeks went nuclear. “N-No, I’m… it’s I was just…”

Marjorie winked. “Good boyfriend,” she said. “Girls love when boys pay attention to the little details. Sunflowers are real in style right now. She’ll be thrilled.”

Darren’s mouth opened and closed like a caught fish. “I.. I don’t…”

But Marjorie had already moved on, pushing her cart of folded sweaters down the aisle.

Mortification flooded him. His ears felt like they were burning holes through his skull.

He was holding a girl’s sweater.

He dropped it back onto the rack so fast it nearly fell to the floor, then hurried away, head ducked low, trying not to look at anything or anyone else.

He didn’t stop until he reached the back of the store where the trading cards were kept. Magic: The Gathering, Pokémon, a lonely stack of baseball cards no one touched anymore.

His pulse finally slowed when he saw the familiar Magic the gathering packs sitting in a wire rack.

Safe.
Normal.
Boy stuff.

He picked up a pack and turned it over in his hand, trying to breathe, trying to forget the sweater, trying to forget the way it had made him feel solid and soft all at once.

But the memory clung to him like static.

He wished, not for the first time, that he could unzip himself and step into someone else’s skin.

Someone who could wear a yellow sweater without the world turning and looking at him like he’d committed a crime.

“Hey, you play?” Darren spun around to see an overweight young man, with dark black hair and beard standing behind him.

Darren looked down at the packs in his hand “Not really, I have a few cards,” he said.

“Well don’t waste your money on that 6th edition trash, look here, this is Urza’s block. You could get some rare stuff here.” The man said.

Darren looked at the box of trading cards that was kind of buried in the rack and took out two packs. “OK, thanks,” he said.

“Yeah, no problem. My name is Steve. Do you know the gaming store up on the square, The Tower?”

“Yeah, I bought a D&D book there,” Darren.

The guy made a funny gesture over the box of cards like he was doing a magic trick and pulled a pack from it. “For good luck I hope,” he chuckled, “We always play Magic on Friday nights. If you catch me up there I’ll give you a bunch of cards, crap cards, but still you can make some decks with your buddies and practice.”

“That’s so cool, thanks!,” Darren replied. The shame and strange feelings took a back seat to this exciting new development in his life.

Chapter 8 September 18th 2025

Whit’s phone buzzed at 9:02AM

Grace: I’ll be at class tonight, if you’re free after the class I think we should talk.

It had been a week since he heard from Grace. He thought he dodged a bullet, that she'd just forget his little admission in the Rural King parking lot. Everyday he lingered at her mailbox just a bit too long wondering if she’d come back to class or ignore the creepy old man.

Whit looked up just in time to see he was about to run off the road.

“Shit!” he yelled and jerked the little mail truck back into the lane. “Get it together Whit,” he said.

Whit put his focus back on his job, but his thoughts kept drifting back to the text. She probably just wanted to tell him he was a creepy old man and he needed to back off. Maybe she wanted to talk about art? Surely she didn’t want to talk about being trans.

“I should just tell her I’m busy,” Whit said to his rear view mirror.

“I can't be hanging out with a 18 year old, she’s a kid.”

“If Lucy found out she’d kill me.”

At the next mailbox Whit sent a text.

Whit: Sounds good.

***

“Great job on the underpainting, Grace. I look forward to seeing where you take this,” Whit said, then quickly made his way to another student.
He glanced back and caught Grace making a funny face at him and giggling. She was enjoying his discomfort.

Still, Whit went out of his way to treat her like he would any other student, to the point where it came off more like awkward avoidance.

He leaned over Troy and Angie Phelps’ table and groaned inwardly at their cliche subject matter. They were both painting Bob Ross style barn scenes. Whit could almost hear the TV painter’s voice in his head.

“A happy little rabbit could live in this thicket, and he is probably friends with the raccoon who comes by the barn every night. It is your world, friends.” Angie’s painting was actually pretty good. Troy, on the other hand… well, he liked to paint.

“Hey Whit, that reminds me, I have an important date for you. We have a big name speaker coming to Harvest Chapel on October 27th through November 2nd,” Troy said.

“We are having a big, old fashioned tent revival. We got a well-known pastor coming up from Tennessee, Levi Hale. I am sure you have heard of him,” Angie said.

“Can’t say I have,” Whit replied.

Troy beamed. “Well, he is a man who tells it like it is. He is not afraid of cancel culture or the wokesters up north. It is going to build a lot of spirit around here.”

“Well, sounds great. I will put it on my calendar,” Whit said.

“It is a collaboration between us and Friends of Jesus, so it is going to be huge,” Angie added.

Whit blinked. That name meant something.
“I think that is where Lucy’s mom and dad go to church,” he said.

“Yeah, they are a smaller church, but their pastor is the one who got Brother Levi to come to Mud Creek,” Troy said.

Whit excused himself from the conversation.

Lucy’s parents went to one of those batshit crazy small churches. He had met their pastor. The man was a three-hundred-pound idiot who preached about how food stamps were making everyone lazy, all to a congregation who mostly received food stamps.

This Levi Hale guy was probably even worse. Just what the town needed, another leech.

***

Whit walked over and closed the door of the classroom. Grace was still at the sink cleaning her palette. Whit walked around the room, checking corners like he expected an ambush. He saw Grace smiling at him.

“The coast is clear sir,” she said with a chuckle.

“So you wanted to talk?” Whit asked, ignoring the joke.

Grace frowned and furrowed her brow, “Do I want to talk? You’re acting like we’re going to do something illegal. I sent you a text because you were upset last week. That is all.”

“I was not upset,” Whit said too quickly.

“Right,” Grace replied. “You just reach out to every transgirl you meet after doing them a favor.”

Whit opened his mouth, then closed it. He could not meet her eyes.

Grace sighed. “Look, if you don’t want to talk, that is fine. I get it. You can go back to pretending everything is normal.”

She picked up her backpack and started toward the door.

“Wait,” Whit said. It came out rough. “Grace, wait. I am sorry. I do want to talk. I just didn’t want the entire class seeing us… talking.”

Grace turned slowly. She studied him for a beat. “Because you are worried about looking unprofessional?”

“Something like that,” Whit muttered.

Before Grace could reply, the door jerked open behind them. The janitor stepped inside rolling a mop bucket. Both of them jumped.

“Oh. Did not think anyone was still in here,” the man said.

Grace hugged her bag tighter. Whit cleared his throat. “We were just finishing up.”

“Take your time,” the janitor said, already moving toward the sink.

Whit and Grace exchanged a startled, embarrassed look and slipped out of the room.

In the hallway, Whit rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry. I didn't mean to act weird.”

Grace walked beside him toward the exit. “It’s fine you are weird.” Grace said and chuckled.

They stepped out into the parking lot. The yellow lights buzzed, a few students were milling about after night classes, but the parking lot was mostly empty. Grace glanced toward the line of cars.

“Oh, I almost forgot” Grace pulled open her purse and took out a hundred dollar bill and handed it to Whit. “For the battery.”

He put up his hand. “It was a gift, don’t worry about it.”

“Mr. Whitfield, that will be leaving me in your debt,” Grace said with a smile.

“Consider it a scholarship, put it in your college fund or buy some new brushes.”

“OK, I’m hungry, let's go get something to eat, let me buy you supper, maybe you’ll feel more like talking. We could go to John’s Cafe. That dump never closes, but their burgers are good.”

Whit felt his stomach twist. A diner. A public booth. A young woman sitting across from him. People looking. People wondering.

But he used to hang out at John’s Cafe all the time when he was younger. His parents hated it, they told him that was where losers hung out at midnight. But it was the perfect place for deep conversations about the universe and his parents never got out of the shallow end of the pool. Whit felt like he was climbing the ladder of the high dive.

“That is probably the best place,” he said. “If you want to.”

Grace gave him a small, patient smile. “Yeah. I want to.”

The door of her beat up F150 creaked and she got in.

He sent Lucy a text, “Some of us are grabbing a bite to eat after class, be home late.”

***

The Thursday night crowd was pretty thin, they took a booth in the back. A few eyes drifted towards them but quickly looked away. Whit didn’t recognize anyone.

They ordered burgers, and when the waitress walked away Grace crossed her arms on the table and gave him a warm, almost playful smile, “So, why are you a mailman in Mud Creek?” she asked.

Whit rubbed the back of his neck. “Mud Creek is not that bad.”

Grace gave him a look that said come on.

He sighed. “My wife, Lucy and I grew up here. She likes it. We have family here. My parents needed help for a while, and I didn’t want to leave them. One thing led to another and… well, life happened.”

Grace nodded slowly. “That still does not answer the question. Why are you delivering mail in a town you outgrew twenty years ago?”

Whit hesitated. The truth stung. “Its a good job, its steady. I feel useful. And honestly, I do not need to be some big city artist. I am married. I have responsibilities.”

Grace stared at him like she could see every excuse for what it was.

“Do you have kids?” she asked.

Whit paused, he hated this question. “No, we tried, didn’t work out.”

Grace tilted her head down, “I’m sorry,” she said.

Whit felt cornered and tried to steer the conversation away. “Why do you live out in the woods in a trailer?”

Grace did not flinch. “Because it is the only place I have. My mom did not want me around anymore. My dad left but said I could live in his hunting cabin. Wal-Mart doesn’t pay much and I like having a roof over my head. Even if it’s rusty metal.”

Whit felt his chest tighten at her matter-of-fact tone.

Grace lifted her chin slightly. “Your turn. Why do you stay?”

“It is complicated,” Whit said.

“So is my life,” Grace replied.

He opened his mouth, closed it, then stared at the water ring under his glass.

“Most of the people I grew up with couldn’t wait to leave. I used to think staying here made me a good person,” he said quietly. “Like it meant I was loyal or something. But lately I feel like I am stuck in something I can’t explain.”

Grace studied him, softer now. “I guess we’re both stuck in Mud Creek then.”

Whit swallowed and looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “The other night, in the parking lot. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have dumped that on you.”

Grace shook her head, “You didn’t dump anything on me, you saved me. You asked me how I know I’m trans that night, I thought at first you were going to try to preach to me or something. But that wasn’t it was it? Why did you ask me that?”

Whit felt like a deer in headlights, he was about to get ran over. “I feel like… like my life does not match who I am inside.”

Grace held his gaze. “I kind of guessed that.”

Whit’s breath caught. “How?”

Grace smiled sadly. “Because I know what hiding looks like.”

Whit sat up straight with a jolt when he noticed the waitress in his peripheral vision, “Here you guys go, burgers and onion rings for the lady, and fries for the gentleman.”

Grace tore into her burger like a kid. Whit rubbed his palms on his jeans and put ketchup on his plate. He started to take a bite, and then stopped.

“There is something I need to say,” Whit murmured.

“Okay,” Grace said.

“It is embarrassing.”

Grace shrugged. “So is most of my life.”

He gave a small, humorless smile, then looked down at the table. “Back when I was younger. I found something online. About people like me. Or people who thought like me. It explained why I felt the way I did.”

Grace leaned in a little. “What kind of thing?”

Whit inhaled slowly. “Autogynephilia.”

Grace sat the burger down and wiped her mouth. “Autogynephilia,” she said with disgust.

“It is the idea that some men want to be women because it turns them on,” Whit said. “Like it is a fetish or a perversion. Like the only reason someone would want to be female is because it gets them excited.”

Grace stared at him for a moment.

“I know what fucking autogynephilia is. It’s stupid,” she said.

Whit’s head snapped up. “It’s not stupid. It made sense. At least it explained why I… why I…” He trailed off, feeling the heat rush to his face.

“Whit. Come on,” Grace said. “That is ancient pseudoscience trash. Have you been to a therapist this decade?.”

“I’ve never been to a therapist. You don’t understand,” Whit said. He felt his voice tighten. “It fits me perfectly.”

Grace softened. “How did you find out about that term?”

Whit took a drink of his coke before answering. “When I was like 13 my parents got the internet. I did a search for guys who want to be girls, and I read about it.”

“You were a kid reading garbage on a dial-up connection. How long did you believe it?”

“Still do,” Whit whispered.

Grace shook her head. “No you don’t. You are scared it might be true. That is different.”

Whit swallowed hard. “It explains the… why I do what I do. It explains why I’m different from you.”

Grace leaned forward slightly. “Different from me how?”

Whit stared at the table. “You knew. You figured it out when you were a teenager. You had the courage to say it out loud. You were not confused. You were not…” His voice tightened. “You were not messed up the way I am.”

Grace sighed. “Whit. My parents took me to a therapist who told me I was a pervert. My mom prayed over me with her church friends like I had a demon. I thought I was disgusting too. I stopped believing their lies and you didn’t.”

Whit’s breath caught.

“You are not different from me,” Grace said. “You just had a twenty year head start on hating yourself, and there is way better information for us on the internet now.”

Whit felt tears, he was going to lose it, he quickly turned his head and looked out the window.

Grace let him sit in that silence for a few seconds. Then she spoke carefully.

“Whit, listen. Men do not spend decades tormented because of a fetish. People with fetishes get off on licking feet, or getting pee’d on then they go to sleep happy. You are not sleeping well are you?”

Whit flinched.

Grace leaned her forearms on the table. Her voice dropped to something gentle and precise.

“You are not a fucking autogynephilic, because it’s a made up bullshit term for people who weren’t allowed to be themselves when they were young. You are scared you might be a woman.”

Whit felt something collapse in his chest. He tried to breathe but it felt like the air had turned thick.

“That is not true,” he whispered.

Grace looked at him without any pity, only clarity. “Then tell me what it is.”

He could not.

His throat worked around the words that would not come. His jaw began to tremble. He took off his glasses and brushed tears out of his eyes.

Grace glanced back, then leaned in close and handed him a napkin, “Go out to my truck, I’ll pay and be right there. Don’t leave OK?”

Whit nodded. It dawned on him that he was taking orders from a kid, “Can you get my food?” he asked.

Grace smiled, “Of course.”

A few minutes later she slid into the truck, Whit was staring at the dashboard.

“Thanks,” he took the clamshell box. “I better get going,” Whit said and started to open the passenger door.

Grace grabbed his arm and tugged, “Wait, you read one bad thing when you were a dumb kid and you’ve let it ruin your whole life. You’re not a freak, and you don’t have to be ashamed.”

Whit pressed his fingers to his eyes. “Grace, please, you’re a good kid, thanks for trying to make an old man feel better about himself, but you can stop.”

Grace shook him, “Stop trying to run and hide for once in your life. Your not an auto fucking gynephiliac!”

Whit’s voice raised. “Then what am I god gamn it?”

Grace held his gaze, steady as a hand on the back of a drowning swimmer.

“Tell me your name,” she said.

Whit froze.

Grace’s voice stayed soft. “The one you call yourself when nobody can hear.”

Whit looked over at Grace and pressed his hands together in his lap. He could feel his breath, his heartbeat. He didn’t feel like a character in an RPG, this was his life. What he did not realize was that, for the first time in years, he was not floating away from himself. He was here. He was in his body. He was living the moment instead of watching it from somewhere else.

The tears gathered again, but his jaw stayed tight.

He opened his mouth.

“I… I do have a name,” he said.

Grace nodded once. “Good. Say it.”

He breathed in, slow, shaky, like a final breath.

“Sarah, my name is Sarah Whitlock.”

Chapter 9 September 19th 2025

“Here’s your money back dear,” Carla said, handing Lucy some folded bills, which she quickly pocketed. Lucy sat down on her front porch with her Mom, Carla, who lit her cigarette and took a deep pull. She could hear her Dad flipping through TV stations in the house. “Your cousin Elle invited you to her baby shower,” she said.

Lucy rolled her eyes, “Awesome.” She watched her Mom exhale smoke. She used to smoke. She started smoking at 19, right about the time she started dating Darren. Quitting took 3 attempts, but she hadn’t touched a cigarette in years. She raised her vape to her mouth and took a draw of highly processed flavored cannabis oil, which, to her, was definitely not smoking.

“You don’t have to go of course, or even buy a present if you want,” Carla said.

Lucy smiled a fake angry smile, “How many is this three, four? We sure have one fertile family, well all but me,” Lucy said.

Carla grinned, “Sorry I brought it up. Oh yeah, something else you won’t like. We’re having a revival next Month, around Halloween. Real old fashioned tent revival, lots of spirit. You should try to come,” she said.

Lucy took another puff of her vape, “Yeah, you know I don’t go to church.”

“I know honey, but just keep it in mind,” her Mom said and soon she pried her Dad off the couch and they were gone.

Lucy picked up the barely touched can of soda she’d got for her Mom and grumbled. “Every time.” She dumped the liquid into the bushes.

“Why am I like this?” she asked her hibiscus tree. It didn’t answer, but Lucy answered it in her thoughts. ‘ I’m a bitch because the world made me one. You’d think that I could get one thing in this world. A career, nope. A great love life, nope. A baby, nope. A good family, nope. I don’t even have a fucking passport.’

Her phone buzzed a text message.

Chrissy: Hi, are you home?

She hadn’t seen that name in a couple of years. It was her brother’s first wife. Lucy and Darren had spent many holidays with her brother’s family and for a short time they were friends, until she got to know her better. Lucy didn’t mind at all when they divorced.

Lucy: Yeah, what’s up?

Chrissy: Is Whit there?

Lucy: NO, he’s working.

Chrissy: Be right there.

Five minutes later she parked her car in Lucy’s driveway and walked up, she’d lost weight, alot of weight. Ozempic, Lucy thought.

Lucy met her in the driveway, blocking the steps. “Hi Chrissy, I’m…”

Chrissy cut her off with a wave of her hand. “Hey look I struggled about telling you this, but I feel like you need to know.” She leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “Last night I was out late at John’s and Whit came in with a girl who looked like she could be in high school. He didn't see me.”

Lucy frowned trying to push down the anger she felt for this woman, “You know Whit teachers painting classes, that was one of his students. He told me that some of them went to eat after class. You need to mind your own business.”

Chrissy leaned in closer, “OK.. Well it was just him and her, and it got weird. Whit left upset, and then sat in her truck with her for a while. They way they were talking... I’m sorry, but it really looked like something was going on between them and I thought you should know.”

Lucy turned and looked at her house and fought back a tear, then she turned back to the woman. She considered it, and shook her head. Whit was not having an affair with the transgender kid from Wal-Mart, it’s impossible, she thought. “You were always a bitch you know that,” Lucy said.

Chrissy smiled, took a step back and raised her hands palms out, “OK, OK, sorry. If you don't give a shit what your fruitcake husband is doing it’s none of my business.” She backed away.

Chrissy followed her to the door of her car, “You’re right, it’s none of your business.”

Chrissy’s curls bounced as she dropped down into her Ford Mustang. “Good luck,” she said and then flipped Lucy off as she took off.

Lucy sat back down and took another puff from her vape. She wanted a drink so bad that her hand started shaking.

Author's Note: Hi, thanks for reading my story. Now that Christmas is over I can return to these darker chapters. This is a flashback, 11 years ago. Hopefully illustrating how much Whit and Lucy have been through. On a personal note I had a wonderful Christmas. My wife bought me a jewelry box with a little spinning ballerina, something I've always wanted. I had my second HRT appointment and found despite my conservative plan I'm getting very close to female levels. Still, fully coming out seems impossible. Hope you all are having a good Holiday season and looking forward to 2026. ❤ sarah

Chapter 10 March 11th 2014

“Hi honey I’m home,” Whit said as he walked into the house and hung his jacket off a chair. There was no response. He sat his small lunch cooler on the table and walked through the house, Lucy was off from the nursing home today and her car was in the drive. Eventually he sat down and turned on the TV. An hour later Lucy entered the house. She looked like a kid that had played dress up in her Mom’s closet. Wearing a weird colorful skirt that Whit had never seen, a sweater, jacket, and tall mismatched socks.

“Wow, what kind of look is that?” Whit asked with a grin.

Lucy gave him an angry stare, and Whit knew immediately. “I’ve been on a walk, do you have a problem?” she asked. The words weren’t slurred but they didn’t sound like they were coming from his wife’s mouth.

“Umm, Lucy, what’s the matter?” Whit asked.

“Oh nothing Darren, or should I call you Sissy now? Would you like that?” Lucy spit back.

“Lucy, please.” Whit said.

The woman marched across the floor, her gait just slightly off and waved her hands. “Don’t Lucy me you fucking faggot. I’ve read it all, I found your shit.”

Whit followed her, “You’ve been drinking. Where did you go?”

Lucy turned around and her eyes were bugging out of her head, she raised her voice and spread her arms wide, “I’ve been with my friends having Sissy adventures, we’re going to dress up for the ball and ride unicorns, and fuck each other with our magic wands, you sick pervert.”

Whit froze, he couldn’t respond. She had obviously found the secret art folder on his computer.

“That’s what I thought, so shut the fuck up and leave me alone,” Lucy said as the bedroom door slammed in Whit’s face.

Shell shocked Whit wandered to the fridge and got a diet soda then shuffled to the couch. He felt nothing. No anger, no sadness, just a gaping empty hole in his head. He thought how some people might turn to drugs, alcohol, or some other juvenile behavior, to fill the emptiness. Whit was lucky, he didn’t need to, he didn’t mind feeling empty. He sat there and stared at the wall, occasionally taking a sip of his soda and thought about how all of this was his fault.

His entire life hinged on one single night, years ago. He’d been dating Lucy for a while and they were talking about marriage. She found transgender porn on his computer. He was going to come out, to tell her everything, but instead he rambled for 30 seconds about some art project he was researching, alternative sexuality. He swore he wasn’t actually into it. He knew this was his greatest failure but he had no choice. He couldn’t be honest.

Time passed slowly, ten minutes, twenty minutes. Then suddenly Lucy was back in the living room, looking even more unhinged. “It’s for you,” she said and handed him the phone.

Whit slowly took their cordless house phone and held it to his ear, “Hello?” he said.

Whit heard his Mom’s soft and confused voice, “Darren, hi… Um… Is everything alright. Lucy called, um… Is she OK?”

Lucy flipped him off and walked away. “What did she say?” he asked.

“Just you had something you needed to tell us,” she said.

“I’m sorry Mom, she’s just messing with me, being funny. Everything’s fine,” Whit said and hung up the phone. He went to the bedroom and found the door unlocked.

“Well did you tell your Mom she has a daughter now?” Lucy said in a mock cutesy voice.

“Why the fuck… Why? Leave them alone, please.” Darren said. He was no longer empty, he could feel a protective rage growing. The world couldn’t know how fucked up things were for them.

Lucy stumbled off the bed. She was dizzy, her limbs felt heavy. She knocked the empty vodka bottle off the nightstand, it made a dull thud of cheap plastic. She got in his face, shining crazy eyes that were the eyes of some monster, not his wife’s. “Everyone is going to know. If you don’t tell them, I’ll tell them how big a faggot you are,” she said.

Whit drew his fist back, shifted his weight into his left foot and at the last second he pivoted left and threw a punch into the rock hard plaster walls. A weird jolt shot through his arm. He looked down to see his pinky finger was in the wrong place. More off to the side of his hand.

“Wow, that’s not right,” he calmly said. Whit took the finger and tugged it, feeling another jolt of pain as the finger snapped back into its socket. He could move it normally but it felt loose.

Lucy watched in horror and began to sob. “Oh my God you’ve broken your hand. I made you break your hand. She sobbed and ran to the kitchen nearly hitting a wall. She came back with an ice pack from the freezer.

She was hysterical, babbling about her baby. How she made her baby hurt himself. How she killed her baby. The hospital. The pills she took. She confessed she tried to get someone to fuck her, but they weren’t interested. She wanted to die. All the while Whit just looked at his hand dumbfounded.

“It’s not broken, it’s OK, let's just lay down, everything is going to be fine,” Whit said.

The next morning Lucy couldn’t remember anything that had happened the night before.

Author's Note: Happy New Year! This chapter was something that I imagined leading up to from the moment I started the book. It's a very powerful chapter and I'm so excited to share it with you. As of now this is the only place I share this book. I may be suffering illusions of grandeur but I believe that it is good. I may attempt to publish it somehow when it's complete.

You may notice that I still refer to Whit as Whit and use male pronouns, while Grace refers to him as Sarah and she/her. This is intentional on my part. Grace would call Paul Bunyan, Lady Priscilla if he told her that was who he was. Whit on the other hand isn't so flexible.

Thank you again for reading and commenting.

Chapter 11 September 26th 2025

Grace slid into the Jeep beside Whit, with a big grin on her face, “Wow, sweet ride Sarah,” she said. She was wearing a “The Fray” T-shirt, flared jeans, and Chuck Taylors. Grace’s body existed in a luminal space between thick and thin, kid and adult, pretty and plain, but she’d be difficult to clock as trans.

“You know The Fray?” Whit asked.

“Of course, I love old music,” she said.

Whit frowned, he’d only recently started listening to the band after somehow missing them 20 years ago.

Whit looked over and couldn’t hide the nervousness he felt. “Are you sure about this?

“No. It was your idea dummy. Do you want to back out?” Grace asked.

Whit turned around and drove down her driveway, the morning light casting shadows across the gravel. “I already took the day off work,” he said.

Grace nodded, “OK, so what did you tell Lucy?”

“I told her I was going to an instructor's conference in Paducah,” he replied.

Grace chuckled, “Oh what wicked webs we weave when first we… Um, deceive.”

Whit scoffed, “What tangled webs we weave, when first we practice to deceive. Don’t they teach you Shakespeare in school?”

Grace laughed, “I dropped out, remember, probably did Shakespeare my Senior year.”

Whit gritted teeth, he could only continue this course if he tried to block out the fact that he was taking an 18 year old across state lines to help him buy women’s clothes.

Whit gripped the wheel a little too hard. “Look, this is just… weird, okay? I don’t even know what we’re doing. I feel like I’m having a midlife crisis.”

“You’re not,” Grace said, flipping down the sun visor and checking her nose ring in the mirror. “Midlife crises involve sportscars and cheating. You’re finally doing something honest for once.”

Whit didn’t answer.

Grace snapped the visor shut and slouched back. “So. Be real with me. You’ve never bought your own clothes? Like… ever?”

Whit felt his face heat. “I, I mean, not really.”

Grace gave him a side-eye. “Liar.”

“I’m not lying,” he said, defensive. “OK, I did a few times, but I just couldn’t keep anything. I’d buy something, panic, hide it somewhere stupid, then throw it away before Lucy found it.”

Grace stared at him for a long second. “Damn, Sarah. That’s bleak.”

He shrugged, embarrassed. “I wasn’t scared of her. I was scared of what it meant if she found them.”

Grace softened a little. “I get that. Still messed up, though.”

Whit blew out a breath. “Yeah.”

“Promise me you won’t throw this stuff away,” she said.

Whit looked over at her and smiled, “OK,” he said.

“If you need to get rid of it just give it to me,” Grace said and laughed.

They turned onto the highway, the fall trees burning bright gold on either side. Grace tapped her fingers on her knee in rhythm with whatever song was stuck in her head.

“So,” she finally said. “We’re hitting Ross first. It’s cheap, chaotic, and the lighting will make everyone look terrible, which is perfect for your first time.”

Whit smiled. “Cheap is good.”

“Yes,” Grace said firmly. “And you need actual clothes. Not the fantasy crossdresser shit. Real stuff. Stuff you could wear out in public if you ever grow the balls for it.”

Whit swallowed. “I’m not… I don’t think I’m ready to be seen.”

“That’s why we’re going early,” she said. “Avoid the lunch crowd. And no one in Ross pays attention anyway. They’re too busy fighting for the last clearance sweater.”

Whit forced a weak laugh.

***

“What do you think of this?” Grace said as she held a fuzzy burnt orange fall sweater up to her chest and did this cute thing with her hips. Whit was walking a tightrope, trying to look closely at everything she picked up while swiveling his head at every single movement. Sure this wasn’t home, but he wasn’t that far away. Every shuffle of shoes made his stomach twist. He couldn’t stop thinking about it, he was putting everything on the line for what? Some clothes?

“Dad, hey focus, I’m asking you a question?” Grace said.

Whit looked behind him and got closer, “Dad?” he asked.

Grace lowered her voice, “Well I’m not going to call you Sarah in here, plus you’re just about the right age to be my Dad. Just pretend you're undercover, you know. Being a good Dad, taking your daughter shopping, not trying to rizz up some random trans chick from Ohio.”

Whit rolled his eyes, “What the hell does that mean,”

“Forget about it, boomer.”

Grace tossed the sweater in the cart, “It’s only 8 bucks, you couldn’t buy the yarn to make this 8 bucks.”

Whit formed a coy smile. “I like it, good fit for you daughter,” Whit said.

After picking out a few more tops Grace steered them to the jeans. Whit frowned, “Jeans?” he asked.

“Yeah look around Dad, how many girls do you see in here wearing skirts and dresses?” she asked.

Whit nodded, “Good point.”

Grace pulled several off the rack and tossed them in the cart then looked around to make sure no one was within earshot.

“Okay. You’re trying these on.”

Whit stiffened. “Absolutely not.”

She huffed and rolled her eyes. “This isn’t like buying men’s jeans. You can’t buy them without trying them on. That’s, like, a rule of the universe. ”

“Grace”

“Nope. Shut up. Go.” She shoved the jeans into his hands. “If they don’t fit your butt right, you’ll hate them and then you’ll blame me. Get in the booth.”

Whit’s throat tightened. “People will see me.”

“No one’s looking,” she said. “Half these people are hungover, and some don’t speak English. We’re in Ross, not Paris Fashion Week.”

When he didn’t move, she softened. “I’m coming with you, this is totally safe. I promise.”

Whit nodded and followed her to the back of the store where the fitting rooms were.

“Wait, Grace, no, hold on,” Whit whispered, digging his heels in. “There’s a guy up there.”

“Yeah?” she said. “And?”

“He’s… he looks like he’ll ask questions.”

Grace snorted. “Look at him, he’s gay, Sarah. He won’t care if you’re trying on a prom dress.”

Whit froze as they reached the podium.
The attendant, a slim man with immaculately shaped grey hair, perfect eyebrows, multiple ear rings and black nail polish looked up from the clothes rack he was sorting.

“Hey y’all,” he said, in a flat, practiced voice. “How many?”

Grace started pulling items out of the cart and handing them to Whit, “Eight total.” His hands were shaking.

The attendant gave them each a pink plastic tag. “Room eight and nine are open..”

Whit blinked. “You, don’t need to write my name down or something?”

The man gave him a confused smile. “No, babe. This isn’t the TSA.”

Grace grabbed Whit’s elbow and pulled him along. “Come on, Dad, before he changes his mind.”

The attendant laughed. “Oh, I love that. Y’all are adorable.”

Back into the maze of dressing rooms they parted for a women leaving and then they were alone. Whit was trying not to shake.

Grace piled Whit’s clothes on his arms, “OK, look, go try this stuff on, “I’ll come out in the hall, if the coast is clear you can open your door and I can give you a look-see.”

He started with the jeans, nearly tripping when trying to step into them and hitting the wall. Grace chuckled in the next stall, “You OK over there she whispered.”

“Yeah, technical difficulties.” Grace was right, the first pair of jeans were all wrong, tight at the waist, loose in the hips, and sagging at the rear. The second pair were softer, and had some stretch. As soon as he pulled them on he could feel them hugging everything just right. The mirror confirmed it. Whit tried on the burnt orange top and felt his breath catch.

There was a light tap on the door and he opened it and bashfully stood in front of Grace, cheeks turning red.

“Wow Sarah, you look good,” she said quietly.

Whit couldn’t meet her eyes, but felt his own getting wet.

“You’re allowed to like this,” Grace said.

Whit swallowed, “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

***

Grace didn’t look up from her phone, “Left at the next stop light.”

It was 1PM, after Ross they went to Wal-Mart where Grace sorted out a basic makeup kit, then Hobby Lobby for a few random art supplies, a promised lunch at a pizza buffet and now finally they pulled into a small low rent strip mall with a dollar tree, nail salon, vape store, and Queen City Beauty Supply.

Much of Whit’s apprehension was gone. They had leaned into the whole “Dad” thing as a joke around other shoppers. At lunch Whit clumsily tried to comment on how relaxed Grace was, “How are you so confident?”

Grace gave a pout, “Shouldn’t I be?”

“I mean… um.. Yeah, obviously no one could…” Whit said.

Grace snorted, “Relax Sarah, I’m just fucking with you.” Then she leaned back in the booth, getting serious. “But being here in Paducah, this is easy mode. I’m just another girl here, or if someone clocks me, I’m just some random queer. Back in Mud Creek, that’s different.”

Whit wiped his face with a napkin, “Why are you still there?”

Grace shrugged, her eyes flicking down to her soda. “I tried leaving once, didn’t work out.”

Whit could sense the pain in her answer. He wanted to know more, but knew this was not the time or place. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Grace wiped her face, maybe pushing away a tear, then smiled, “It won’t be forever, I’ll figure something out.”

Back in the present Whit eased into a parking spot. “OK, I’m not getting my nails done,” he said.

Grace laughed, “What do you think we’re rich or something? You’re getting a wig.” Grace pointed at the mannequin head in the window at Queen City.

“Umm, I don’t..”

Grace cut him off, “Yeah wigs suck, and there is no law that says girls have to have princess hair. But, trust me it just helps.”

Whit looked at the store front. The window was filled with mannequin heads, sleek bobs, curled styles, long glossy waves, and rows of hair products stacked to the ceiling. It was clearly a shop catering to Black women, bright colors and bold fonts, a world Whit had never stepped into in his life. “No, sorry, I can’t go in there and shop for a wig.”

Grace blinked, then looked from the store to Whit, then back again. “Why not?”

“It’s” He gestured helplessly. “ I don’t belong there. People will stare. They’ll know.”

Grace snorted softly. “Sarah, it’s a cheap beauty supply store, I promise they could care less who you are or why you’re buying a wig.”

He kept shaking his head, breath speeding up. “No. I’d stick out. They’d see me for five seconds and know I’m… something. Something weird. I just can’t.”

Grace studied him, her teasing falling away. She unbuckled her seatbelt and turned toward him fully, her colorful plastic bracelets clinking. “Look at me.”

Whit tried, but his eyes kept darting back to the storefront like it might swallow him whole.

“Whit. Sarah. Whatever name you’re answering to right now. Listen.”

He finally met her gaze.

“No one in there cares,” she said softly.

Whit swallowed hard. “Yeah, but”

“No.” She shook her head gently. “This isn’t about them. This is about you. This is about your brain telling you you’re not allowed to take up space where women go.”

Whit went quiet.

He whispered, “I just… can’t.”

Grace leaned back in the seat, letting the moment breathe. “Okay,” she said. Not disappointed. Not annoyed. Just accepting. “Okay. Then we don’t go in.”

Whit exhaled shakily, some mixture of relief and shame tightening his chest.

Grace examined Whit’s hair and frowned. It was warm brown, but thinning, turning grey on the sides. He combed it in the morning and it got progressively shaggier as the day went on.

“How much cash do you have left?” Grace asked.

Whit pulled out his wallet, and counted. “63 bucks,” he said.

“OK give me sixty, and trust me on this.”

Whit mechanically gave her three twenties and then watched her bounce out of the Jeep. She strode toward Queen City Beauty Supply like she’d been walking into it her whole life, and Whit watched her go, wondering how anyone that small could make him feel so much braver just by existing.

***

“Oh my God,” Whit said. Grace stood behind him a blur in the mirror admiring her handiwork.

Whit was standing in Grace’s small bedroom, cluttered with half finished paintings, clothes, and stuffed animals, looking at someone else in the mirror.

He turned toward her and smiled, “This is incredible.”

“Yeah I know, I’m a miracle worker,” she said and tossed her hair.

Whit looked back, leaning in closer. The wig, the makeup, the clothes. It was tickling some part of his brain, creating a euphoric rush the likes he’d never experienced.

“I feel like I’m dreaming,” he said.

“Yeah it was the same for me. It’s called gender euphoria,” Grace said.

Whit kept staring, then handed Grace his phone, “Take a picture please,” he said.

“Of course,” she said. When she handed him back the phone he could see he had a text from Lucy asking how the conference went.

“I don’t want to take this off,” he said.

“I know,” Grace said quietly.

“But I have to,” He felt panic start to trickle in. “Lucy is expecting me soon. I have to call her, and..”

“Sarah,” Grace’s voice was gentle but firm. “Look at me.”

He did.

“You have to tell her,” Grace said.

Whit shook his head, “I can’t tell her, not this. She’ll think I’m a pervert. She’ll hate me.”

Grace handed him a makeup wipe. “You don’t have to tell her about today.” She sighed, “Look you have two choices. You love your wife, you don’t want to hurt her. You either put this all back in the closet. Pretend this never happened. Stop talking to me, I’ll quit your painting class. Or you come out to her. She deserves to know the truth.”

Whit wiped foundation and concealer off his face and saw his old self peering back through the mirror. “I don’t know how to tell her,” he quietly said.

Grace exhaled through her nose, and made a tiny smile. “Good news Sarah, I do.”

Whit sat down on the bed.

Grace put a hand on his shoulder, “You’re going to go home.And in a few days, you’re going to sit her down and tell her you’ve been hurting for a long time. And that you’re tired of hiding.”

He shook his head, tears prickling. “I’m not ready.”

“No one ever is.”

Grace started to hand him another makeup wipe but realized they were a finite resource. “I went a little heavy on the makeup, I think we’re going to need to go to the bathroom and get a rag for that,” she said with a chuckle.

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.

Author's Note: I turn my attention from the happy neon world of Derby City, back to the cold barren fields of Mud Creek. People are a sum of their experiences. Lucy has had some bad ones. I didn't make this up, this really happened.

Chapter 13 December 25th 1994

Lucy was awake in her bed staring at the ceiling. Her radio alarm clock, a Christmas present from last year, glowed on her nightstand. It was 4:30 AM.

Her parents had warned her and her brother that Santa was having a tough year, just like they were. She wondered if Santa was out of work like her Dad? He had to go to the hospital a few months ago and get a surgery. He lost his job, and her Mom had started working and went back to school.

Lucy slid out of her bed. The floor under her foot felt different, more like stepping on the gym mats at school. She didn’t think that was right, but her Dad had come and stepped on the floor and said if it could hold his weight it could hold her.

She creeped to her bedroom door and opened it slowly. She thought she had heard some noises hours ago. She had a sneaking suspicion that Santa Claus wasn’t real, the idea of some guy going to every house and leaving toys for every girl and boy was starting to feel far-fetched, but she didn’t want to think about that. She wanted to think about what Santa had brought her, if anything.

She creeped down the hall and into the trailer’s small family room where the tree was. She counted eight presents under it and smiled. Her and her brother would have something to open at least. She heard her parents bedroom door from the opposite side of the trailer. She quickly dashed down the hall through her door, half closing it as she dashed through.

She jumped onto her bed, like she had done hundreds of times, but this time she didn’t bounce on the soft mattress, she kept falling. There was a loud crash, the sound of splintering wood and she was eye level with her dresser. The bed had fallen through the floor.

The door burst open and her Mom was looking down at her, “Oh my God, Lucy! Are you OK?” she said.

Lucy could smell the sour air from the space underneath the trailer and could see in the gap between the floor horrible darkness. It was Christmas morning, the most important day in the life of a child. She didn’t answer, she burst out in tears.

“Donnie get your ass over here!” her Mom yelled out.

Authors Note: Just to make it clear. Darren is also Whit, who is also Sarah. This is another flashback chapters. I don't know about you but when I'm reading I hate flashback chapters. I like writing them though. Chapter 13 and 14 were both written around Christmas, and if you're wondering, this scene is almost word for word how I remember proposing to my wife whose name is not Lucy.

Chapter 14 December 25th 2007

Lucy was awake in her bed. Her old alarm clock on the nightstand read 4:29 a.m. She waited for it to click over, which it reliably did at 4:30. She shut it off and rolled out of bed.

The apartment was silent. She lived in a duplex, but the family on the other side had moved out around the same time she’d moved in.

She dragged herself into the bathroom and stared at her reflection. Thirty minutes later she was dressed in her scrubs, sitting on the couch, staring at the small Christmas tree on the floor. Two wrapped presents sat underneath it. One for her. One for Darren.

They’d put the little tree together a few weeks earlier, decorated it, then fought. She wanted him to move in. He wouldn’t, not until they were married. It didn’t matter that they’d been together over a year. His parents didn’t approve, and that was apparently, that.

Lucy was working full time now that she’d dropped out of community college. She couldn’t afford rent and school, and living at home wasn’t an option anymore. Her brother, his girlfriend, and their new baby had taken all the space. Lucy felt like she was in the way in her own home, she had to leave.. But really, it had been falling apart for years.

She checked her watch. Forty-five minutes until she had to leave. She made a bowl of cereal and sat at the small kitchen table, eating without tasting it.

Halfway through, her phone rang.

“Hey. Merry Christmas,” Darren said.

Lucy set her spoon down. “It’d be a lot more merry if I wasn’t alone.”

A pause. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t understand why you can’t stay here sometimes,” she said.

“We’ve been over this,” he replied. “It’s Christmas. I don’t want to argue.”

Lucy looked at the tree from across the room. “Yeah,” she said. “I’ll be at work until four. I’ll see you tonight.”

“I’ll be there with bells on,” he said.

***

Darren was sitting on the rusted chair on the porch when Lucy pulled into the driveway. It wasn’t like him to be early. He was wearing a new coat, a Christmas present from his Grandma, he explained. He followed her in and she could tell something was off. He was more awkward than normal, he wasn’t making eye contact, he seemed like he was somewhere else.

Lucy had a sudden sinking feeling in her chest, ‘He's about to break up with me,’ she thought. She dropped down into the reclining chair that had come with the apartment. She was exhausted, her back was hurting, she smelt like urine and disinfectant.

Darren dropped down on the couch, hands in his coat pockets which hadn’t taken off yet. Lucy steeled herself, she knew this day would be coming. Darren was bright, intelligent, handsome, his family wasn’t poor. She never really understood why he was with her anyway. But to break up with her on Christmas, that was low.

Darren looked around the room, seemingly focused on anything but her, “Well?” she said.

Daren looked like a deer in headlights, “Um, what?”

“You have something you want to say, spit it out.” Lucy said.

Darren took a deep breath, “Lucy, I’ve been thinking.” he started and paused.

Lucy was growing angry, “Yes, thinking, OK, and.”

Darren pulled a small box from his coat pocket and tossed it across the room. “I guess we can get married,” he said.

Lucy examined the small velvet box in her hand. She realized she wasn’t breathing and exhaled. She snapped it open. The ring was pretty, a silver band with delicate stones, they caught the light but didn’t sparkle like real diamonds would.

Lucy raised her eyes at Whit who was looking increasingly uncomfortable folded up on the couch. This was his proposal?

For a moment she waited for more. A joke. An apology. A second sentence that might soften it. Nothing came.

“Well,” she said finally.

Darren swallowed. “This is what you wanted right?”

Lucy let out a short laugh before she could stop herself. It wasn’t funny, but it came out anyway. “What I want?” She got out the recliner and snapped the box closed. “You just threw an engagement ring at me. Seriously?”

Darren looked down at his lap, “Sorry,” he said.

She opened the box back up and looked down at the ring. This was from Wal-Mart, they had looked at it a month ago, she said she liked it. It was a little over a hundred bucks. She was surprised he remembered. It was fine. More than fine, really. It looked like something she could wear to work and not worry about getting damaged or losing it.

Lucy took a sharp breath, “You don’t sound very excited,” she said.

Darren flinched. “I am. I just don’t… do big theatrical stuff. You know me.”

She did know him. That was the problem.

Lucy walked across the room and sat down on the couch beside him. She handed him the box back, Darren looked surprised. “Did you want to marry me,” she asked, “or did you just want this to stop being a fight?”

Darren opened his mouth, then closed it. He rubbed his palms on his jeans. “I love you,” he said. “I don’t want this to be a fight anymore. I just think… this makes sense.”

There it was. He answered her question. Sense.

Lucy nodded slowly. It made sense to get out of her parents’ house. It made sense to drop out of school to work full time and pay the rent. Sense kept the lights on. Sense was the only thing that ever showed up when things got hard.

She stood and walked to the small kitchen counter.

“I thought you were going to break up with me,” she said, her back to him.

“I wasn’t,” he said quickly. Too quickly.

She turned around. “You’ve been thinking about it.”

He didn’t deny it.

Lucy felt something inside her settle, like a decision clicking into place. Not happiness. Not relief exactly. More like alignment. Things lining up the way they always did when she stopped hoping for more.

“Bring that ring over here, let's see if it even fits.”

Darren got off the couch and walked over. He held out the box and she held her hand out, not smiling. Darren looked at it, then at her face. He slid the ring on her finger, a perfect fit.

“So,” she said. “We’re engaged.”

Darren let out a breath that sounded like he’d been holding it for weeks. He kissed her on the cheek..

“Thank you,” he said, like she’d done him a favor.

Lucy nodded once. They had done each other a favor.

“I love you,” she said.

And that was that.

Chapter 15, September 30th, 2025

Whit unloaded the last of the dishes from the dishwasher while Lucy sat at the kitchen table with a calculator working on the budget. He glanced at his watch, it was 8:13. He slipped into the computer room and shut the door behind him. This room was meant to be a nursery, then a child’s bedroom, but plans changed, now it was his room. Whit opened up his closet and looked at the far end where he’d hung his small collection of feminine clothing. He took a deep breath and took off his clothes.

All things considered it hadn’t gone as bad as he expected.

That thought surprised him as he stood there in his socks, the hum of the house settling around him. Lucy hadn’t raised her voice. She hadn’t thrown anything. When they got home on that horrible night he could hear her sobbing in the shower as she washed the mud out of her hair.

When she came out they sat across from each other and she said, “Tell me everything.”

She’d listened, arms crossed tight across her chest, jaw set, eyes fixed on a spot just past his shoulder while he talked himself raw. Years poured out of him, clumsy and unorganized. Childhood memories. Shame. The internet. The hiding. The roleplaying. The sissy fetish. The lying by omission. The fear that if he ever said it out loud, it would all collapse.

When he’d finally run out of words, she’d said nothing for a long time.

Then she’d said, “I don’t know what to do with this.”

He hadn’t expected her to.

He slept on the couch that night.

Whit slid the panties up his legs and then fumbled with a bra. Something he’d had stashed in the back of his closet for years. Finally he slid the dress over his head. Grace had thrown it in the cart without really telling him. It was on clearance for 6 bucks. Simple, knee length, dark floral pattern. He struggled with the button behind his back, but eventually got it closed. He looked in the mirror and frowned.

The day after Lucy didn’t really want to talk about it. It started off like any typical Sunday. She asked him to help her go get groceries. They cleaned the house, everything seemed normal but they were walking on eggshells. Finally Whit asked, “Is this it? Is everything back to normal?”

Lucy spun around and lost it, “What’s normal? I’m supposed to be fine that you’re a girl now?” It was Lucy’s turn to spill her guts. Years of being lied to, years of being used, years of a nearly sex-less marriage, and worse of all thinking it was her fault.

Then the blow that Whit feared most, “Do you think I would be here if I had anywhere else to go?”

The scaffolding holding up Lucy’s wall’s collapsed. Years of insecurity and fear poured out of her in accusations. He was leaving her. Moving to California to live his truth. She would be forgotten alone and homeless.

Whit tried to answer like he always had, logical, calm and reassuring. But the words wouldn’t line up. His chest tightened, breath stuttered, and before he knew it he’d lost control. His face crumpled as he slid down the wall.

When he spoke again, his voice didn’t sound like him. It came out thin, registered higher, stripped of the weight he carried in it.

“Back when you were drinking, once… You were so mean, I was so scared.”

Lucy froze.

“I couldn’t take it anymore,” he continued, now crying openly, no longer fighting it. “I almost did it. I wanted to, I made a plan, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave you.”

He pressed his hands into his face like he was trying to hold himself together.

Lucy stared at him, seeing something she had never seen before. Her husband wasn’t managing a crisis, smoothing things over, or just pretending like none of this mattered. This was someone else. Smaller, raw, unprotected and unfiltered. More than anything this person was afraid. For the first time she could see it, they were the same.

She kneeled down and held him and they rocked back and forth together in tears.

***

Monday, when the deal came together it was thin and fragile.

She would stay. For now. They would keep living in the same house, sleeping in the same bed. But she needed him not to embarrass her. Not to get caught. Not to make her a spectacle in a town that already felt like it was always watching.

“I don’t want people whispering about us,” she said. “You can’t let this get out of control.”

“I won’t,” he said immediately. “I promise.”

She looked at him then, really looked at him. His red eyes. His hunched shoulders. The way he kept rubbing his hands together like he was cold.

“This isn’t a phase, is it,” she said.

“No,” he said. “It’s not.”

“You want to… get dressed don’t you.”

“Yes,” he said.

“I don’t care. I mean, I do care, I wish…. You can if you want to.”

Now, on Tuesday night, he took her up on the offer.

Standing in the quiet room that had never held a crib, Whit stared at his reflection and felt the familiar disappointment crawl up his spine. The dress fit well enough. The bra didn’t. His shoulders still looked wrong. His face looked like his face.

He heard Lucy moving in the kitchen. The scrape of a chair. A cabinet closing. Ordinary sounds. Anchors.

He took a breath and opened the door.

Lucy stood in the hallway, arms crossed, eyes tired. She took him in from head to toe, then looked away almost immediately.

“You look… uncomfortable,” she said.

“I am,” he admitted.

She hesitated, then stepped into the room anyway. She didn’t smile. She didn’t flinch either.

“If you’re going to do this,” she said, retrieving her makeup from the bathroom, “you might as well not make it harder on yourself.”

He sat on the edge of the bed like he’d been told, heart pounding. She worked quietly, efficiently, correcting him when he moved too much, sighing when he apologized.

“Stop,” she said. “Just stop talking for a minute.”

When she was done, she stepped back and crossed her arms again.

“That’s… better,” she said, not sounding convinced.

He waited for disgust. For anger. For laughter.

Her sad expression slowly changed to a smile.

“Priscilla, you've got a flat chest,” She said with a wicked grin.

Whit’s eye’s scrunched up, “Pricilla?” he asked.

Lucy opened up a dresser door and took out a pair of soft fuzzy socks, “Well you need a name don’t you?” she said with a laugh.

Whit couldn’t tell if she was amused, angry, or sincere but after a pause he said “Sarah,” sheepishly.

Lucy rolled her eyes, “Sarah?” she asked. “Whatever Esmeralda,” she said as she shoved neatly folded socks into his bra giving him the appearance of small breasts. She spun him around to face the dresser mirror.

Whit looked at himself in the mirror. He couldn’t believe this was really happening. There she was looking at him, a woman.

“Sarah?” he said again, quietly, part question, part greeting, part declaration.

Lucy frowned in the mirror beside him and their eyes met and any amusement in her face dissolved. “You’ll always be Darren to me. My husband.”

Chapter 16 October 9th, 2025

Whit was shaving every morning, something he’d never done in his life. Wednesday after work he did something he’d been thinking of doing for years. He stopped at the Salvation Army store to shop for women’s clothes. The place was dead but he still was constantly looking over his shoulder. He found a top that was new with tags. “I think I can get away with wearing this,” he said as he took it out of the bag to show Lucy. It was a soft knit long sleeve sweater in deep red with a wider neck then a men’s sweater would have.

Lucy frowned? “Why did you buy that?”

Whit wasn’t phased, “Because I liked it, and I wanted it.”

Lucy shrugged and felt the soft material. After seeing him wearing it she agreed, it wasn’t exactly manly but it didn’t scream girl. Just like the wide leg women’s jeans he had bought from Ross.

Thursday night Whit wore the outfit to his painting class. A few students commented on his appearance, saying he was looking younger. Troy and Angie Phelps both agreed he looked very much like an artist, whatever that meant.

Grace was not there. She had sent a couple texts, “Sarah are you alright?” “Sarah, Hey bitch you going to text me back?”

Thursday Whit replied, “Hey, I’m sorry Grace. It was irresponsible for me to involve you in my personal problems. Thank you for your help. I hope to see you in class Thursday night.”

It was a very adult way to say, buzz off, and Grace responded in kind with her own text, “Thank you Mr. Whitlock, while I enjoyed your class I do not think my schedule will allow me to continue.”

Friday night Whit suggested Lucy and him could drive over to Marion for supper at the Olive Garden. Lucy was hesitant to spend that kind of money, but Whit was insistent. On the drive they went back and forth picking music, during the restaurant they talked as if they were on a first date. They held hands on the way home. At the door of their house Whit did something shocking. He squeezed Lucy tight and kissed her. They shared a moment to look into each other's eyes and minutes later they were in bed making love.

Lucy was confused. Was this a good thing? In some ways it was a dream come true, Whit was present for the first time in a long time, but was he still her husband? Lucy told herself she would let Whit go through this, whatever this was. Get it out of his system. People experimented. People had phases. And the past week had been good. Better than good, actually.

The second week he came home from work Tuesday with a bigger bag of clothes from the thrift store and was downright giddy that he’d got all of this stuff for 14 dollars.

That night he emerged from the bedroom wearing black leggings and an oversized gray sweatshirt that hit him mid-thigh. His legs looked longer somehow, leaner. He was barefoot, moving carefully, like he was still learning how to inhabit himself.

Lucy stared a beat too long.

“They’re comfortable,” he said, casually, as if that settled it.

She nodded. “They look… warm.”

They watched television like that, Whit curled into the corner of the couch, legs tucked under him. Lucy tried not to notice how natural it already seemed.

On Wednesday, her mother stopped by unannounced.

Lucy heard the knock and felt her stomach drop before she even knew why. She went to the door and opened it to find her mother standing there with a paper sack and a too-bright smile.

“I was in the area,” her mom said. “Wanted to bring you over some Halloween cookies I made.”

Lucy stepped aside. “You could’ve called.”

Her mother waved that off and walked in. “Reception is terrible at home. You know that.”

Whit came out of the kitchen carrying a mug of coffee. He was wearing the leggings again, this time with a long green sweater that draped over his hips. He didn’t seem to register anything unusual about it.

“Hey,” he said, pleasantly. “Hi, Carla.”

Her mother froze just slightly. Not enough to comment. Just enough for Lucy to see it.

“Well,” she said, after a moment, “you look… relaxed.”

Whit smiled. “I am.”

They all sat in the living room and snacked on the cookies. Lucy answered most of the questions, the way she always did. Whit chimed in here and there, animated, leaning forward, gesturing with his hands. At one point he tucked his feet up onto the couch, leggings stretched tight over his calves.

Lucy waited for him to notice. To adjust. To care.

He didn’t.

When her mother finally left, Lucy closed the door and leaned against it for a second longer than necessary.

“That was fine,” Whit said, genuinely. “Your mom seemed in a good mood.”

Lucy nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

On Thursday, Whit brought up the idea of going shopping together that weekend.

“I thought maybe we could make a day of it,” he said. “Evansville, maybe. Grab lunch. Look around.”

Lucy looked at him. “Shopping for what?”

He hesitated, just briefly. “Clothes. Mostly.”

“For you,” she said.

“For us,” he said.

Lucy felt something shift in her chest. Not panic. Something colder. More precise.

That night, as she folded laundry, she found herself holding the towel she’d borrowed from Grace weeks ago. The one she’d stained with mud, thrown in the wash and never returned. It was soft, faded blue, not theirs.

She stood there longer than necessary, towel in her hands, thinking.

Grace had missed class again.
Whit hadn’t mentioned her.
But Lucy had been thinking about her more than she liked.

She folded the towel neatly and set it aside.

I should take that back, she thought.

Chapter 17, October 10th, 2025

Lucy stood in Grace’s gravel driveway in front of the beat up pickup. The three tall pines behind the trailer trees loomed dark against the fading greens of the hills in the distance.

The door of the trailer opened up and Grace pushed her way through the heavy blanket hanging in the doorway. She was wearing cotton shorts and a long Hello Kitty sleep shirt. Her hair was in pigtails. She looked like a kid who’d just gotten out of bed even though it was 2:30 PM.

Lucy held up the towel. “I wanted to return this,” she said.

Grace tilted her head. “You could have kept it.”

“Thanks,” Lucy said and stood there awkwardly.

“What do you want?” Grace asked.

Lucy stepped forward to the base of the trailer’s rickety stairs. “I’d like to talk.”

“About?” Grace spit back.

“Darren,” Lucy replied. Grace inhaled sharply ready to fire back, but Lucy cut her off, “No, I know nothing happened. Well I mean nothing happened between you.. Well I know he wasn’t cheating on me.”

Grace stared at her, “Okay?”

“I’ve known about… Darren’s,” Lucy stammered, “I’ve known about the stuff he was into, but I thought it was a phase. This last few weeks he’s changed, I don’t know what to do,” Lucy said.

Grace rolled her eyes, “Come in,” she said and pushed her way into the trailer.

Lucy followed her in and stood there awkwardly taking in the small living room.

“It looks like rainbow brite exploded in here,” she said.

Despite herself Grace giggled, “I guess you’re not into Kawaii?”

Lucy laughed, “Should I know that word?”

Grace shrugged, “Probably not, it’s like cute Japanese shit. I’m making tea, you want some?”

Lucy sat down on the couch, “Sure,” she replied.

Grace filled the kettle at the sink without looking at her. The trailer hummed with small sounds, the click of the burner, the faint rattle of the old refrigerator.

Lucy folded her hands together. Then unfolded them. Her eyes drifted around the room.

Nice framed art and neon signs glowing softly along one wall. And then she saw the television, it was huge. Too big for the space, still glossy, like it hadn’t been there long.

On the scarred coffee table sat a stack of oversized photo books, the kind you flipped through but never bought. A makeup palette lay open beside them, heavy, professional-looking. Lucy didn’t recognize the brand, but she knew it had to be more expensive than the one she bought at Wal-Mart. ‘How does she afford all this stuff?’ Grace thought.

She caught herself and looked away just as Grace handed her a steaming mug.

“Careful,” Grace said. “It’s hot.”

Lucy took it. “Thanks.”

The warmth grounded her back in the moment.

Grace sat down in an oversized recliner opposite of the small room and blew the top of her steaming tea. There was a moment of awkward silence.

“This is good tea,” Lucy said and took a sip.

“Yeah, only the best around here. So, you want me to be your trans whisperer?” Grace said with a grin.

Lucy smiled despite herself. “Okay, I always knew about… Sarah…. But I thought he was… well.”

“Well?” Grace said, raising her eyes.

Lucy took another sip and tried to not look so uncomfortable, “God this is harder than I thought it would be. I thought he was just, um.”

“A pervert?” Grace asked?.

“Yeah,” Lucy said.

Grace rolled her eyes, “That’s because your husband has spent most of his life believing that about himself.”

Lucy felt a tear in her eye, “I thought I was protecting him.”

Grace raised her hands, “Look, I’m not blaming you. You guys grew up in a different time, being trans probably felt like a bad punchline, or a weird science experiment. Whit didn’t have the language for the feelings he has, so he did what he needed to do to protect himself.”

Lucy stared into her tea.

“I grew up with the internet and found people who could help me online.”

Lucy took a sip and sat the mug down. “We made a deal. I told him he could experiment, but that I didn’t want to be involved. He has to keep it to himself. He seems so happy.”

Grace didn’t answer right away.

She watched Lucy over the rim of her mug, the way Lucy’s fingers stayed wrapped around it even after she’d set it down, like she needed the heat.

“It’s called gender euphoria, it can be loud at first,” Grace said finally. “Especially when it’s new.”

Lucy nodded. “That’s what scares me.”

Grace waited.

Lucy swallowed. “He keeps relaxing. Little things. The way he sits. The way he talks. He doesn’t seem… ashamed anymore.” Her voice wavered. “I don’t know if that’s a phase, or if it’s going to keep going.”

Grace tilted her head slightly. “What do you think happens if it keeps going?”

Lucy opened her mouth, then closed it. She looked down at her tea again.

“I don’t know how to ask this without sounding horrible,” she said.

“Try me,” Grace said. “People say horrible things to me all the time.”

Lucy let out a shaky breath. “Am I going to lose my husband?”

The words sat between them, heavy and plain.

Grace didn’t rush to answer.

“That’s the question you came here for,” she said quietly.

Lucy nodded, eyes glossy. “I’ve known for years that he was into some weird stuff. I’m sorry if this sounds horrible, but I thought it was like a sex fantasy.”

Grace nodded without judgement and Lucy turned unable to look at her. “It’s just…” She took a deep breath, “Well I’m sorry but it’s fucking weird, OK. I don’t mean for you. You got your shit together young and, but Darren’s a middle aged man. He told me he’s known since he was a kid, but why the fuck did he marry me then?”

Grace leaned forward a little and took her hand, “You can’t blame him, he grew up in a different time. Look, I know perverts, your husband is not one. He is a good person and he’s going through alot.”

Lucy wanted to withdraw her hand from the girl but fought the urge, she fought a tear, “I know, I know, but what if he’s making a mistake. This isn’t just his life he’s playing with.”

Grace took that in. She nodded once, slow. “Has he told you about autogynephilia?”

Lucy shook her head, “No, what’s that?”

“Okay,” she said. “Then I need to tell you something. About your husband, and about me too.”

Lucy looked up, and nodded.

Grace continued, “When your husband got the internet as a teenager he told me one of the first things he looked up was, ‘boys who want to be girls,’ and he found that term. “It’s basically this idea that if a guy wants to be a woman, it’s just because he’s turned on by the idea. Like it’s a fetish or something.”

Lucy nodded, “Is that what Whit has?”

Grace exhaled, “Look, I’m not a psychologist, but I read up on that and most of them think it’s bullshit. When you get dolled up, look in the mirror and feel good about yourself, do you get excited?”

Lucy, “Yeah, I think that’s natural.”

Grace smiled “Damn right it is. When Darren was trying to figure this out in the 90s the internet told him he had a disorder, like congrats you're broken. The internet told me I was a beautiful butterfly.” She rolled her eyes, “Yeah kind of lame, but I found tons of people like me who were themselves.”

Grace’s eyes turned inward, “I found a lot of hate too, but I noticed that most of it was stupid. Like all these people saying that we just were made that way because of schools pushing it. I don’t know about you, but my teachers were mostly assholes who made me want to disappear.”

Lucy nodded, remembering her less than stellar time in school.

“When my parents found out,” Grace said, choosing each word carefully, “they didn’t ask questions. They didn’t sit with me. They decided I was broken.”

Lucy’s brow furrowed. “Found out how?”

Grace’s mouth tightened. “I told them.”

There was a pause.

“They sent me to a conversion camp,” Grace said. “Lake Serenity Christian Counselling Camp, One of those places that promises to fix you if you pray hard enough and hate yourself enough.”

Lucy’s breath caught. “Jesus.”

“They told us the same thing every day,” Grace went on. “The devil was giving us false ideas. That if we stopped wanting the wrong things, everything would go back to normal. That we could keep our families and futures, if we behaved.”

She looked directly at Lucy now. “You know what that did to me?”

Lucy shook her head.

“It didn’t make me less trans,” Grace said. “It just made me better at lying. Better at disappearing.”

Lucy’s face crumpled slightly. “I’m sorry, that must have been horrible.”

Grace smiled, “Thanks. It wasn’t that bad at first. I made a plan, be what my parents wanted at home, be no one at school, and be myself online. I got so good at lying and sneaking that I started taking hormones secretly my Sophomore year.”

Lucy took a sip of her tea, “I guess you got caught?”

Grace checked messages on her phone before replying, “Yeah, and I had to run, but I ran to the wrong people.”

“No kid should have to go through that,” Lucy said.

Grace laughed out loud, “Tomorrow is my birthday, I’ll be 19.”

“Oh wow, Happy Birthday, are you doing anything special?” Lucy asked.

Grace shook her head, “I work tomorrow, and I…” her words trailed off.

Lucy looked up expecting to hear more, but Grace shook her head and took another drink of tea.

Lucy finished her cup and stood. “Thank you for talking to me, but there was one other reason for my visit. I want you to go back to Whit’s class. He misses you.”

Grace frowned, “The invitation I got from him wasn’t so welcoming.”

Lucy nodded, “OK, how about this, come have a birthday dinner with us,” Lucy thought for a second and then raised her head excitedly, “At John’s Cafe, tomorrow night. Our treat.”

Grace smiled, “Okay, can we all wear those pointy hats?”

“Umm, I guess I could go by Walp-Mart and.”

Grace laughed, “I’m kidding, no hats please.”

Chapter 18, October 11th, 2025

“Why are we doing this again?” Whit asked after he shifted the Jeep into park.

Lucy frowned, “It’s supper Darren, we need to eat.”

Whit rolled his eyes, “You know what I mean, we’ve been together for a long time, and this is the first time I think you’ve ever invited someone, besides our parents, out to eat with us.”

Lucy sat her purse down in her lap and turned to Whit, “I guess I felt sorry for her, and you. I think she should come back to your class. As far as I know she’s the only openly trans person in this whole town. I’m trying to extend an olive branch.”

Whit nodded, “OK, if it’s fine with you it’s fine with me.”

John’s wasn’t exactly jumping, but it was Saturday evening at 5PM and several people were having supper or drinking coffee at the old-fashioned lunch counter. Lucy noticed that Whit had gone with his standard attire, black jeans and a dark green long sleeved shirt. No tights or feminine sweaters this evening. They took a booth in the corner.

A few minutes later Grace walked in. She was wearing stone washed overalls, and a tight fitting long sleeve top. The outfit did nothing to hide her female figure. Lucy noticed a couple heads turn as she walked in.

“Hey ladies,” Grace said with a grin as she slid into the bench across from Whit and Lucy.

Whit hesitated for half a beat, then chuckled. “Happy Birthday,” he said.

“You look great,” Lucy said. She meant it, and was faintly annoyed by how easy it was to say.

“How have you been, Whit?” Grace asked, winking.

Whit felt heat creep up his neck and shook his head. She wasn’t going to make this easy on him.

“I’m fine.”

“So dinner, your treat?” Grace asked.

Lucy nodded. Whit nodded a second later.

Grace flipped the menu open. “Okay, where’s the lobster section… ah, the T-bone. Bet it’s excellent.”

Whit leaned forward and pushed her menu down, concerned. “They have T-bone here?”

Grace laughed. “Relax, professor. I’m kidding. Burger, onion rings, Coke.”

She set the menu down, the smile fading just enough to matter.

“So,” she said, quieter. “Why are we here? Because when people are nice to me, they usually want something.”

Lucy didn’t answer right away. She picked up her water, took a sip, then set it back down.

“You helped me at Wal-Mart,” she said.

Grace blinked.

“You didn’t have to,” Lucy went on. “You didn’t know me. You didn’t get anything out of it.”

She shrugged. “So this is supper. That’s all.”

Then, after a beat, quieter she said, “I wanted to invite you back to painting class and wish you happy birthday”

“That’s it?”

Lucy met her eyes. “That’s it.”

The playful smile returned to Grace’s eyes, “Wow, who said it doesn’t pay to be nice.”

Awkward attempts at small talk eventually gave way to hilarious stories about all of the things Whit had got wrong over the years, like his botched proposal. They were finished eating and still talking when Grace froze up, eyes locked towards the front door. Lucy looked over her shoulder and saw a group of younger people had entered, a girl had locked eyes with Grace and was walking over alone, while her friends got a booth.

“Hey Grace, it’s good to see you,” the girl said.

A fake smile spread across Grace’s face, “Hi Jennifer, what brings you to Mud Creek this evening?” she replied.

The girl looked back at her friends, another girl and two guys, they looked like central casting could have sent them over to play cliche “cool” teenagers. All designer clothes, letter jackets, and a sense of entitlement they couldn’t hide if they wanted to.

“We’re going to the game, we play Mud Creek tonight. I’m really glad to see you out. I hope everythings going OK,” she said.

“Yeap, doing great, thanks for asking,” Grace quickly replied.

Jennifer smiled and gave a polite wave to Lucy and Whit and then made her way over to her friends.

Grace was tense and nervously took another drink of her Coke, “She lived a couple houses down from me in Rado, we grew up together. We were… friends. She’s a Senior this year.”

“Well she seemed nice,” Whit said.

“Yeah, I..” Grace’s words were cut short but a loud laugh from one of the letter jacket guys from Jennifer's table who was looking towards their table.

“Her?” he said. “Grayson Miller? No way.” He wasn’t exactly loud, but his voice easily carried across the room.

“Shut up Tommy,” Jennifer said and slapped at his pointing finger.

Grace froze up, she stuttered and then got this deer in headlights look. Lucy turned around and could see the young adults ogling their table and doing nothing to hide their giggling. It stirred something old and sour in Lucy’s chest. She knew that laugh. She’d heard it in hallways, in parking lots, in voices that never had to worry about money or where they came from. The shame and humiliation of her past hadn’t left her. But she wasn’t a mousy little girl now.

“Whit, take her out to her truck please, I’l get the check,” Lucy said.

Grace was visibly shaking now, caught between panic and anger. The room got quiet and seemed to both grow larger and yet compress around her. Whit quickly got up and gave her his hand. “Lets go Grace.”

It took a few seconds but she nodded and walked out with him. Jennifer mouthed, sorry, as she walked by. As soon as they were out the door the boys giggled.

Lucy paid the check and shouldered her purse. She stopped in front of Jennifer’s booth before leaving and spent a moment appraising the youths.

The kids looked up, surprised.

“What?” Tommy asked.

“Just looking at the nice clothes your Mommies and Daddies bought you. It’s nice to fit in, isn't.” Lucy said with an over the top fake grin. The restaurant grew silent, everyone trying to act like they weren’t watching.

Tommy rolled his eyes.

The silence was broken when Jennifer said, “I’m sorry.”

Lucy turned to Jennifer. “I’m not the one you need to apologize to, but don’t say sorry unless you actually mean it. It’s insulting.”

Lucy stepped away, “Enjoy the game,” she said on her way out.

A few seconds later Jennifer came out after her, she saw Grace in her truck, with Lucy and Whit nearby and dashed over.

“Grace, those guys are assholes, I’m sorry,” she said.

Grace looked up from the tears she’d been crying, “They’re your friends,” Grace said.

“I know, but,” Jennifer swallowed. “I know, but… they’re just like that. I told him to shut up.”

Grace gave a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah. That fixes it.”

Jennifer flushed. “I didn’t mean”

“You never do,” Grace said quietly.

There was an awkward beat.

“I really am glad you’re okay,” Jennifer said, softer now. “I mean… seeing you out, like this. I hope things are better.”

Grace wiped her face with the heel of her hand. “They are,” she said. “And they’ll be way better when I get out of this piece of shit town.”

Jennifer nodded, unsure what else to say. “Okay. Well. Good luck.”

She hesitated, then turned and jogged back toward the diner.

Grace watched her go. “She always did that,” she said.

“Did what?” Whit asked.

“Left feeling like she was a good person.”

After a moment of silence Grace turned to them. “Thank you for dinner, and I’m sorry I acted that way. I should be used to it by now.”

“No, you shouldn’t have to get used to it,” Lucy said.

Grace turned to Whit, “See what you have to look forward to, Sarah?”

Whit looked down, unable to meet her gaze.

“I’m sorry, that was shitty. I’ll see you at class next week. And Lucy, I don’t know what you said to them in there, but, Thanks.”

She fired up the tired truck and drove off.

Authors Note: Get buckled in for a big chapter, and just a word of caution, this chapter deals with personal injury. Also if you're interested in reading more of my writing you can check out this essay I just posted on my substack. Thanks again for reading along and I adore the feedback!

Chapter 19 October 20th 2026

Sirens went off. The sound of windchimes frantically cascading turned louder and darker. A blast of wind that rattled the windows then a flash lightning instantaneously followed by the crack of thunder. The power went out. Whit and Lucy looked at each other on the couch.

“Should we go to the basement?” Lucy asked.

“Yeah, I think so,” Whit said. He grabbed his phone from the coffee table and turned on the flash light. Lucy did the same and glanced out the window, rain was now part of the mix and slamming the glass pane. “It’s coming down like cats and dogs out there.”

They made their way down the stairs to the basement. Lucy in her soft nightgown and Whit wearing soft Winnie the Pooh pajamas that he’d just bought. Whit looked around and found a little emergency box they kept and lit a candle. Strange shadows danced around the dusty basement.

Lucy sat down on the old couch and pulled her feet under her body.

“Do you realize if there’s a tornado you might have to run outside in your new Pooh Bear pajamas. Did you think of that?” she asked.

Whit grinned, “I think my pajamas will be the last thing on my mind if there is a tornado.

Lucy snorted softly, but it didn’t quite land. Another gust hit the house, harder this time. The floor joists above them creaked, a long wooden groan that made Lucy instinctively pull her knees tighter to her chest.

The candle flame bent sideways.

They sat in silence, listening. Wind roared past the foundation like something alive, a sustained howl that rose and fell in waves. Somewhere outside, metal clanged loose and kept clanging, rhythmic and hollow.

“God,” Lucy muttered. “That’s bad.”

Whit nodded, eyes fixed on the stairs. “This isn’t normal bad.”

The sirens wailed again, closer now, overlapping each other in an uneven chorus. Lucy texted her parents.

“Mom and Dad are OK,” Lucy said.

Whit nodded and received a message on his phone from his parents and replied before answering. “Yeah, so are mine.”

Rain began to drum against the house in a way that sounded almost solid, as if it were being thrown, not falling.

Whit glanced down at his phone. “Radar’s showing it’s about passed. It was just a really dark red spot.”

“Okay,” she said quickly. “Okay. We’re fine. We’re fine.”

She didn’t sound convinced.

They waited. Time stretched. Lucy tried counting the seconds between thunder and lightning, but the flashes came too close together, the cracks immediate and concussive.

Whit shifted, rubbing his hands on his pajama pants. He hated the waiting. The helplessness of it. His mind kept skipping ahead, inventing images he didn’t want.

Then, without quite knowing why, a thought landed and wouldn’t leave.

“Grace,” he said.

Lucy looked at him. “What?”

“Grace,” he repeated. “She’s out there. In that trailer.”

Lucy’s brow furrowed. “Mom and Dad are in a trailer and they are OK.”

“Your Mom and Dad’s trailer is on a foundation, hers is just on wheels I think. Plus it’s tiny,” he said quietly. “By fields, out in the open.”

Lucy hesitated. She didn’t want to validate the fear. She also couldn’t dismiss it. She’d grown up in trailers and the fear of storms..

“Maybe she’s fine,” Lucy said, even as her stomach tightened.

Whit was already unlocking his phone again, thumb hovering. “I’m just going to check.”

He called. Straight to voicemail.

Lucy leaned forward. “Try again.”

He did. Same result.

The wind slammed the house so hard the candle flickered wildly, wax spilling over the edge of the glass jar.

Lucy stood. “That didn’t sound good.”

Whit tried texting. No delivery check. No nothing.

“She might not have service,” Lucy said, but now she was pacing, barefoot on the cold concrete. “Or her phone’s dead.”

Whit stared at the stairs. “Or…”

***

Grace was sitting on her bed, her legs drawn up under her. She was wearing a big oversized soft pink “Hello Kitty” sweatshirt with a very wide neck opening showing off her bra straps. Her legs were covered in thigh highs with pink bows and a very short pink skirt. A pair of ring lights bathed the entire scene in an angelic glow eradicating all shadows. Her laptop was opened, facing her and she held a large microphone in her lap.

Grace’s bedroom was a homage to cute, anime posters on the walls, a display of Sanrio characters behind her, and the glow of LED lighting. “This color is so cute, thank you so much Rob,” Grace says as she slowly and carefully applied the polish to her fingers. “So guys it’s maybe going to storm tonight, so if I get cut off it’s probably just rain.”

She glanced up to read the chat and replied, “I’m not sure, just a thunderstorm, I didn’t see anything about Tornados. So chat, I found this new anime, it’s called ‘Laid-Back Camp’ it’s literally just about these girls who go camp together. I’m going to watch an episode tonight.”

Grace looked up again, “No, not feeling like gaming tonight,” she said.

The lights flickered and Grace saw she’d lost her internet connection, her stream was dead. She suddenly got more interested in the weather. She picked her phone up from the nightstand where it was plugged in and charging at 12%. No wi-fi and her mobile signal in the trailer was dead.

“Shit,” Grace said. The wind seemed to pick up, she could hear the old trailer creak and groan under the pressure. In the living room she pushed her way past the front door and stepped out on her porch. She was buffeted by cold winds. The tall grass by the road was bent flat.

Grace loved storms, she always had, lighting streaked across the sky illuminating a wall of black coming from Mud Creek. She realized the warm glow of the town’s lights was gone. Curiosity got the best of her and she walked barefoot down the steps and walked past the trailer so she could see the pine covered hills behind her. They were saying back and forth madly, reminding her of the dancing wind sock guys the used car lot had.

A brilliant flash of lighting was followed by a thunderclap causing Grace to jump. The lights in her trailer went out.

She could hear the sound of a freight train approaching, even though it was dark she could see a wall of rain and wind from the West. Grace dashed up the steps, through the blanket and into darkness. Light came down from the hall and she remembered that her ring lights were powered by batteries. So she grabbed one to use as a flashlight.

She sat on the couch and put on her shoes. She suddenly wanted to call her Dad. She hadn’t talked to him in weeks, but he would tell her if the trailer is safe. Maybe she should get in her truck. She remembered in school she was once told that a ditch would be the safest place in a tornado.

The trailer started shaking and she got off the couch. It was so loud, then she felt the floor lurch. She started towards the hallway to get her phone. The room moved. She lost her footing and went to her knees. She looked up and saw the tall book case coming at her face and tried to get a hand up.

Her vision was filled with white, then black.

***

Sirens wailed, blue and red lights passed Whit and Lucy on the highway out of town. It was still raining but the storm was over, leaving behind limbs and debris. Whit slowed down and had to drive around a tree that had fallen and blocked the right lane. Lucy tried to call again and Grace didn’t answer.

The county blacktop through the unharvested corn fields glowed beneath their lights as the Palestine hills slowly grew larger. They crossed the small bridge and Lucy’s hand came up over her mouth. Grace’s small trailer had been pushed off its blocks. Twisted metal siding stuck out at weird angles.

“Oh shit,” Whit said as he pulled into the driveway beside the beat up truck. He jumped out and run up to the porch where a two foot gap had formed between the porch and the trailer. The door had blown open and was hanging twisted on its bottom hinge. The heavy blanket was still up. Whit pushed it aside and took a big step into the room.

It was a disaster, broken glass everywhere, toppled furniture, the night light still on and laying in the floor. Grace was propped up against the couch with blood running down her face from her scalp. She had a fleece throw, red with blood, over the top of her head. Whit did a double take at her clothes. She looked like a little girl who’d wandered into a slasher movie.

Whit froze for half a second too long.

Lucy didn’t.

“Oh my God Grace.” Lucy was already stepping over glass, phone light snapping on, voice steady in a way that surprised even her. “Hey. Hey, look at me.”

Grace’s eyes flickered. Her mouth opened, closed. “Mom?,” she said. “I’m sorry,” the words slurred just enough to be wrong.

Lucy crouched in front of her, hands gentle but firm as she took the blood-soaked fleece away and replaced it with her own sweatshirt, pressing it against Grace’s head. “It’s Lucy, No apologies. You’re okay. You’re okay right now.”

Whit stood uselessly near the door, heart hammering. The smell hit him then, wet insulation, metal, rain, and blood. The trailer felt smaller than he remembered, tilted, wrong, like it was still moving even though the storm had passed.

“I couldn’t” Grace tried again, then winced hard, her hand flying to her ankle. “My phone’s in the bedroom. I got hurt.”

Lucy nodded, already clocking the details. The way Grace’s pupils lagged. The way she leaned into the couch like she couldn’t hold herself upright. “Okay. You don’t need to try anymore. We’ve got you.”

Whit swallowed. “Grace? It’s Whit. We’re here.”

Her eyes shifted toward him, unfocused but searching. “Hi,” she said faintly, and noticed the way she was dressed. She frowned as if embarrassed by the whole thing. “Sorry. I was… I was doing something.”

“I know,” Lucy said softly, even though she didn’t. “That’s okay.”

Another drip of blood slid down Grace’s temple and into her eyebrow. Lucy wiped it away with the edge of the sweatshirt and pressed harder. “I’m going to keep pressure here. I need you to stay awake for me, okay. We’re going to get you to the hospital?”

Grace nodded, then shook her head, then stilled. “I don’t have insurance,” she said suddenly, panic creeping in under the fog. “I can’t go to the hospital.”

Lucy met her eyes. “That’s not your problem tonight.”

“It is,” Grace insisted weakly. “I don’t,”

Lucy’s voice sharpened, not angry, just absolute. “Grace. You’re bleeding, you have a head wound, and you’re concussed. You don’t get to decide that right now.”

Whit found his feet. On the floor near the kitchen counter he saw her purse where it had fell. He grabbed it. “Where’s your phone Grace?”

Grace made a small noise and pointed down the hall.

He moved carefully through the wreckage toward the back of the trailer. The hallway floor sloped sharply then ripped in two, jagged floor joists stuck up. He could see through the open bedroom door into the night sky, one wall crumpled over. It was a mess of pastel debris and stuffed animals.

When he came back, Lucy was already helping Grace shift her weight, one arm around her shoulders, careful of the ankle.

“It hurts,” Grace whispered.

“I know,” Lucy said. “I know it does. We’re going to get you out of here.”

“I’m sorry Grace, I can’t even get into your room,” he said. She nodded.

Outside, the rain had slowed to a cold drizzle. Sirens wailed again in the distance, farther away this time.

Whit opened the Jeep door wide. Lucy guided Grace forward, step by painful step, murmuring constant instructions, grounding her in the moment. Grace clutched Lucy’s sleeve with shaking fingers, leaving faint red smears on the fabric.

As they settled her into the back seat, Grace sagged against the door, exhausted. Her eyes fluttered.

Lucy snapped her fingers softly. “Hey. Stay with me. Tell me your name.”

Grace swallowed. “Grace,” she said. After a beat, quieter: “My name’s Grace.”

Lucy smiled, tight. “Good. That’s perfect.”

Whit closed the door and stood there for a second, rain soaking into his hair, looking back at the broken trailer in the dark.

Then he got into the driver’s seat and pulled away, fast but careful, headlights cutting a narrow, trembling path back toward town.

Chapter 20 October 20th 2025

Whit pulled up behind an ambulance. There was a loud quiet inside the Emergency Room at Mud Creek’s small hospital. Whit and Lucy helped Grace limp up the counter. Heads turned, Grace had a bloody towel against the side of her head, her big pink Hello Kitty sweatshirt was stained with blood, and her pink tights and short skirt looked out of place in the blue green fluorescent lights.

The woman at the desk didn’t react outwardly. She glanced up once, took it all in, and stood immediately.

“Head injury?” she asked.

“Yes,” Lucy said. “She was hit by a heavy bookcase. She’s dizzy and her ankle’s injured.”

The woman nodded and picked up a clipboard, already moving around the counter. “Sweetie, what’s your name?”

Grace swallowed. “Grace.”

“Last name?”

She hesitated just long enough to be noticeable, “Miller.” Her voice wobbled.

“Okay, Grace. Any loss of consciousness?”

“I… I don’t know,” Grace said. “Something…. I couldn’” She trailed off, eyes drifting.

“That’s okay,” the woman said calmly. “We’ll figure it out.”

A nurse appeared from a side door with a wheelchair. “Let’s get you off that ankle.”

Grace protested weakly, “I can walk.”

“I know honey,” The nurse said and gently guided Grace into the chair.

Lucy helped her sit. Grace’s hands were shaking now that the adrenaline had nowhere to go. The towel slipped, and the nurse gently replaced it, applying firmer pressure. Blood seeped through anyway.

“On a scale of one to ten, how bad’s the pain in your head?” the nurse asked.

“Six?” Grace said, uncertain.

“And the ankle?”

“Eight.”

The nurse nodded. “Any nausea?”

Grace nodded immediately. “A little.”

“Any medications? Allergies?”

Grace blinked. “I, um… I take…”

The nurse glanced up at her. “Are you her mom?”

Lucy hesitated. “No. I’m, we’re friends. I’m with her.”

“That’s fine,” the nurse said, already steering the wheelchair down the hall. “You can come with us for now.”

They passed curtained bays, a man coughing behind one, a child crying behind another. The nurse pulled into a small room and helped Grace onto the bed.

“Okay, Grace, I’m going to need you to keep your eyes open for me,” she said, shining a light briefly into each pupil. “You’re doing good.”

Grace’s breathing started to hitch. “I don’t have insurance,” she said suddenly. “I can’t pay. I should go.”

The nurse didn’t stop what she was doing. “That’s not something you need to worry about right now.”

“It is,” Grace insisted, panic creeping in. “I can’t pay for this.”

Lucy stepped closer to the bed. “Grace. Hey. Look at me.”

Grace turned her head slowly.

“You’re hurt,” Lucy said. “They’re going to take care of you. We’ll deal with the rest later.”

Grace’s eyes filled, tears cutting clean tracks through the grime and blood on her face. She nodded once, small and exhausted.

The nurse pulled the curtain partway. “Doctor’ll be in soon. We’ll get you cleaned up and probably do a scan, okay?”

Grace’s voice was barely audible. “Okay.”

Whit stood back against the wall, hands shoved deep into his pockets, watching the curtain sway slightly as the nurse stepped out. The reality of it all finally hit him, sharp and nauseating.

Lucy reached out and took Grace’s hand.

“You’re not alone,” she said quietly.

Grace squeezed back, just enough to be felt.

***

Debbie dialed Grace’s number again. “God damn it, answer your damn phone Grayson.”

The truth was she didn’t even know if she was calling the correct number, her son might have changed it. She hadn’t talked to him in nearly a year. Debbie Miller cursed the world, the cruel and wicked world that took her son away from her. She turned off the highway onto County Highway 10.

Her thoughts turned to frequent territory. This was all Nick’s fault, if he’d been a better father. If he hadn’t been so busy with work, if he hadn’t been so preoccupied chasing flossies then this wouldn’t have happened. It was his idea to let Grayson live in the trailer.

The weather said the storm hit hardest SouthEast of town, that trees were down. They called it a microburst. Several homes had been damaged. There was no way she could sleep. After the third time she couldn’t get through, Debbie got dressed and pulled out of the garage at 10 PM.

Thirty minutes later she pulled up to her ex-husband’s old hunting trailer and gasped. She got out of her SUV and stood there for a moment, taking in the ruined structure. “Oh no. No.” she said and cautiously went up the steps and through the opening where the front door hung. She saw a blood soaked fleece throw, and blood on the carpet. Then she noticed a red handprint near the door frame.

“Grayson!” she screamed. She searched the small trailer quickly then went outside. The old truck was still in the driveway, she made sure her son wasn’t in it. With no other place to look she called 911.

Debbie’s hands were shaking so badly she nearly dropped the phone as she told them her son was missing. The dispatcher kept her voice steady, asked her to step back inside and calmly search the structure again. She then asked if anyone else was with her son.

“No,” Debbie said. “No, he was alone.”

Her shaking hands tried to dial another number. It took a few tries and finally she heard a tired voice answer the phone, ‘Debbie, is everything OK?”

“Grayson, the storm. Nick! I can’t find him.” Debbie said.

“The storm? I guess we didn’t get much up here, just a little wind. What do you mean? You can’t find Grace? Did something happen?”

Why had it been so easy for him to just accept it? To use that name, like it was no big deal. “The trailer it’s destroyed, there’s blood but I can’t find him.” Debbie said.

“Call 911, I’m on my way.” Nick said.

Within minutes headlights washed across the trees. A county sheriff’s cruiser rolled up slow, tires crunching on gravel. The deputy stepped out, tall, broad-shouldered, rain still clinging to his hat brim. The rain had finally stopped.

“Ma’am,” he said gently. “I’m Deputy Harris. You the one who called?”

“Yes,” Debbie said, rushing toward him. “My son lives here. Grayson. He’s gone. There’s blood. The storm knocked the trailer over.”

“Okay,” Harris said, holding up a hand. “Let’s take this one step at a time.”

He followed her inside, flashlight sweeping the small space. He didn’t react when he saw the blood, but his posture changed, alert now. He crouched near the couch, noted the soaked fleece, the smear on the carpet, the handprint near the doorframe. He also noted from the room’s decorations that this didn’t look like a place where a young man lived. They walked around and looked at the rear of the trailer where Grace’s bedroom had been, it’s contents spilled into the grass.

Officer Harris reached down and picked up a fuzzy teddybear in a pink dress. “You say your son lived here?” he asked.

Debbie felt the officers confusion, and grimaced at her own embarrassment, “Yes,” she said.

“How old is your son?” he asked.

Debbie swallowed. “Eighteen. Nineteen. He just had a birthday.”

“And he lived here alone?” Harris asked. Debbie nodded. “And the name’s Grayson you said?” Harris said, already pulling a small notebook from his pocket.

“Yes,” she said quickly. “Grayson Miller.”

Harris nodded, then stepped back outside, radio crackling softly as he spoke into it. Debbie stood on the gravel, arms wrapped tight around herself, watching his face for clues.

After a moment he turned back to her. “Ma’am, did he have a vehicle?”

“Yes,” Debbie said. “The truck’s right there.”

“And it’s still here,” Harris said. Not a question.

Debbie’s breath hitched.

“Okay,” Harris continued. “That tells us something. Now, storms like this, people sometimes get taken to the hospital by neighbors, friends, or good samaratins. Doesn’t mean anything bad yet.”

He pulled out his phone. “I’m going to make a call.”

Debbie watched him walk a few steps away, hearing only fragments of the conversation.

“Mud Creek ER… yes, county sheriff… possible storm injury… name Grayson Miller…”

Debbie’s heart hammered so loud she thought she might faint.

Harris came back, expression neutral but intent. “Mam, does your son use the name Grace?”

Debbie grimaced, “Yes, he umm…”

Harris interrupted, “They have a Grace Miller there who matches the description. Head injury. Ankle. Came in about thirty minutes ago.”

Debbie sagged against the porch rail. “Oh thank God.”

“There’s something else,” Harris said carefully. “The patient was brought in by two adults. Not family.”

Debbie’s relief twisted into something sharp and hot. “Who?”

“They didn’t give full names yet,” Harris said. “But the hospital reports her in stable condition, they won’t be sending her out.”

“She?” Debbie repeated, confused, then shook her head hard. “I’m sorry officer. My son is…”

Harris didn’t argue. He just nodded. “You should head over to the hospital..”

Debbie rushed to her car, hands fumbling with the keys.

“Thank you officer!” she said.

“Good luck, Mam. Your child is not in danger. Drive safe to the hospital.”

She didn’t respond. She was already pulling the door open, fury and relief tangled tight in her chest.

As she drove back toward town, her thoughts raced ahead of her.

Who took him?
Why didn’t he call her?
Why doesn’t he answer his phone?

***

“I’m here to see… Grace Miller. I’m his mother,” Debbie said to the exhausted looking man behind a counter in the emergency room.

“Allright, can I get an ID please?” he asked.

A few keystrokes later, “Allright Debbie, we have a Grace Miller here, she’s alert and being evaluated right now. I’ll let them know you’re here.”

Debbie drew herself up and raised her voice, “I’m his mother, I’d like to see him now.”

The man looked at her in silence for a moment, then determined he needed to shut this down. “Listen Ma’am. It’s been a long night, we just life-flighted a patient out, a tree fell on their bedroom. I will let Grace know you are here. Until then please have a seat.”

An ambulance pulled up to the door outside and in moments a gurney was unloaded. Debbie almost argued, but shook her head and quickly made her way to the small waiting room.

***

Grace hesitated, then frowned, “No, I can’t. I can’t see her.

The nurse nodded, “That’s fine. We’ll let her know. For now the doctor wants to do a CT scan of your head to check for anything internal.” The nurse checked the bandages on Grace’s head. “Looks like bleeding is under control. We’ll have you out of here soon.” The nurse started to leave.

Lucy stood up, “Wait, I’ll tell her. She at least deserves to know who we are.”

“Allright, I’ll point her out to you.”

***

Debbie checked her phone again, Nick should be here anytime. She looked up to see a nurse guiding a sleepy looking woman in rumpled sweats in her direction. The woman walked up and stopped in front of her.

“Hello, Debbie?” Lucy asked and quickly slid into the open seat beside her.

Debbie turned to face her, “Yes, and you are?”

“I’m Lucy Whitlock. My husband and I brought Grace to the hospital. She’s OK. She had a nasty cut on her forehead, but it probably looks worse than it is.”

Debbie didn’t look relieved, “Thank you, but why are you telling me this? Did they tell Grayson I want to see him? Who are you anyway?”

Lucy’s thoughts spiraled, Your son thinks he’s a girl, he sure as hell looks and acts like one. My fucking husband is the same damn way. Somehow they’re friends. Fucking crazy I know. She doesn’t want to see you, don’t blame her. You seem like a bitch. I guess I’m here because for some reason I care about this kid, and my dumbass husband, or wife. What the fuck.

Lucy bit her tongue. “I’m… We’re friends.”

Debbie lowered her eyebrows, “How are you friends with Grayson?”

Lucy explained, “Grace is taking my husband’s painting class at college. She’s really very talented. They’ve talked about where she lives for her paintings. So we knew she lived in a small trailer out by herself. When she didn’t answer we drove out there to check on her,”

Debbie nodded, “Thank you. You may have saved his life. I guess Grayson doesn’t want to see me.”

Lucy nodded, “I’m sorry, but they… she doesn’t want to see you.”

Debbie nodded, “I suppose you and your husband are supportive of my son’s situation?”

“Ma’m I really barely know Grace, but she showed me kindness and we’re supportive of her.”

Debbie looked down at her hands and then took a deep breath. “Lucy, I raised a son, in the way that the Bible commands us. I taught him, I prayed over him. He was created perfect and I will not pretend that this path the devil sent him on is good for him.”

Lucy felt the urge to tell this sanctimonious woman off, but pushed it aside. “Okay, don’t.”

Debbie spread her hands palm up, “Don’t you see, by going along with his delusions you’re feeding into it.”

Lucy chose her words carefully, “Look I’m not trying to get between you and Grace. I’m here because she was hurt, and she needed help.”

Debbie frowned and nodded, “I’ve seen the trailer. He’s going to need a place to go.”

A tall bearded man walked into the waiting room with a blond woman who looked way younger than him. Eyes focused on Debbie, he made his way over . “Hey, what’s going on?”

“Hi Nick. Hello Bella. The storm knocked your trailer off its foundation with Grayson in it. There was a lot of blood, but they won’t let me go back and check on him. He sent her out to tell me he’s OK,” Debbie pointed towards Lucy.

Nick turned to face her and then froze. Lucy was staring down at her feet. “Why are you here?” he asked.

“Do you know this woman?” Bella asked.

Nick’s expression quickly changed, “No, no, just trying to figure this out. You know Grace?” he asked.

“Your ex-wife can fill you in, I’m going back to check on her,” Lucy said and spun on her heel making a beeline for the patient rooms where the nurse buzzed her in.

It's the FINAL FLASHBACK chapter.

Chapter 21 January 9th, 2024

Grace set her lunch tray down across from Angie and glanced behind her. Kylie and Mitch were still in line.

Angie didn’t look up. She slid a folded paper note across the table. Grace slipped it into her pocket.

“Thanks,” Grace said, forcing herself to take a bite.

“Yeah, no problem. You can pay me later. Everything’s set for tonight.” Angie lowered her voice. “Ava said we can both stay there. They’ll help us find jobs and all that shit.”

Grace’s stomach turned. She looked over her shoulder again, suddenly sure she was going to throw up.

“You told them I was eighteen?”

Angie shrugged. “Yeah. Of course. They wouldn’t rent us the room otherwise.”

Grace pushed her food around with her fork. She couldn’t eat. “I can’t do this. We’re going to get caught.”

Angie’s jaw tightened. “Have you told anyone?”

Grace shook her head quickly. “No. No one.”

Angie reached across the table and covered Grace’s hand. Her grip was firm, almost reassuring. “Then how would we get caught? Just follow the directions I wrote you.”

“Couldn’t we just wait?” Grace asked. “Until I graduate?”

Angie leaned back, eyes hardening. “Sure. I’ll stop giving you girl juice.”

Grace flinched.

Angie went on, quieter now. “Do you really think you can keep hiding it? Your Mom’s gonna notice. She’ll probably make you get a haircut again. You think you can survive another year and a half in this shithole, Grayson?”

“Fuck you,” Grace said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Angie sighed. “I’m just being real with you. This is the only way we get free.”

Kylie and Mitch dropped into their seats, and the four of them fell into gossip about the shop teacher like nothing had happened.

***

Grace checked her watch. 7:00 a.m. She had barely slept.

Her phone sat on the nightstand, freshly wiped from a factory reset. She had done the same to her desktop PC.

At midnight, she had listened to her mom snore for ten full minutes before carefully creeping out of the house to hide a duffle bag in the bushes.

Now she slipped her new phone into the pocket of her baggy boy jeans. She took out her leather wallet, thick with cash. She pulled on a loose American Eagle T-shirt and went downstairs.

Breakfast was already going. Scrambled eggs, toast. Fox News murmured from the TV.

Her mom barely looked at her, just commented about her hair getting long. How it was time to stop by the barber shop.

Grace flinched.

Angie was right. She was leaving this world one way or another.

She said her goodbyes like it was any other morning.

Outside, she retrieved the duffle bag from the bushes. Angie’s 1996 Hyundai Excel waited at the end of the driveway, engine already running.

Grace climbed in.

She was free.

***

Grace rolled over on her mattress. Her nipples ached, the dull, sore kind of pain that never quite went away anymore. She smiled thinking about it. She checked her phone. 11:07 a.m.

Did she work today? What day even was it?

She got out of bed to quick and her head spun. Music thumped somewhere upstairs, voices overlapping, laughing too loud. Angie was already gone, she had a morning shift. Grace pushed herself upright and leaned against the wall, fumbling for the ibuprofen on the nightstand. The bottle was empty. It clattered to the floor.

Things were not going well.

There were five girls living in the three-bedroom, two-bath bungalow near Gravois Park. Something was always happening, parties bleeding into mornings, arguments that never quite resolved, people coming and going.

And then there was the camming.

The basement had been turned into a makeshift studio, all pastel walls and cheap string lights, a space that was always “occupied.” It seemed like someone was always down there in front of the ring light and laptop making some gooner’s dreams come true.

Grace learned quickly not to linger down there.

She had also learned how visible she was now. Men shouting from cars, men trying to talk to her on the bus, men slowing down when she walked home. Sometimes angry, sometimes smiling, almost always entitled. Like she existed for them to fuck with.

One of the girls had helped her get a job at a queer community thrift store. Twelve hours a week. Enough for groceries if she was careful. She’d arrived with five hundred dollars. She was down to fifty.

But at least she was trying.

A knock came at her door. Not really a knock, more like a confident tap.

“Grace?”

Miasey didn’t wait for an answer. She pushed the door open and leaned against the frame like she owned the place. Which Grace realized, she in fact did, or least she leased the place. She was already dressed, makeup perfect, phone in her hand.

“Hey,” Maisey said, cheerful. “I’ve been thinking about you.”

Grace’s stomach tightened. “Okay?”

Maisey stepped into the room, her purple curls bouncing behind her head and her eyes flicking around behind thick black eyeliner. “You need money. Like, real money. And you’re already doing all the work.” She gestured vaguely at Grace. “I’d like to help you out.”

Grace sat up straighter. “Help me how?”

Maisey smiled. “I’m gonna set you up with your own OnlyFans. I’ll help you with everything. Account, photos, pricing. You don’t even have to post right away.”

The words landed heavy and wrong.

“I don’t think I” Grace started.

“Relax,” Maisey said quickly. “I’m not pushing you into anything. This is about options. You deserve options.”

She held up her phone. “I’ve already started the account. If you want to finish I just need your ID. It’s required for verification. Takes like five minutes.”

Grace’s mouth went dry.

“I don’t want to do this. I’m sorry.”

Maisey frowned, just slightly. “Look, Angie told me you’re almost broke. I know you’re going to have a hard time with money next month. Do you want to go back to Bum Fuck Illinois?”

“I… “

Maisey cut her off. “Look Grace, the earning potential for a transsexual high school drop out isn’t very promising. Why do you think we do this? You’ve got assholes looking at you for free everyday. With this they pay to look at you. You’ll make at least 500 a month, maybe more if you’re talented.”

Maisey saw Grace's purse, the cute floral crossbody Angie had bought her from the thrift store where they both worked, sitting on the dresser. She went over and pulled out her wallet.

“Wait, um, my ID isn’t in there,” Grace yelled.

Maisey sat the purse down, “Okay, but you have one, right?”

Grace didn’t answer fast enough.

Maisey’s smile faded, replaced by something sharper. “Grace.”

The room felt suddenly too small.

“Why won’t you show me your ID?”

“I don’t know about camming and stuff,” Grace said.

“I’m not talking about camming, if you don’t want to fine, but why can’t I see your ID?”

Grace mumbled something about it being lost, or washed, or something.

“How old are you?” Maisey asked.

Grace stared at the floor.

Somewhere upstairs, someone laughed. Music thumped harder.

“Grace?” Maiseysaid again, slower this time.

Grace didn’t answer.

Maisey picked up the purse and pulled out the boys leather bifold wallet. Grace was planning on getting a girl's wallet, but kept forgetting. Maisey opened it and found the driver’s license.

Silence.

Maisey put the wallet back in the purse and sat it down. She turned her gaze to Grace and lowered her brow.

“I turn eighteen in October,” Grace said quickly, the words tumbling out. “I thought it wouldn’t matter.”

Maisey stepped back like Grace had moved toward her.

“No,” she said. “No. That matters. That matters a lot.”

She shook her head, “We can’t do this. We can’t have this.”

Grace felt the floor tilt beneath her. “I’m not asking you to”

You’re a minor. Do you fucking realize what that means, especially in this fucking state. In this fucking country. Your a fucking time bomb. You can’t stay here.”

Maisey walked out the room.

***

“Thanks again for the ride,” Grace said as she handed a twenty dollar bill through Angie’s rolled down window.

The girl folded the bill and stuck it in her bra. “No problem, should I stick around, in case..” Angie said.

“Thanks, but you don’t need to. I have nowhere else to go.”

Angie wiped a tear from her eye. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out, but you’ll be 18 in less than a year. I’ll have saved up a fat stash. We’ll get our own place.”

Grace nodded, “Sure, thanks for everything, you’ve been a good friend.” One lie deserved another Grace thought.

Angie smiled “Oh and I put some more girl juice in your bag. Love ya Sister.”

They hugged and Grace walked down her father’s drive to a house she’d only been to a few times.

Her Mom and Dad, Debbie and Nick, were divorced just a bit after she turned 16. Grace never knew it, but she come to understand that her Dad liked to fool around, as the Baptists would say. He was now living with a woman named Bella, who was ten years younger than him and had a six year old.

Before running away she stayed with her Mom, but had the option of weekends with her Dad. He was nicer to her, but Grace felt like she was interrupting. She didn’t get up to see her Dad much.

Her Mom’s car was parked in the driveway.

“Goddamn it Dad,” Grace said to herself. “You weren’t supposed to tell her.”

She walked up and rang the doorbell. Nick opened the door and did a double take.

“Grayson?”

Grace froze. Not because of the name, but because of the look on his face. Shock, relief, fear, all tangled together.

“It’s Grace,” she said quietly.

Nick swallowed. “Okay. Okay.” He stepped back, opening the door wider. “Come in. Please.”

The house smelled like dinner and something floral, a candle maybe. It didn’t feel like a place she belonged.

Debbie came out of the kitchen when she heard voices. She stopped short when she saw Grace. Bella followed her out.

“Oh my God,” her mother said. Then, louder, “Oh my God.”

Grace dropped her bags by the door. She felt suddenly aware of everything she hadn’t hidden. The makeup. The sweater slipping off one shoulder, the thin strap of her bra visible. Her hair curled and deliberate, her makeup, her nails, her earrings and the little floral crossbody purse she wore were all going to be a shock for her parents.

“I’m sorry,” Grace said. She meant it, mostly. “I shouldn’t have run.”

Her mother crossed the room and hugged her, hard and fast, like she was checking to make sure she was real. Nick hovered nearby, not touching, afraid to do the wrong thing.

“We were so worried,” Debbie said. “Do you have any idea”

“I know,” Grace said. Her voice was steadier than she expected. “I know.”

They sat. No one knew where to put her. Grace took the edge of the couch. Bella excused herself back to the kitchen. Nick explained that Bella’s son was at a friend's house, then cleared his throat. “We just want to understand what happened.”

Grace nodded. “I can tell you. But I’m not going to lie anymore.”

Her mother stiffened.

“I’m not doing that again,” Grace said. “I’m not pretending. I’m not cutting my hair. I’m not stopping.”

Silence settled over the room.

Debbie looked at Nick. Nick looked at Grace then got up and rubbed his hands together. “Maybe it’s better if we slow this down. Just for now.”

“I already did slow it down,” Grace said. “For years.”

No one argued with that.

Debbie tensed. “What happened to you? Where did you go?” The school had truancy officers looking for you. We filed a missing person report. You didn’t even call! You didn’t even call us. How could you do that!”

Grace calmly said, “I was living in a house with a bunch of girls in St. Louis. I worked at a thrift store.”

Grace’s lack of emotion pushed Debbie to break. “You traded your future to.” Debbied raised her open palm up and down in Grace’s direction. “look like this and work at a thrift store!”

Nick felt anger and reacted. He slammed a hand down on the cabinet nearby. “Goddamn it Debbie, that's not going to help. Do you want to drive Grayson away again?”

Grace flinched, please don’t call me Grayson, my name is Grace, I’m a girl.”

Debbie stood up, “Your name is Grayson, we gave you that name when you were born a boy. As God made you.”

Grace felt something in her chest go quiet. Not break. Just… shut down.

Nick exhaled sharply. “Debbie. Sit down.”

“No,” Debbie said. “I will not sit down and pretend this is normal. She disappears for a month, humiliates us, puts us through hell, and walks back in here like this is some kind of phase she picked up in the city?”

Grace met her eyes. “I didn’t do this to you.”

Debbie laughed, sharp and brittle. “You ran away.”

“I left,” Grace said and felt her tightly controlled calm slip away. “Because every time I tried to tell you who I was, you told me I was wrong. You eventually sent me to fucking conversion camp. Do you know how many times I’ve thought of killing myself! ”

Nick rubbed his face, pacing now. “This isn’t helping. None of this is helping.”

Bella had stayed quiet, hovering near the doorway with her arms crossed and an oven mit on her hand. She spoke carefully, each word measured. “I think everyone needs to take a breath.”

Debbie turned on her. “This is my child.”

“And this is my house,” Bella said, not unkindly. Just firm.

That did it.

Nick stopped pacing. He looked at Bella, then at Grace, then at Debbie. His shoulders slumped. His ex-wife glared at the younger woman and sat down on the couch.

“Okay,” he said. “Thank you. Let’s slow down.”

Grace almost laughed. Almost.

Debbie shook her head, tears welling now, anger collapsing into panic. “What are we supposed to do? Just let him live like this?”

Grace spoke before Nick could. Her voice was tired, but steady. “I promise, I’ll get a job, I’ll get an apartment. I just need a place to stay for a while, then I’ll get out of your hair. You’ll never see me again.”

Debbie was crying now.

Nick cleared his throat. “Grace… we’re glad you’re alive. We are. When I got that call, I thought.” He stopped himself. “We just want you safe.”

Bella chimed in, “You can stay with us.”

Debbie bit her tongue.

Graced nodded, “Thank you, but the truth is that I don’t feel like I belong here.”

Nick nodded slowly, as if convincing himself. “The trailer’s still there. The hunting trailer by Palestine. It’s got power, and water.”

Grace felt the shape of it immediately. Not an offer. A compromise adults could live with.

Bella relaxed a fraction. Debbie didn’t look relieved, but she didn’t object either.

“You can stay there as long as you want,” Nick said quickly. “I can check on you. I’ll pay to get your utilities back on.”

“How long?” Grace asked.

Nick hesitated. “It’s not that far from the college, if that’s something you’d want to do. You can even have my old truck.”

Grace nodded. “Thank you,” she said.

Debbie’s head snapped back toward Grace then Nick. She realized she had lost any say in the matter.

Grace looked across the couch. “Mom, I’m sorry I can’t be your son, but I can be your daughter.”

Debbie stood up and shoulder her purse. “I love you, and I always will but I can’t play pretend,”

Nick swallowed hard.

“I’ll walk you out,” he said.

Debbie left without a word. Nick came back in, “I know it doesn’t seem like it but your mother does love you, and she’s glad you came back.”

Grace smiled weakly, “Sure Dad.”

Welcome to my favorite chapter in the book so far. Thanks again for reading and your comments!

Chapter 22, October 29th 2026

Grace limped into the living room. She had some mild bruising on the side of her temple, and had a sore ankle, but otherwise was no worse for wear. Her ankle was still a bit swollen and wrapped in an ace bandage. She carefully dropped down cross legged on the floor, rested her bowl of popcorn in her lap and leaned against the couch. “Really, is this lowkey how I pay rent, you make me watch weird old movies?”
Grace had been staying with them for a bit over a week. It had actually been Lucy’s idea. Whit was shocked when she came back into the room in the hospital that night and said, “Grace I think you should stay with us for awhile.”

She salvaged what clothes and personal items she could from the trailer and Whit moved some things out of the spare bedroom and it became hers. It was all a bit awkward at first, Lucy and Whit had lived alone for so long. But they all seemed to adapt to each other’s routines in a few days.

Strangely enough, having Grace in the house seemed to taper Whit’s gender issues. Of all people he should feel comfortable presenting as feminine in front of her, but he put up his female clothes and seemed to slip back into the old Whit.

Lucy sat down on the end of the couch with her own popcorn and crossed her legs, “They are not weird, they are classics,” she said.

Whit opened the case and slid the DVD into the player, “You seriously have never seen The Princess Bride?” He asked.

Grace took a bite of popcorn then said, “Nope, remember my Mom was super religious and we didn’t watch stuff like that growing up.”

Lucy laughed, “Next time we’ll watch Labyrinth, I think you’ll enjoy it.”

Grace felt her cheeks blushing, “I’ve actually seen that one,” she quickly said.

Whit sat down at the other end of the couch and turned to Lucy, “Oh speaking of religion, your Mom called earlier to remind us that we’re going to their revival thing Friday night apparently.”

Lucy rolled her eyes, “I’m sorry in a moment of weakness I said we’d go. It means so much to her.”

Whit shrugged, “Yeah that’s fine, I’m sure it’ll be a bunch of fire and brimstone bullshit.”

Grace smiled, “Sorry got to work, not that I was invited anyway.”

She giggled as the movie started with little Fred Savage playing a 1980s baseball video game. “Wow, such advanced graphics,” she laughed.

“It really was for kids who were used to seeing atari 2600 graphics,” Whit said.

“Geeks,” Lucy said.

“Grace giggled some more, “That old man looks familiar,” she said when Grandpa, played by Peter Faulk, came into the shot.

“He should, that’s Columbo,” Whit explained.

Grace shrugged, “Columbo? Whose that?”

“He was like the world's most annoying detective, he literally drove the criminals nuts asking questions over and over again.” Lucy said.

“Oh this is one of those stories, inside a story, things. Cool,” Grace said as Peter Faulk opened his book and started.

When Buttercup appeared on screen, Lucy sighed like she’d been waiting years for that exact moment.

Grace tilted her head. “Princess Buttercup? She looks like she hasn’t blinked since 1987.”

Whit laughed. Lucy did not.

“You don’t understand,” Lucy said. “We rented this from Circus Video on VHS. We watched it so many times the tape went fuzzy.”

Grace glanced back at them, seeing something different now. Not just two tired adults in Northwest Acres. Two kids in some earlier version of Mud Creek, browsing a video store.

“Okay,” Grace said, softer. “I’ll suspend my Gen Z judgment.”

They watched in relative peace until the duel scene.

“Inconceivable!” Whit quoted a split second before the character did.

Grace turned slowly toward him. “Did you just… pre-say the line?”

Lucy grinned. “He does that.”

Whit looked vaguely embarrassed. “It’s just muscle memory.”

Grace popped another handful of popcorn into her mouth. “This is so theatrical. Like, everyone’s just committing so hard.”

“That’s the point,” Lucy said.

“Is it?” Grace asked. “No one talks like this.”

Whit glanced at her. “Some people wish they could.”

The room went quiet for half a second too long.

Grace looked back at the screen.

When Westley said, “As you wish,” Lucy’s shoulders lifted and fell in a way that didn’t match the scene. Grace noticed.

“Is that your favorite part?” Grace asked.

Lucy nodded. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Whit said quickly.

Grace studied them both. The couch between them wasn’t wide, but it felt like it had a canyon running through the middle they were trying to bridge.

“Okay,” Grace said. “I get it.”

“You do?” Lucy asked.

Grace nodded toward the screen. “It’s not about sword fights. It’s about someone saying the thing they actually mean.”

Whit’s jaw tightened slightly.

Lucy looked at Grace with something like gratitude.

The movie rolled on. The house was quiet except for the hum of the Whit’s pieced together sound system.

Halfway through, Grace pulled her knees to her chest.

“So this is what you guys did growing up?” she asked.

“Pretty much,” Whit said. “Movies. Music videos. Recording songs off the radio.”

Lucy smirked. “Waiting for the DJ to shut up before the chorus.”

Grace blinked. “So with those old tapes you couldn’t skip songs, you had to listen to the whole tape?”

Whit and Lucy both laughed.

“No,” Lucy said. “We suffered.”

Grace leaned back against the couch again. “Okay. I kind of love that.”

Whit looked at her. “What?”

“You guys have so much in common, growing up here.”

On screen, Inigo Montoya raised his sword.

“Hello,” Whit whispered automatically.

Grace waited.

“My name is Inigo Montoya,” he finished.

Lucy joined in for the rest.

“You killed my father. Prepare to die”

Grace rolled her eyes.

But she was smiling.

***

The huge parking lot at Harvest chapel was full, a giant tent sat in the center of the lot and very loud, raucous music was pumping out of it.

“My head is hurting already,” Whit said.

Whit and Lucy fell in with the stream of people heading towards the tent and were greeted by Troy and Angie Phelps. “Hey so glad you guys could make it,” Angie said.

“Oh yeah Brother Hale will be speaking the word tonight!” Troy said. Whit smiled. He’d never seen his two older painting students so excited before. For a moment he wished he could be like them. Just excited by the things that guys ‘round here got excited about. Football, beer, hunting, and Jesus.

“We think it’s so great you're letting that kid stay with you, maybe you can help them,” Angie said.

“Yeah, it’s great having Grace stay with us. It’s kind of like we get to be parents but we skipped all the hard stuff,” Lucy said.

Whit raised an eyebrow, this didn’t sound like the Lucy he knew, “She’s a great kid,” Whit added emphasizing the she.

Troy and Angie just smiled and nodded. A moment later Lucy’s Mom pulled them up near the front where her Friends of Jesus congregation had staked out some seats.

Lucy’s mom pressed programs into their hands like they were tickets to a concert.

“Brother Hale’s been on television,” she whispered proudly. “He tells it straight. No compromise.” Whit knew this, he’d done a google search. Levi Hale had stirred up some National news when he claimed that autism was a made up disease that was actually caused by spiritual poisoning from video games and LGBTQ culture.

Whit suddenly realized he shouldn’t be here but nodded politely and took a folding chair next to Lucy near the aisle. The tent canvas snapped overhead in the warm wind. Stage lights bathed the platform in harsh white. A drum kit pounded out something that felt more like a pep rally than church.

Lucy leaned close. “We can leave if it gets weird.”

Whit gave a tight smile. “It’s fine.”

It was not fine.

The band finished. The crowd roared like someone had scored a touchdown.

A very large man in a polo shirt stepped up to the lectern and raised his hands. “Hallelujah!” he yelled.

The crowd answered back, “Hallelujah!”

When the tent was silent the man lowered his head, “Bow your heads in prayer.” he said. Words started slow and understandable. He thanked God for the congregation, for the safe travel, for good weather, and it got faster. He asked God to give all men strength to hear the truth. And soon the words were pouring out, rolling together and becoming one. Finally slowing back down.

He finished with a red face, his collar soaked in sweat, in a strained whisper he said, “In God’s name I pray, Amen.”

A quiet echo of Amen’s emitted from the crowd and then the man shouted, causing the mic to clip “Can I get an Amen!”

The crowd shouted back, “Amen!”

“This is my parent’s pastor,” Lucy said with a smile. Her Mom and Dad, like most of the crowd around them, were entranced.

“For those of you who don’t know me, I'm Brother Patrick, Pastor at Friends of Jesus and I want to thank the good people at Harvest Chapel for this almighty coming together. All of God's children under one tent!”

The crowd roared with applause.

“I’m proud to introduce, for the final time during our Spirit Razin Revival Series, all the way from Antioch Tennessee, a man of God, a man of Truth, a man who isn’t afraid of the woke, a man who tells it like it is. Brother Levi Hale.”

The crowd were on their feet and the applause deafened Whit’s ears, he bent down and whispered to Lucy, “Is this professional wrestling?” She frowned and shrugged.

Then Brother Levi Hale stepped onto the platform.

He was larger than Whit expected. Thick neck, pressed suit straining at the shoulders, his grey hair short cropped in a way that reminded him of an 80s military action hero. He didn’t walk so much as occupy space.

“ARE YOU READY FOR TRUTH TONIGHT?” Hale boomed.

The tent erupted.

Whit felt the vibration in his ribs.

Hale paced the stage, voice rising and falling with practiced rhythm.

“We live in a time where people call evil good and good evil! Where confusion is celebrated! Where men abandon their God-given design!”

He opened his Bible dramatically. “If you would turn with me to 2nd Corinthians, chapter 4, verse 4.”

The tent was full of the sound of turning pages, Whit and Lucy sat their hands in their laps having not brought bibles. An older woman nearby uncapped a highlighter and highlighted the passage.

“After a moment Brother Hale read, “In their case, the god of this age has blinded the minds of the unbelievers to keep them from seeing the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God.”

Brother Hale paused dramatically, then asked “Who is the God of our Age? Well I’ll give you a hint. It’s not Jesus. The God in our current age in this world is Satan.”

He delved into his material, starting with video games, movies, then music. “The Devil's Doorways,” he called them. He was particularly harsh on the Netflix series Stranger Things, which he called a celebration of Satan's victory over Earth.

“First John 5:19 And we know that we are of God, and the whole world lieth in wickedness.” He paused and put the mic nearly in his mouth, “You see people, they… are… winning…”

“Their near victory is nowhere more clearly shown than the simple fact that they have corrupted the most basic part of God’s design. In the beginning, God created them male and female. Not male and male. Not female and female. Not confused and searching and experimenting! Am I a man today, a woman tomorrow, and maybe a cat on Wednesday?”

Laughter rippled through the tent.

“God didn’t give you a choice, he gave you a soul!”

Whit stared straight ahead.

Lucy glanced sideways at him.

Hale’s voice sharpened.

“They want your children. They want your schools. They want to tell your boys that they can put on a dress and call it identity. They want to mutilate young girls and call it medicine.”

The word mutilate landed like a slap.

Whit’s hands curled around the program in his lap.

“They say if you disagree, you are hateful. They even claim it’s violence to have a different opinion. They say if you protect your children, you are violent. But I tell you tonight this gender madness is not compassion. It is rebellion against God!”

The tent roared.

Lucy’s mom clapped, then stopped. She quickly looked over, realizing, since they took in Grace, this could be personal for her Daughter and Son in Law

Troy shouted, “Preach it!”

Whit’s vision narrowed.

He wasn’t thinking about politics.

He was thinking about Grace and about an embarrassed 12-year-old boy in Wal-Mart holding a sunflower sweater.

Hale stepped out from behind the podium to the edge of the makeshift stage and held his bible against his chest.

“Some of you are harboring this confusion in your own homes. Some of you are tolerating it in your families. That is not love. That is cowardice.”

Whit inhaled sharply. Brother Hale was looking straight at him, was this for real?

Lucy’s hand slid toward his knee.

Hale’s voice lowered, more dangerous now.

“If a man says he is a woman, he is lying. If a woman says she is a man, she is deceived. And if you affirm that lie, you share in the sin.”

The word lie echoed.

Whit stood up.

It wasn’t dramatic at first. Just a man rising from a folding chair.

Lucy’s fingers grabbed his wrist. “Whit.” whe whispered.

He gently pulled free. And turned into the aisle.

Brother Hale was watching and pounced..

“And some of you,” Hale said, eyes locking onto Whit like a predator sensing motion, “cannot even bear to hear the truth.”

The crowd shifted.

Whit felt hundreds of eyes.

Whit turned back to face him not thinking, just reacting. “I heard something,” Whit said, voice steady but loud enough to carry.

A ripple moved through the tent.

Lucy whispered sharply, “Whit, stop.”

Hale smiled.

“Brother, are you struggling with something tonight?”

Laughter from somewhere in the back. Whit turned and saw Troy and Angie frowning.

Whit felt heat crawl up his neck. But something else too. A strange clarity.

“Just left something in the oven, gotta run,” Whit said loudly to a smattering of laughter. He quickly turned and started down the aisle.

Hale didn’t smile, he smelled blood, wanted confrontation “Son, you can’t joke your way out this time.”

Whit shook his head. Lucy was in the aisle now moving after him.

Now the tent was fully alert, Brother Hale had turned a slightly uncomfortable situation into a morality play right before their eyes. He stepped over a loudspeaker and jumped off the stage onto the grass aisle.

Hale raised a hand theatrically, it was time to play his trump card, “Mr. Whitlock, you could help bring a lost person back to God’s truth, but instead you are affirming his confusion.”

Whit froze in his tracks and felt his chest tighten. Mr. Whitlock? Was this a setup, was the entire town in on it? Lucy caught him and took his hand.

“Lets go,” she said.

Brother Hale took another step forward, “Let’s pray for this man, that he doesn’t sow lies and sin, but God’s truth in his house.”

A chorus of Amens rose around Whit.

Whit laughed once, short and disbelieving.

“Don’t,” he said. “I don’t want your truth.”

Hale smiled.

“Jesus loves you. If you’re confused, he can help you son.”

The word son hit like a stone.

Whit stopped and turned to face Hale. His voice rose despite himself. “Don’t call me that.”

Silence fell, thick and electric.

Lucy’s heart slammed in her chest. She saw it before Whit did, the trap. “Darren come on!” she hissed and pulled his arm.

Hale took another step closer.

“What should I call you?”

The question wasn’t curious. It was bait.

Whit felt the moment stretching like a wire about to snap.

Lucy squeezed his arm. Time froze, Whit looked around, all these faces, looking at him. People he saw at the grocery store. Maybe this was a dream, or maybe he was in a play, maybe he was a character in someone’s novel. He just had to wait for the author to write his next line.

Whit smiled at that thought.

Sarah. That’s what the author wrote.

Instead he shook his head and turned to walk out.

Hale’s voice followed him, amplified and cutting.

“When the Spirit convicts, the flesh runs!”

Some clapped and Hale continued walking back towards the stage, “Pray for the Whitlock family, and pray for Grayson Miller.”

Whit didn’t turn back, but Lucy did.

“Her name is Grace, you self righteous asshole.” She turned to the crowd, “Hope you enjoyed the show.”

Now Whit was pulling her, and she felt hot tears streaking down her face as they passed under the tent. Standing people stared at them as they walked past the overflow crowd. The parking lot felt enormous and quiet compared to the chaos inside.

Lucy grabbed his shoulders.

“You had to make a scene.” she demanded, not angry, but terrified.

Whit’s breathing was uneven.

“I couldn’t sit there,” he said. “I couldn’t let him talk about her like that. Like she’s some disease. At least I didn’t call anyone an asshole.”

Lucy grinned despite the unease she felt, but smile quickly left her face

“And what about you?” she asked quietly.

Whit looked at her. “I’m fine. Let's go home.”

Chapter 23 October 31, 2025

Whit and Lucy were silent at the kitchen table eating waffles. This wasn’t their normal Friday morning routine, usually Whit got up early and ate a bowl of yogurt, took a walk, or watched youtube. Lucy slept in until she absolutely had to get up and start her shift caring for Anthony.

Lucy eventually broke the silence, “Mom texted me, she’s kind of pissed.”

Whit lowered his fork, “Yeah, well her Buddies of Jesus church brought that piece of shit to our town so I could care less how she feels.”

Lucy placed an elbow on the table and ran her hand through her hair, “All you had to do was sit there.”

Whit didn’t answer, he took another bit of waffle.

Grace walked into the kitchen, she was wearing a Hello Kitty sleep shirt that went down past her thighs and her hair was a mess. She was holding her phone out in front of her and her eyes were wide.

“What the absolute fuck happened?” she said.

Lucy and Whit looked at her in confusion.

“Umm, guys, you’re on reddit,” Grace said.

Lucy shrugged, “What’s reddit and why are we on it?”

Whit dropped his fork.

Grace sat down at the kitchen table and turned to show them her phone, someone in the back had held a phone up over the crowd. An AI voice said, “Bigot preacher confronts man and woman trying to leave his transphobic sermon. The video started with Whit getting up, and ended with Lucy turning around and saying, “Her name is Grace you asshole.” They are both plainly visible as they walk out.

“How many views does that have?” Whit asked.

Grace smiled, “A few thousand, now, but it was posted a few hours ago.”

Grace refreshed the screen.

“It’s not just Reddit,” she said quietly. “It’s on twitter too.” She lowered her phone and raised her eyes, unable to hide her anger. “Why did you say my name?”

Whit took a deep breath, “He started just like a typical reactionary sermon I guess. Saying music, video games, LBGTQ, all of it was ruining the world. Then he really started in on trans people and I felt like I had to leave.”

“But why my name? What did I have to do with it?” Grace said, her voice raising.

Lucy stood and grabbed her shoulder, “That’s what we don’t understand. He knew about you, he knew our name as well. When Whit tried to leave he actually called him out and said we were keeping Grayson Miller from God’s truth.

Grace seemed to visibly flinch at the mention of her dead name.

Lucy shook her head, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, or your name last night. I was just so pissed.”

“OK, so you were defending me, thanks I guess.” Grace paused for a second and her thoughts turned inward. Whit took her phone from her hand and started reading the comments on the video. Grace took a deep breath, “It was Mom, that fucking bitch. She goes to Harvest Chapel. She was there somewhere. She had to have talked to that preacher. She was always getting religious people to try to talk sense in me. I bet she asked him to pray for me, but he used her, he used all of us, to create a viral moment.”

Whit swallowed. “Someone found my name, in the comments.” He was quiet reading for a moment, then blurted out a nervous laugh. “Wonderful.”

“What now?” Lucy asked.

Whit frowned, “Some of the commenters think I’m Grace, that you were defending me?”

Lucy’s phone rang and she got up from the kitchen table and walked to the living room.

Whit continued scrolling, “All these people, it’s like they want to insert themselves into the story, be a part of it.”

Grace sighed, “It’s the algorithm, it loves stuff like this. It’s all about clicks and engagement. People comment because they are mad, but also because they know that people will like their comments.”

Whit handed Grace back her phone, “I can’t read anymore. I’ve got to get ready for work.”

Whit’s phone rang and he didn’t recognize the number.

“Hello.”

“Oh, OK.”

“Umm alright.”

“Thank You.”

Whit sat the phone down and took a deep breath, “That was Pastor Reynolds from Harvest Chapel. He just apologized, he’ll be releasing a video statement that their church doesn’t condone the personal attacks of Levi Hale.”

They heard Lucy’s voice booming through the living room. “Great, don’t call me again. And next time you need money, call your deadbeat son!”

“I guess Lucy’s Mom isn’t feeling as congenial.” Whit said.

***

Whit walked into the post office break room and saw a cluster of people around a clerk. Immediately she stopped whatever they were watching and put up her phone. The room got real quiet.. “Morning Whit,” people repeated as they walked out. For the next two hours Whit noticed people actively trying to act normal around him. Less banter was directed his way. He saw people whispering and looking over their shoulders. It was obvious, he was the story of the day. This was Mud Creek, small town gossip was all there really was to talk about.

Around ten Whit found himself loading up his LLV on the dock with Fred. The grizzled old city carrier leaned in close. “They showed me a video of you and Lucy telling that preacher off. Just wanted to tell you I ain’t ever had time for TV preachers. You’re OK in my book son.”

Son coming from Fred didn’t feel like an insult the way it had coming from Hale. Whit smiled and shook Fred’s hand.

“Course don’t know how everyone else feels, might have touched a nerve,” Fred said with a glint of mischief.

***

Whit walked in with his lunch box and dropped it on the kitchen counter. Lucy was already home cutting up vegetables for soup.

“So…” Lucy asked.

“So what?” Whit responded

Lucy glared, “Did anyone say anything?” she asked.

“No, well Fred told me he approved, but they all knew, just tried to avoid me I guess?” Whit said.

Lucy nodded with approval, “Did your parents call?”

“No, why would they?” Whit said. He hadn’t thought about his parents much lately. They had been living it up in a retirement village in Florida for 4 years now. Whit missed them sometimes, and they talked on the phone around once a week. The truth was that Whit hated admitting to himself was that they were gone and he was fine with that.

Lucy raised her hands, shaking the knife. “They are on Faceboook Whit, and the clip is too.”

Whit frowned, kept notifications off on almost everything and barely used social media. He took out his phone and opened facebook.

“Shit, 147 notifications, and 24 messages,” Whit said. He closed his phone and dropped it back in his pocket.

Lucy shook her hands, “Well are you going to read them?”

Whit pulled a can of diet soda out of the fridge. “Nope,” he said.

Lucy grunted and went back to chopping vegetables. “Mom, called, she apologized. She’s coming over for Halloween tonight.”

Lucy and her Mom had a long standing tradition of dressing like witches and handing out candy to trick or treaters from the front porch; they'd been doing it for years.

Whit sat his can down, “Oh, I thought that might be canceled. Do you have your costume ready?”

Lucy kept her eyes on the cutting board. “It’s in the hall closet. Same as always.”

Whit nodded once, then leaned back against the counter.

“Good,” he said. “I’m wearing one too.”

The knife stopped mid-chop.

Lucy slowly turned her head.

“You’re what.”

“I’m going to be a witch,” he said evenly and grinned. “Figured if we’re already the villains of Mud Creek, might as well lean into it.”

Lucy stared at him for a long second, trying to decide if he was joking.

“Whit,” she said carefully, “this is not the year.”

He shrugged. “Why not?”

“Because my mother is coming over. Because half the town saw that clip. Because I don’t need you in eyeliner when she pulls into the driveway.”

Whit crossed his arms. “It’s Halloween. No one cares.”

“This is different,” Lucy snapped.

“Is it?” he asked.

The silence stretched.

Lucy went back to chopping, harder now. Carrots snapped against the board.

“You always do this,” she muttered.

“Do what?”

“Poke the bear.”

Whit walked closer to the stove. “I’m not poking anything. It’s a costume. You and your mom have dressed like witches for ten years.”

“And no matter how I tried to get you involved you wouldn’t. Anyway it’s different now.”

“How?”

Lucy slammed the knife down and turned toward him fully now.

“Because if you’d dressed up in a feminine costume in the past, it would have been funny. When you do it right now, it’s a statement.”

Whit held her gaze.

“Maybe I’m fine with that.”

Lucy’s jaw tightened.

“You won’t do it,” she said finally.

Whit blinked. “What?”

“You won’t,” she repeated. “You’ll say you are. You’ll talk about it. But when my mom shows up, you’ll put on jeans and hand out candy like nothing happened.”

Something in her tone had shifted. Less irritated. More challenging.

Whit felt the familiar prickle of being underestimated.

“I will,” he said.

Lucy snorted. “Please.”

He stepped closer. “I will.”

She studied him now, really studied him. The stress in his shoulders. The exhaustion in his eyes. The stubborn line of his mouth.

Then her expression changed.

“Oh,” she said.

Whit frowned. “Oh what?”

“If you’re really going to do it,” she said, voice cooling into something almost amused, “in front of my mother… I cannot wait to see that.”

He hesitated.

Lucy crossed her arms. “You don’t even have a costume, and I mean a full costume. Hat. Makeup. The dress. The whole thing.”

Whit swallowed. “I bought one from Goodwill a few weeks ago. Before Grace moved in..”

Lucy raised an eyebrow. “Why haven’t you mentioned it?”

Whit sat down and and took a drink from his soda, “I guess after the accident and Grace moving in I got less focused on myself. But now I’m feeling like, Fuck it. Fuck this town, fuck the people in it. Fuck the post office, fuck Levi Hale. I’m going to be a fucking witch, and they can all suck my fucking dick.”

Lucy stood there silent for a moment, unsure if Whit was being funny or losing it. Finally she said, “Good. Because if you chicken out, I will never let you forget it.”

For the first time all day, a flicker of something lighter passed between them.

***

Grace smiled as she walked past a group of children with flashlights on the sidewalk dressed as Wizard of Oz characters and a smiling Mom. She was still wearing her Wal-Mart vest, but in honor of Halloween wore a headband with fox ears.

“Look Mommy, she’s dressed as a Wal-Mart fox,” one of the kids said.

Grace giggled and turned the corner of the sidewalk and saw three witches on the porch. She recognized Lucy and smiled. “Three witches, isn’t this a bad omen or something?”

Scary music played out of a little boombox on the porch and Lucy stood up from her chair, “Well hello there, what is your costume?”

Grace laughed, “I’m a worn out Wal-Mart employee who wants a shower and bed.”

A heavyset witch to Lucy’s right stood up and stretched out her hand, “Hello, you must be Grace.”

Grace took the hand and smiled, “Hello.”

The woman appraised Grace and seemed to glitch for a moment before letting go of the hand. “Good to finally meet you,” she said.

The tall witch to Grace’s left stood up, her face covered in green makeup and sharp, wicked eyeliner. Black hair framed her face. Grace shook her hand, but the witch said nothing.

Awkwardly Grace waited for her to do something before finally saying, “Hi, nice to meet you.”

“Hi Grace,” Whit said in a deadpan low voice.

“Whit? Oh shit,” Grace started laughing. “I had no idea.”

Lucy chuckled, “Yeah Esmerellda here has fooled everyone so far.”

Grace laughed, “Well you certainly fooled me Esmerelda,” Grace quickly winked. Then passed them by on the stairs.

“You’re welcome to hand out candy with us,” Lucy said.

“Thanks, but I’ve got to get a shower and rest,” Grace said as she went in.

“We ordered pizza, if you want some,” Lucy said.

“Thanks Mom,” Grace said with a chuckle. Lucy smiled and felt her cheeks blush.

Carla watched the door close and waited a few seconds, “Wow, so she used to be a…?”

“Grace is a girl Mom, period.” Lucy said.

“Yeah, I mean her voice is a bit off, but close enough. She seems really nice,” Carla said.

“She’s a good kid,” Whit said.

“So what’s the plan? How long is she going to stay with you?” Carla asked.

“That’s kind of up in the air right now, the trailer she was living in was insured, and Grace had alot of nice stuff in there. I think her Dad is just going to give her all the money, but I don’t think he wants to put another trailer there,” Lucy explained.

“Sounds complicated,” Carla said.

“Yeah they are weeks away from a payment so she’ll be with us for awhile I think, but it’s not a problem.”

***

By nine o’clock trick or treating was over, the boombox was put away, Carla was gone, and Lucy sat on the couch showered and in her PJs watching Halloween 2. Whit was still dressed like a witch.

“Well I was wrong, you did it.” Lucy said.

“Thanks,” Whit replied.

“Why don’t you go get that facepaint and makeup off,” Lucy said.

Whit nodded, he had been putting it off, but his time as a witch was ending. He got up and started to go to the bedroom.

“Oh hey Esmerellsa, would you take these pizza boxes out to the trash?” Lucy asked.

Whit smiled, “Sure.” It was one last time to step outside in a dress. He chuckled at the big pile of Amazon boxes nearby the trash can. Grace had been ordering a ton of stuff since losing almost everything she owned when the trailer was destroyed. Coming back in he locked the door and noticed an odd pink light coming from the back hallway leading to the spare bedroom.

He saw it was coming out from under Grace’s closed door, he got a little closer and heard some noises. Then the distinct sound of a chime, he’d heard it before on a livestream. The sound of a tip alert. Then he heard the voice.

“Oh, thank you so much, DaddyJ, that’s so generous of you,” It was Grace, but the voice was different, breathy, like she was performing.”

“You want to see the tail again?” she teased lightly. “Okay… just for you.”

Whit froze, he realized he wasn’t breathing.

“Only because you’re my favorite tonight,” she added, voice sliding into a playful purr.

The sound of her moving, Another chime, then digital applause.

“Listen Chat, It’s Halloween, and this kitten needs some love,” he heard Grace say. “No chat, it’s way too early to go private tonight. Check out my links, and my wishlist. You guys know your babygirl lost everything. Yeah Rib, I was literally in a tornado. It was the scariest thing that has ever happened to me. I went from streaming to being in the Emergency room. Yeah Alphadon, I went to the hospital dressed cute, tights with bows, a little skirt... Oh, you’re terrible.”

Whit started walking backwards from the door and down the hall. It suddenly came together. . All the stuff from Amazon was from her wishlist, he’d been delivering it for Months before he even met her. The way she was dressed the night of the tornado.

Grace was camming. How had he not seen it?

Whit reached the kitchen and stopped. Grace was inside a world that Whit had looked at from the outside for years. He had been the horny guy in the chats, he had roleplayed as the girl with others. What did this mean? Was this OK? Grace was an adult, she was not their kid, but Lucy would flip out if she knew.

It had to stop.

Chapter 24 November 4th 2025

Whit stood in the corner and counted heads. His painting class usually ran fifteen to twenty students. Tonight there were ten.

He knew at least three people had requested refunds from the college for their fees. Troy and Angie even had the gall to cite “poor instruction” as the reason they withdrew from the class.

Whit was on edge. He checked his watch. It was almost time to start.

Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins had congratulated him for standing up to “bigotry,” but they represented roughly half of the Coalition of Saline County Democrats. Mrs. Wicker seemed blissfully unaware of the controversy and was as personable as ever, though she generally only talked to her cats during the week.

“So is this bad?” Grace asked quietly as she slid up beside him.

“Well, it’s not good. The college requires a minimum of ten students to keep a class going,” he said.

Grace took a moment to count the room herself. “Well I’m ten, so you’re good.”

Whit shook his head. “Ten paying students, so…”

Grace smiled. “So my free ride scholarship is over? That’s fine, sign me up as a paying student. I can swing it.”

Whit smiled. “Thanks.”

Just then two young people walked into the classroom.

One had a perm,heavy eyeliner, a brightly colored macramé crossbody bag, a Grateful Dead T-shirt, and huge baggy jeans with dangling straps. The other was a wisp of a kid with thick glasses and a pixie haircut.

They paused in the doorway while the retirees in the room slowly turned and took them in.

The two youths scanned the room until their eyes landed on Whit. They exchanged a quick look and walked over.

“Hi, are you Darren Whitlock?” the smaller one asked in a squeaky, robotic voice.

Whit stuck out a hand. “Yes. Can I help you?”

The short kid shook his hand awkwardly.

“I’m Egon,” he said. “My pronouns are he/him.”

Whit nodded slowly.

The kid with the perm waved cheerfully. “Oh! Teehee. Hi, I’m Erica. I’m enby, so they/them.”

Their voice was performative, vowels stretched out just a little too long. Even when they said their name it sounded like a question.

Whit felt his brain doing mental gymnastics.

The one who looked like a girl was a boy, and the one who looked like a boy was…enby?

“Hi… um… Enby?” Whit said cautiously.

Grace rolled her eyes with a smile. “It’s short for non-binary, professor.”

Whit nodded quickly. “Right. Sorry. This is Grace, by the way.”

Both kids looked at her.

Their mouths fell slightly open.

“Hi,” Erica said slowly.

“Umm… hello?” Grace replied.

Whit clapped his hands lightly, breaking the moment.

“Okay, Egon, Erica. What brings you to my class tonight?”

Egon seemed to be the designated speaker. He looked slightly past Whit, like he was addressing someone over Whit’s shoulder.

“We heard you were a teacher, and we’re interested in signing up for your art class.”

Whit nodded. “Okay… and how old are you?”

“We’re both sixteen. Juniors at Mud Creek High School. We take art there too.”

Whit looked over at Grace with a grin. Now it made sense.

“Sixteen is allowed, but I’ll need a parent or guardian’s signature. There are six weeks left in this session, so tuition will be prorated. I’ll grab the forms and you two can take an easel tonight. Just bring back the signature and tuition next week and we’re good.”

The two looked at each other, smiling.

“Wow, that’s great, Mr. Whitlock,” Erica said.

Egon nodded, then added, “Yeah, and we just wanted to say… it was awesome when you told off that transphobic preacher.”

Whit gave an uncomfortable smile. “Thanks.”

The two new students wandered off toward the easels.

Grace’s grin spread from ear to ear.

“So the legend grows.”

Whit furrowed his brow and went off to grab paperwork.

***

Grace climbed into the Jeep beside Whit and shut the door. “Well what’s it like to be a queer icon?” she asked.

Whit grunted, and didn’t reply. He put the keys in the ignition but didn’t didn’t start the Jeep.

“Is something wrong?” Grace asked.

He’d been putting this off, waiting for a time when he was alone with Grace. Whit had that feeling like he was going to say something he was going to regret, but like ripping off a bandage, it had to be done.

“Why were you dressed the way you were dressed the night of the tornado?”

Grace was taken aback, “Dressed? What are you talking about Sarah?”

Whit didn’t skip a beat, “Please don’t play dumb Grace, you know what I’m talking about.”

He could tell he had struck a nerve, she narrowed her eyebrows, and clamped her jaw down tight.

“No, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” she said through a clenched jaw.

Whit sighed, “OK, Halloween night, I heard you in your room, performing.”

Grace lashed out, “What the fuck Sarah, are you spying on me now. You're not my Mom.”

Whit felt himself growing angry, the fact that Grace was referring to him as Sarah went completely unnoticed. He raised his voice, “I wasn’t spying, I just walked by the room that I’m allowing you to stay in and heard it. Do you realize what half the town thinks of us now? We brought you dressed like a sissy camgirl into the emergency room. They think we’re all perverts.”

Grace began to cry, she opened the door of the Jeep, “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you! Fuck you Sarah,” she said and got out.

Whit took off after her, and caught her a few steps across the empty parking lot. “Wait, I’m sorry. Please stop, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Grace spun around, and spoke through tears, “You discovered the glamorous secret life of a Wal-Mart personal shopper. Of course I’m camming. I work 30 hours a week for minimum wage and save every penny I can for surgery. How do you think we met? How the hell do you think I bought so much shit from Amazon. The easel you delivered to me came from shaking my ass for some freak somewhere, probably in Abu Dhabi or some shit.”

Whit met her gaze, “It’s dangerous Grace. There are dangerous people out there.”

She rolled her eyes, “You really do think you’re my Mom? Look I appreciate the concern, but I know what I’m doing. I use secure platforms, I never share personal information. I wear so much makeup and different wigs that I doubt anyone would recognize me when I’m not in “slut mode.”

Whit was at a loss for words, this was a side of Grace he hadn’t seen. She was nineteen years old and had been living alone for a year now. Still he needed to make his point.

“OK, fine, I’m being a worried Mom, but you’re nineteen, you're smart and talented. You could do so many things,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder.

She turned away and brushed his arm off, and wiped tears out of her eyes. “You think I don’t know it’s not a long-term career path. You think I wake up in the morning like, ‘wow, I hope I get to masturbate for lonely dudes on the internet for the rest of my life.’”

Whit found himself crying, and looked down, “I’m worried about you.”

Grace’s expression softened slightly.

“I know,” she said.

Then she tilted her head.

“But you’re also judging me.”

Whit opened his mouth.

“No, I…”

“Yes,” she said calmly. “You are.”

Whit didn’t deny it.

Grace looked over her shoulder, there were a few people coming down the steps from the college. “I’m sorry, let's get back in the Jeep,” Grace said.

Whit nodded and they climbed back in and shut the doors. Whit started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot.

“You don’t understand what it’s like yet.” She turned and looked Whit in the eyes, “When I ran away at 17 I was living with a bunch of girls in St. Louis. They were all camming, or doing more,” she said.

Whit focused on the road, two hands on the wheel. He started to speak but Grace put a hand on his shoulder.

“Wait. It was like a major mindfuck. All the sudden I was living as a girl, working in a thrift shop. But everywhere I went people stared, or worse. They threw me out when they found out I was 17, but I hated it and was ready to leave anyway,” Grace said.

“That sounds hard,” Whit said.

Grace nodded, “I only got caught because they wanted me to start camming. I said I would never do that. Funny thing is they tried to explain it to me. See, when you’re a girl, especially a young trans girl, for some people you’re just an object. For some you’re like… You’re like something they can pour their love or hatred into. For others you become a fantasy. They want to know things, they want to live their dreams through you. You’re camming just waiting for the bus, whether you want to or not. It’s weird because you know it’s not about you, but the attention still feels good. Like someone finally cares about you.”

Whit nodded, “That's why you cam?”

Grace gave a small shrug, “Yeah, well that and the money,” she said with a sarcastic laugh.

Whit frowned, “I’m sorry but I don’t like the idea of people seeing you like that,”

“Welcome to womanhood, Sarah.”

Whit didn’t know how to respond to that. He was suddenly aware that Grace had been referring to him as Sarah and he hadn’t even thought about it.

“The funny thing is that you missed that part, for better or worse,” Grace said.

“What do you mean?”

Grace shifted over in her seat closer as they pulled onto the highway back to Mud Creek. “You’re already an adult. If you transition people are going to see you as… something else.”

“A man in a dress.” he said quietly.

“Yeah, probably at first. But I think it’ll get better.”

They were silent for a moment as the empty harvested fields slid by out the window.

Grace broke the silence, “Bottom surgery will cost over 30,000 dollars. I’ve been saving for a year and have 10,000. That’s why I was living in that trailer, that’s why I’m camming, and that’s why I’m leaching off you and Lucy.”

Whit felt hurt, “You’re not leaching, you’re our guest.”

Grace smiled, but inwardly she felt a mix of emotions. Sure I’m your guest now, but for how long? I should just move on before the novelty of saving the trans girl wears off on them.

Whit smiled, “Since I’m on a roll there’s a couple other things I wanted to talk about, and since I’m your Mom now, I might as well get them off my chest.”

He pulled onto main street and took the long way back to Northwest Acres, through the mostly empty downtown and past the fading murals.

“You need to get out of this town, and to me, going to college seems to be the best way to do that. I want to help.” Whit explained.

Grace laughed, “Great, are you going to pull some money from my trust fund Mom?”

“No but I want to help you get your GED. I picked up some materials from the college. I doubt you need prep classes, probably just a little studying. I’ll pay for tests.”

Grace leaned back in her seat and stared at the dome light. “OK, so I’ll have a GED, then what?”

Whit turned to look at her, “Then you enroll in college, you could start in the Spring.”

“OK, but I’m not spending my savings on that.” Grace replied.

“Grace!, You are technically homeless, you’ll qualify for a full Pell Grant and a full MAP grant. Tuition is only like 5 thousand, you’ll have thousands left over. You can keep living with us for free, and save it all.”

“Sarah, you better not be fucking with me,” Grace said unable to hide the excitement in her voice.

Whit laughed and pulled into the driveway. “I’m serious, but I have one more request.”

Grace nodded, “Stop camming?”

Whit shook his head, “No, that's your private life. But I’m going to trust that you’re safe about it. And for the love of God don’t let Lucy find out.”

“Ok what then?” Grace asked.

Whit took a deep breath, “Over in Carbondale they have an LBGTQ center, on Thursday nights there is an open group session for trans people. Go with me.”

Grace stared at him for a moment.

“You’re inviting me to therapy?”

Whit shrugged, “It’s not therapy, just a support group.”

Grace winced, “Is it a bunch of people sitting in a circle of folding chairs crying, because honestly camming is a lot more fun than that.”

Whit tried to suppress a laugh, “I don’t know what its like, I’ve never been.”

“So you want me to go with you… to your first therapy group… because you’re scared to go alone?”

Whit opened his mouth, then closed it again.

Grace smiled slightly.

“That’s actually kind of adorable, Sarah.”

Whit groaned. “It might help both of us?”

Grace smiled, “Why are you trying to help me so much?”

“That’s what Moms are for,” Whit said with a laugh and shut off the engine.

Grace opened the door and turned back to Whit, “OK, I’ll go, but if it’s a bunch of people holding hands and talking about their inner child, I’m blaming you.”

Whit smiled, “That’s fair.”

“Oh and Sarah, Thank you.”

Chapter 25 November 6th 2025

“When I was a kid, my Dad drove us over here to the Mall sometimes on weekends,” Whit said to Grace as they passed the welcome to Carbondale sign.

Grace rolled her eyes, “Sarah, are you gonna tell me a ‘back in my day’ story?” Whit knew what she was doing, every time she called him Sarah a little hit of dopamine was released.

Whit frowned, “You just can’t understand, You’ve grown up in a world where everything is just a click away. We had to go out and find the world.”

They looked over at the Mall, looking sadder than it ever had. The Ross at the far end was bustling but the Mall itself had only a few cars. “Wow, it’s so hard to believe.”

“Can I have my donut now?” Grace asked in a fake childish voice.

Whit nodded, remembering that she negotiated for an iced coffee and vanilla cream donut. He pulled off into the dunkin donut across the street.

They had 30 minutes until the meeting, and sat down at a booth with their donuts and coffee. “I really shouldn’t be drinking this,” Whit said as he took a sip.

Grace took a bite of her donut, “Yeah me neither, oh well.” She took a sip of coffee. “I hate malls. My parents took me to the big one in St. Louis a few times as a kid. They bought me lame school clothes, it sucked.”

Whit laughed, “I’m telling you if you were alive in 1988 you would have loved the mall.”

Grace rolled her eyes, “I doubt it.”

Whit tilted his head and looked at the building across the highway. His eyes drifted far away. “It was a few days before my tenth birthday. My parents took me over there to the Mall. I’d just started this little collection of miniatures. I had a few little glass bottles, some collectable thimbles, and my Mom gave me a little mini cabinet thing to keep them in. We went through Waldenbooks, I looked at comic books. We walked through KB Toys. We threw pennies in the fountain. Then the real surprise. We went to Sears and rode the escalator and..”

“I’ve rode an escalator,” Grace said with a laugh.

“Yeah, well… Anyway, we were walking through the jewelry section and I was looking at all the sparkling stuff, and there was this cabinet of little pewter miniatures. See Mom and Dad, they were just window shoppers, we hardly ever bought anything, but I said, ‘One of those would be great for my collection. They said I could pick one out. I was so surprised.”

“What did you pick out?”

“A unicorn, my Dad was so annoyed,” Whit chuckled.

Grace laughed despite herself, “Oh my God Sarah, that is so sweet.”

Whit grimaced and looked at the older couple having coffee. They were around the same age as Lucy and him. They didn’t seem to notice that the young woman called him Sarah. They sat across from each other, both engrossed in their phones. Lucy would be on her phone if she were here.

Lucy had taken the whole thing surprisingly well. There was no more sneaking around and inventing stories. He explained that he was taking Grace to a group therapy meeting.

“You mean she is taking you to a group therapy session,” she said with a knowing grin. Still he knew his wife. She was annoyed. They spent the last night studying for the GED, and tonight they were going to Carbondale. She was feeling left out. They invited her, but Lucy wasn’t interested.

Whit looked over at his destination, “You’ve never really been here?” he asked and parked the Jeep against the curb.

“No, my friend drove me over here to Planned Parenthood where she got estrogen. We drove by this place but we didn’t go in,” Grace said as they crossed the street.

Whit and Grace walked into the Southern Illinois Pride Center. A converted storefront on the square. The glass windows were covered in large rainbow vinyl wraps.

Inside, the space was brighter and more colorful than Whit imagined. Every wall was splashed with colors, a wide variety of flags hung around the room. Near the door a bulletin board was plastered with flyers, HIV testing, drag show, community rummage sale, housing, even a local furry group.

A reception desk was only a few more steps in with welcome written on the front in rainbow letters. A woman with short gray hair looked up from behind the desk.

“Hey. Welcome, you folks here for the group meeting?”

Whit froze up, “Umm.”

“The trans group meeting is tonight?” Grace asked.

“That’s right, is this your first time here?” the lady asked.

“Yes,” Whit blurted out.

“Great, could you just sign our guestbook, if you have an email address you’d like to give we can stay in touch,” she said.

Whit tried to control his shaky hand as he wrote out his name and email. Grace chuckled, and took the pen.

“Right down the hall in the main room,” the woman pointed.

They followed a short hallway toward a multipurpose room where the sound of quiet conversation spilled out into the hall.

Whit paused at the doorway.

Inside, about eight people sat in a loose circle of folding chairs. Some were talking, some were scrolling on their phones. A young person with bright blue hair waved them in.

“Come on in,” they said.

Whit hesitated.

Grace nudged him gently with her elbow.

“You drove all the way here,” she whispered.

Whit took a breath and stepped inside. Several folding tables were pushed against the wall to make room for the circle of chairs. The walls themselves were filled with shelves of board games and art supplies.

The blue haired person stood up and greeted them, “Hey I’m Jax, welcome, there's a couple of empty chairs, we are about to start.”

Whit nodded and they took a chair, Grace tapped him on the shoulder and leaned close, “Hey, I’m actually nervous, I’m just hiding it better than you.” Whit smiled despite himself.

Jax sat down, “Good evening everyone, we have a few new faces tonight. Welcome!” they said in a bright and cheery tone.

“We’ll start off with introductions, say the name you’d like us to use here tonight, your pronouns, and if you can, why you’re with us. My name is Jax, they/them, and I’m the group coordinator here at Pride Center. I'm working towards becoming a licensed clinical social worker as a student at SIU.”

Jax nodded to the person beside them and introductions began to move around the circle. A few people spoke quickly.

“Hi, I’m Dani, she/her, just here to listen.”

“Tyler, he/him. Looking for support.”

Whit tried to pay attention, but the words blurred together, his heartbeat sounded louder than their words. He was coming up soon.

The next woman looked to be about his age, dressed like she had come straight from work in business casual. “Hi, I’m Sadie, she/her. My daughter came out last year. She’s fifteen and I’m trying to support her the best I can.”

Whit glanced over at Grace and saw she was turned sideways and looking down.

The older woman next to Whit looked like she was dressed for church Sunday morning, long floral dress, and hair tightly styled. “I’m Marlene, she/her. Started my transition last year at 50.”

There was an awkward pause then Whit realized he needed to speak, and had no idea what he was going to say. “I’m Darren, but most people call me Whit. I umm, oh he/him. I’m here because I’ve… I’m here to support my friend Grace.”

Grace’s look lingered a bit too long on Whit, then she said, “Hi, Grace she/her. Been transitioning for 3 years and I’m here to support my friend Whit.”

There were several chuckles around the room. Finally a quiet person in a big oversized hoodie, spoke, “Uh… Evan. they/them.”

Jax smiled and looked around the circle.

“Thank you everyone, really glad you could be here tonight. Just a reminder this is a safe space, we are here to share and listen. You never have to share more than you want to.

They leaned back and crossed their leg, then continued, “Like usual let's just start off with small wins this week, or maybe even something that just didn’t suck?”

There was another light chuckle. Then Tyler spoke out, “I finally got my name and marker changed at the DMV, it was actually pretty painless.”

Someone else talked about work going well, another person talked about being invited to their brother’s for Thanksgiving. Marlene mentioned finding some really great jeans at Good-will.

“Well Mamadani is going to be the next mayor of New York, so that’s pretty cool,” Evan said. There was agreement around the room, and the room vaguely discussed how messed up the country was, but didn’t dwell on it.

“Anyone else?” Jax asked.

Grace noticed Jax looking at her with an inviting smile, and spoke. “OK what the hell. My home was destroyed by a tornado, or something like a tornado, a couple weeks ago. Whit and his wife let me move in with them for a while because my family is insane, so that’s pretty awesome.”

There was a round of applause and Marlene patted Whit on the shoulder.

The room settled again after the last of the small wins. The energy shifted, things were about to get serious.

Jax nodded gently. “If anyone wants to share what’s been hard lately, or something you’re working through, the floor’s open.”

A pause.

Then someone across the circle started talking about work, about a supervisor who kept “forgetting” their pronouns. Another person talked about family, about not being invited to a holiday anymore. The words came slowly, uneven, but no one interrupted.

Whit barely heard most of it.

His attention kept drifting to the two women on either side of the circle.

Marlene sat upright, hands folded loosely in her lap. The long dress fit her perfectly, not in a flashy way, just comfortable. Her voice, when she had spoken earlier, had been soft but steady. There was a confidence in her, like she had already fought whatever battles had needed fighting and come out the other side of them.

She looked like she belonged here. Like she belonged anywhere.

Whit found himself thinking, She just looks normal.

Across from her sat the other woman.

Samantha.

Whit hadn’t caught her name at first, but someone had used it when they spoke to her earlier.

She sat slightly hunched, hands clasped tight together like she was holding onto something invisible. Her wig sat just a little off, the line at the front too sharp, the color not quite matching her eyebrows. When she shifted, it didn’t move quite right. Her voice, when she spoke briefly before, was deep and unsettling.

She looked tired.

Not just physically. Worn down in a way Whit recognized immediately.

Whit felt something uncomfortable twist in his stomach.

Two older trans women, but two completely different outcomes.

He glanced back at Marlene. Then back at Samantha.

How does that happen?

Was it money? Timing? Effort? Luck?

Or was it just… a coin flip.

Whit swallowed.

The conversation moved slowly around the circle, one person at a time. He barely tracked who was speaking anymore.

Then Jax looked toward Samantha.

“Samantha, do you want to share tonight?”

There was a small pause.

Samantha nodded, almost imperceptibly.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice quiet. “I guess I can.”

She didn’t look up as she spoke.

“The divorce is finalized, and I’m in my new apartment. This week I’ve just been thinking. Why did I wait so long? I waited a long time. Longer than I should have.”

A few people in the circle shifted slightly, listening.

“I told myself I’d deal with it when I retired,” she continued. “That I just needed to get through work, get through… everything else.”

She gave a small, humorless laugh.

Whit felt his chest tighten.

Samantha’s hands twisted together.

“You know, We’d been married for thirty-eight years.”

She paused.

“I..” She stopped to wipe a tear and Jax put an arm over her shoulder.

No one spoke.

“I wish I could go back, I’d…”

She shrugged slightly, like she was apologizing for it.

The room stayed still for a moment.

Whit stared at the floor.

Go back and do what?.

The question echoed in his head. Would you start earlier, would you never have done it?

He looked up again, almost without meaning to.

Marlene sat across the circle, listening, calm, present, steady.

Samantha sat a few chairs down, small, folded in on herself.

Whit felt like he was looking at two diverging roads at the same time.

They made the same decision, did the same thing.

His throat felt tight.

Is that what this is?, You either end up like her… or like her?

Whit looked down at his hands.

For the first time, the question didn’t feel abstract anymore.

It felt immediate.

And it felt like it wasn’t going to wait forever.

Authors Note: Hi! Seven chapters left I think. Thank you for all being my beta readers. Your comments are what keeps me excited to continue posting. If you've enjoyed my story there is something you could do for me. Give me some constructive criticism. I'm going to go back through the text and work on grammar, but I'm also considering making a few changes. You could also let me know where you think this is going to go. I wanted to explore if it would be possible for an "established normal" person to transition in a small town, since I am a normal person transitioning in a small town.

Chapter 26 November 14th, 2026

Grace caught herself biting her fingernails as Whit parked the Jeep. Two skinny young men, and one thick young woman were working near the tall open garage door of the Shawnee College Auto Center. The guys were dressed like your typical Southern Illinois “good ol boys” camo hats and aggressive hoodies. The woman was wearing dark coveralls, had her hair tied up over her head. She rolled a wheel across the parking lot. They were all stained with grease.

Grace looked over at Whit in the driver’s seat, “These are the kind of people I try to avoid.”

Whit smiled, “These are the kind of people that fix your truck for free. Be nice,” he said and got out of the car. Grace hesitated before getting out, and standing behind Whit.

The smell hit her first, oil, rubber and something burnt. “Friends in Low Places,” could be heard on a tinny radio somewhere in the shop. Grace saw her truck was parked outside near the garage door.

“Hey, the F-150 right?” One of the young men said as he walked up to Whit. Wiping his hands on a greasy rag that wasn’t helping.

“Yeah, it’s hers.” Whit said and pointed back to Grace who tried to not shrink away.

The guy nodded and smiled, “Yeah, so… You’ve been driving it like that?”

“Yeah, I know it was kind of messed up,” Grace said.

“Kind of…” He chuckled. “Yeah, it was runnin’ pretty rough,” glancing back toward the shop. “Check engine light was on. We pulled codes, you had a couple misfires. Plugs were shot, the coil pack on cylinder three was basically dead.”

The other guy chimed in from behind him. “Air filter was nasty too. Like, real bad. Oil was a quart low, and probably hadn’t been changed in years.”

The woman snorted. “Thing probably couldn’t breathe.”

Grace felt her face warm. “I just… drive it.”

“That’s fine,” the first guy said quickly, not unkindly. “That’s most people.”

He pointed back toward the bay. “We swapped the plugs, threw a new coil on it, cleaned up the throttle body a bit. It’s idling a lot smoother now.”

“And your tires were done,” the woman added, stepping forward. “Like cords showing done.”

Grace blinked. “Oh.”

“We had a set of used ones with some life left,” she said. “Not pretty, but they’ll get you by. Way better than what you had.”

Whit nodded. “That’s great, we really appreciate it.”

The first guy shrugged. “That’s what we’re here for. And listen. Don’t get rid of that truck, it’s a beast. To get abused like that, and still be running. Plus when they drop an EMP on us, all these new cars and trucks won’t even start.”

“Craig, what the hell are you talking about, EMP?” an older man with a grey beard and aviator glasses in school issue coveralls said as he walked up.

The young student turned back towards his teacher, “You know it’s coming Binford, EMPs, then black helicopters.”

The teacher just rolled his eyes and gestured toward the truck. “You can fire it up if you want. Should feel different right away.”

Grace hesitated.

Whit looked back at her. “Go on.”

Everyone was watching her, she froze up for a second, but she glanced at their faces and realized this wasn’t about her, it was about their work. She got in her truck and saw the key in the ignition. It turned over, and instead of sounding like it was choking and sputtering began to hum like a sewing machine.

Grace got out and smiled, “Wow, it’s never run like that.”

“Yeah’ she’s a keeper,” craig said.

“Thanks a ton for this Al, what do we owe?” Whit asked.

Binford took them inside the garage to a small office and pulled a yellow paper off his desk, ”We just had to buy a filter, a set of plugs and a coil. That came to 212.73, the tires are free. “

Grace took her wallet and counted out the cash. “How much would this have cost if it was a regular shop?” she asked.

“Probably about 600 and they wouldn’t give you tires,” Binford said with a grin.

Grace nodded and felt uncomfortable.

On the way out she turned towards the three auto students, “Can I buy you guys lunch or something?” She said as she held out a couple of 20 dollar bills.

They all looked at each other with funny smiles. “Umm, just bring us a case of beer next time,” camo hat guy said.

“You're not old enough to drink Craig,” the woman said with a laugh and went on pushing her tire.

“Yet somehow I end up drunk every Friday night,” Craig said.

Grace felt her cheeks grow warm, “Thank you so much,” she said.

The other young man grinned, “No problem, just keep an eye on your oil.”

***

An hour later Whit paced back and forth in his kitchen. Grace walked in wearing a black sleeveless skater dress. “How do I look?”

Whit stopped pacing and smiled, “You look ready to go tear it up.” He said.

“OK, I changed my mind. I’m not going, I’m coming with you,” she said.

“No, you’re not. I’m doing this alone. And you’re going to go have fun.”

Grace frowned. “I haven’t been skating sinceI was like ten years old, I don’t even think I can. I’m going to make a fool of myself.”

Whit smiled, “it’ll come back to you, it’s like riding a bike. I’m sure you’ll be fine, just be careful.”

Grace walked over and gave Whit a hug, “Thanks so much, for everything.”

Whit felt a warmth spread through his body. Is this what it’s like to be a parent?

“Thank you for being my friend,” he said.

Grace took a step back and swished her skirt around, “So how did Lucy take it?”

Whit took a drink from a glass of water and looked at his watch and thought about how lucky he was that the timing was working out so well. Lucy would be home from work in an hour. He could leave without seeing her. “I don’t know really, she didn’t react much. She wanted to know what it was going to cost, and when I told her insurance covered it she seemed satisfied.”

“That’s it?” she asked.

“Yeah, it’s kind of weird, but I wish she would have gotten mad, or cried, or at least asked questions. She just said, ‘it’s your life.’”

Grace nodded, “Yeah, it’s a big step, she probably hasn’t processed it yet.”

Whit nodded and sat his glass of water on the counter, “I can’t believe I just called a few days ago, and I’m just going to walk in there and get estrogen.”

“I know it’s crazy. It’s like, they really think it’s your body and you should be able to do what you want with it?” Grace said with fake sarcasm.

My appointment is in an hour, I better go.”

Grace nodded, “I think I’m going to throw up.”

“You're going to be fine, you’re just going skating with friends.”

“I have friends?” Grace asked.

“I know, I don’t get it either.”

***

Grace did a double take as she pulled into the Skateland parking lot. She was a few minutes early and the rough gravel parking lot was packed. A line of adults stood outside the building. She didn’t see any skater dresses.

She saw Evan in his oversized hoodie standing with a few others near the door. He was carrying a metal skate case. She had to psyche herself up before stepping out of her truck and making her way over.

Grace had been surprised when Evan approached her after the last meeting, and invited her to go skating. but she was the person there closest to their age. Evan made it very clear, “skating with friends” and without really thinking Grace said Okay.

Evan was a little taller than Grace, thinner, and little round glasses. Standing beside them was a tall girl with a mess of curly hair that bounced, she wore thick oversized glasses that kept sliding down her nose every time she giggled, which seemed to be most of the time.

Next to her was a short girl with blue hair, a bit chubby. She had her arm hooked casually through the taller girl’s. She seemed to talk with her body, her free hand moving, and leaning in like everything she said had to be delivered with intensity.

The fourth friend was a lanky girl with long black hair and big eyes. At first Grace thought she was making an exaggerated face at someone, baring her teeth. But then she noticed the faint scarring along her lips. Her expression didn’t change, even when she laughed along with the others.

No one seemed to notice or care, They all looked… comfortable.

Grace hesitated just outside their circle, suddenly aware of the chilly wind cutting through her tights, her short dress whipping around, and how awkward she was standing trying to hide her hands.

Evan saw her and smiled, “Grace, glad you could make it. These are my friends. Guys this is Grace.”

There was an awkward bit of head nodding, and hellos.

The girl with blue hair spoke up, “I’m Angel, and this is my girlfriend Izzy.”

“Nice to meet you, ” Izzy said, with an in-between voice then giggled, “that dress is so cute.”

The dark haired girl spoke up before Grace could respond, “I’m Brooke, and I promise I’m not making faces at you.”

Grace let out a surprised laugh, “Oh, umm, great to meet you all,” Grace said.

The group seemed to naturally open up and swallow Grace into it.

“So when’s the last time you skated?” Brooke asked.

“I think I was like 11? There was a skating rink in Mud Creek when I was a kid, but it's closed now. I was never very good.”

“Great, you'll fit in fine with us,” Izzy said.

There were giggles all around then Brooke said, “Well except for Evan, they can skate.”

They shuffled into line and soon they were in the small hallway that snaked into the rink.

It all came flooding back to her, the little cashier’s window, getting buzzed into the rink, the skate counter, gaudy neon colors, the concession area, and booming pop music. It was like every skating rink was based on the same floor plan.

“This is freaking me out guys, like I’ve never been here, but.” Grace said.

“…but you have,” Evan finished, grinning. “They’re all basically the same.”

“Corporate conspiracy,” Angel added. “Big Skate.”

Izzy snorted. “Don’t listen to her.”

They moved up to the counter. The guy behind it barely looked up as he slid a pair of skates across.

“The skates are all men’s sizes,” Evan said quietly then walked past to the carpeted benches.

“Size? Ma’am, size?” Grace jerked her head back towards the guy behind the counter, she realized she had been staring at Evan’s tush.

Grace hesitated. “Uh… ten? I think?”

“Tent it is,” he said, already turning away.

A minute later she was sitting on one of the low benches, turning the ugly brown skate in her hands like it was something fragile. The laces felt too long, the boot too stiff. Evan had just finished tying their sleek low cut speed skates on.

Grace looked around, the place was packed. “Is there always this many people?”

“Friday 5-7 PM is 18 plus. That’s the only time you can go skating and not have to dodge hundreds of little kids.”

Grace slid a boot on her foot and tried to catch her breath, then shook her head no.

“You’ll remember,” Evan said, dropping down beside her. “It’s weird for like five minutes, then it clicks.”

“Or you fall a lot,” Izzy added cheerfully.

“Or that,” Evan said.

Grace gave a tight smile and started lacing up, pulling a little too hard, then loosening it again. Around her, the others moved like they’d done this a hundred times, tying, standing, rolling a few inches, adjusting.

She pushed herself up carefully.

The floor shifted under her immediately.

“Whoa” She grabbed the back of the bench.

“Yep,” Brooke said. “There it is.”

Grace laughed nervously. “I hate this already.”

Evan stood and offered a hand. “C’mon. Just get to the wall.”

Grace looked at their hand for a second, then took it.

The first few steps were more like controlled falling, her feet sliding out just enough to make her heart jump every time. She kept her eyes down, focused on not completely eating it.

“Don’t look at your feet,” Evan said.

“I have to look at my feet.”

“You don’t. Look where you’re going.”

“I don’t know where I’m going.”

“Exactly.”

Grace let out a breath that turned into a shaky laugh and lifted her head.

The rink opened up in front of her, lights low, music echoing, people weaving past in loose, easy circles. Some fast, some slow, some clearly worse than her, clinging to the wall just like she was.

That helped. A little.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay, I’m… I’m doing it.”

“You’re doing it,” Evan echoed.

They made it to the wall, and Grace immediately grabbed it, fingers curling around the smooth surface.

“I’m not letting go of this,” she said.

“Totally fine,” Brooke said. “That’s phase one.”

“How many phases are there?”

“Like… two,” Izzy said. “Maybe three if you’re dramatic.”

Grace shook her head, smiling despite herself.

A group of skaters passed by, one of them laughing as they nearly tripped, catching themselves at the last second. Nobody stopped. Nobody stared.

Grace watched them go, then looked down at her own feet.

Carefully, she pushed off the wall just an inch.

Then another.

Her stomach flipped, but she didn’t fall.

“Oh,” she said quietly.

“You’re,” Evan said.

Grace looked up, a little surprised, “I think I remember how to do this.”

And for a moment, she forgot to be nervous.

After a few more minutes she was skating, not fluidly, but she was having no problem keeping pace with Angel, Brooke, and Izzy, who were all still figuring it out.

But, Evan? Evan slipped their hands in their hoodie pockets and glided from wheel to wheel one foot always off the ground. Then casually pivoted, skating backward in front of the group.

“You’ve done this before,” Grace said.

Evan shrugged, “Yeah, I’m one of those rat rink kids who just never stopped,”

Watching Evan skate was like watching a fish swim, it just came naturally.

Adult night seemed to draw a very eccentric crowd, people of all ages, for more diversity than Grace was used to. Southern Illinois Rednecks, black people, white people, every age, and she was quite certain she spotted other trans people as well.

Grace realized that she was in a crowded public place, wearing a dress, hanging out with people like her, and not a single person cared.

****

Whit pulled into the building, which was surrounded by a tall metal fence. There was no sign announcing this nondescript strip mall was Planned Parenthood, but his phone confirmed it. He stepped out of his jeep and looked at the building, it was very well maintained, the few windows were blacked out. He counted 4 doors, and started walking towards the closest one.

Whit felt his anxiety rising, what if he was being watched, what if someone spotted his car. He pulled the door and found it locked.

“Hey, down here.”

Whit saw a casually dressed security guard pointing at the first door in the building and walked over.

“Hit the button and show them your ID,” the guy said with a smile then walked back to the truck he had been sitting in.

Whit compiled silently, “Hey, got an appointment with us today?” a friendly androgynous voice asked.

“Yeah, Darren Whitlock,” he replied.

“Just flash your ID for the camera please.”

Whit was buzzed through two steel doors. The waiting room was large, and silent. It was painted in lavender and blue, perfectly organized. Bulletproof glass divided him from the receptionist, and that’s when it dawned on him that these places had been the target of attacks and bombings.

The reception was a skinny person in blue medical coveralls. They had gorgeous flowing black hair pulled back with a headband. “Hey there, just let me get that ID and insurance card from you,” they said. Whit noticed their name tag read they/them.

“Two people in their 20s sat in the waiting room holding hands, they reminded Whit of Egon and Erica from his painting class, just a few years older.

The far side of the room held a beautifully designed and equipped play area for kids, enclosed in glass. It was empty and the lights were off.

He was called back to a small dimly lit examination room by a kind and very normal nurse. A small box glowed with blue light and played the sound of ocean waves. She took his blood pressure, which was a bit higher than usual. Her name tag had a little sticker with a pink and blue heart, that said protect trans kids.

“Maybe a little nervous?’ she asked.

“Yeah, maybe,” Whit said.

“OK Darren, what was your gender assigned at birth?”

“Male,”

“OK, so what pronouns do you prefer Darren?”

“Ummm, he/him is fine,” Darren replied.

“And you’re here for feminizing hormone treatment?”

Darren made sure to answer with a convincing “Yes.” Something he wasn’t sure if he actually felt.

“OK, some routine questions, then we’ll get the doctor in to see you.

The next several questions were the typical assortment, medications, pharmacy, do you smoke, drink, use drugs, surgeries, family medical history. Then Whit was thrown a curveball.

When was the last time you were tested for STDs?”

“Umm, never I guess?” Whit replied.

“OK, that includes HIV/Aids?” she asked.

“Yeah, I guess?” Whit said.

“OK, never been tested for HIV/Aids,” she said as she typed into the keyboard.

“Estimated sexual partners in the last 12 months?” she asked.

“Umm,” Whit stammered.

“Just a rough estimate,” she said with a smile.

“One,” Whit replied.

“OK, one sexual partner. What are you using for birth control, pill, condom, dam, ect?”

“Umm, nothing,” White responded.

“OK, any kids?”

“No,” Whit said.

“Do you have sex with male partners or female partners or both?”

“Female,” white blurted out.

“OK, any sexual trauma or coercion in your past?”

“No,”

“Great, OK, we can skip the section about menstruation,” she said with a smile. “History of depression, suicidal thoughts? Have you ever been hospitalized for mental health?”

“No,”

“Do you have support from friends and family?”

Whit paused, did he? He hadn’t told his parents, did Lucy support him? Grace certainly did. “Yes,” he replied.

“Great, now are you receiving mental health services?”

“I go to a support group, but it’s not formal I guess.”

“Great, that about wraps my part up. Did you have to take off work for today?” she asked with a warm smile.

Whit felt himself relax a bit, finally a question he was comfortable with. “Yeah, I took the whole day off. I helped my friend get her truck fixed.”

“That’s so kind of you, we’re going to get you in the lab soon. Really sorry, it’s got to be done. Then the doctor will see you and you’ll be good to go.”

Whit sat alone with his thoughts, No one had ever asked him questions like that before. This is my life now. He felt exposed, vulnerable and small. For some reason it both scared and comforted him.

The lab tech was like a big fuzzy teddy bear, he made such a big deal out of drawing blood. “It’s really fine,” Whit said. He barely felt it.

After a short wait in the exam room a well put together woman with a serious demeanor came in. “Hello, I’m Sarah,” she said and shook his hand.

Whit was suddenly hit with a wave of doubt. Her name is Sarah, if I change my name to Sarah she’s going to think I’m some kind of weirdo copycat. Her question brought him back to now.

“OK, Darren, you’re interested in taking Male to Female feminizing hormone therapy correct?”

“Yeah, I mean, yes.” Whit was surprised at the softness of his voice.

“OK I’m going to give you this form, and explain the effects.”

She set the laminated sheet down in front of him, rotating it so he could read it. It was divided into two columns, neat bullet points, color coded.

Sarah tapped the left side with her pen.

“So, some of these changes are considered partially reversible. Things like decreased libido, changes in spontaneous erections, some emotional changes, and redistribution of body fat over time. Skin can get softer. You may notice less muscle mass.”

Whit nodded again, eyes tracking the page without really reading it.

She moved the pen to the right column.

“These are the ones we consider not reversible, or only minimally reversible. Breast development is the big one. Once that tissue develops, it doesn’t go away without surgery. Fertility can also be permanently affected. Some people choose to bank sperm ahead of time if that’s something they want to preserve.”

Whit swallowed, barely noticeable.

Sarah continued, calm, steady.

“Changes happen gradually. You’re usually looking at months to start noticing things, and a few years for full effects. Everyone’s a little different.”

She glanced up at him briefly.

“The goal isn’t to rush anything. We start low, monitor labs, adjust as needed. You’re always in control of the process.”

Whit’s eyes caught on a single word on the page. Breast development.

He felt that strange mix again, something low in his stomach. Fear and excitement mixed together.

Sarah kept going.

“You might also notice changes in how you feel emotionally. Some people describe it as having a wider range, or experiencing things differently. That’s normal.”

Whit nodded again, a little too quickly.

“Do you have any questions so far?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“Okay,” she said, like that was expected. “We’ll go over labs and dosing next, but I want to make sure you feel comfortable with everything here first.”

Whit looked down at the sheet again, and handed it back to her. The last minute had been kind of a blur.

“Yeah, I’m comfortable.”

“OK, I just need you to sign here and here that you’re giving informed consent to start treatment,” she said.

Darren signed.

“Now, what are your goals?”

Whit had no idea how to answer. Why hadn’t he thought about this? Shouldn’t he know this? He had goals didn’t he?

“I just want to start slow, just keep it slow,” he heard the words come out of his mouth but didn’t remember forming them.

“Yeah, we tend to keep it slow at first, monitor labs and check again in three months. It’s all really based on how you feel at every every step,” she said.

Whit left with a prescription called into his small local pharmacy for Estradiol and Spironolactone and a follow up appointment in three months. When he exited back outside through the security doors the security guard stepped out of his truck and came towards him.

‘Don’t drive out the way you came in.” He pointed across the parking lot. “Drive over there to the gate and wait for it to rise. Have a nice day.”

Whit nodded. Will he remember me when I come back in three months? Will I remember me? As he pulled out onto Route 13 he was hit with the sudden realization he was going to have to go to his pharmacy and pick up his prescription. A prescription that had only one purpose.

Dear reader, we have arrived at the climax of the story. Thank you again for reading.

Chapter 27 December 23 2025

After a month on the pill, Whit knew some things were different.

It wasn’t anything dramatic. No sudden changes, no clear before and after. Just small things that didn’t seem to add up to anything on their own. His skin felt softer, maybe. He found himself pausing more, like there was a fraction of a second between feeling something and reacting to it. The constant background noise in his head, the low hum he’d gotten used to over the years, seemed quieter.

Or maybe he was imagining it.

His libido had dropped, or at least changed. That part was harder to pin down. It wasn’t gone, just… less urgent. Less demanding. Like it had been turned down instead of switched off.

His first therapy appointment had been underwhelming.

He talked. She listened.

If she had any opinions, she kept them to herself. No big insights, no diagnosis, no answers.

Only more questions. Like, “Have you considered how this is going to affect your marriage.” How was he supposed to answer that, Of course he had, that’s all he’d been thinking about.

Lucy had things on her mind as well. She’d been making a quick stop at the liquor store on the way home. Just light stuff. Just to help her not worry so much.

She could feel herself slipping back into old patterns of behavior. Her mind was overwhelmed by anxiety from a situation that was quickly growing outside of her control. Her husband was taking hormones, he was going to a therapist. He used to make fun of therapists, “A way to separate weak minded people from their money,” he had actually said once years ago when she brought it up that couples counseling might be good for them.

But more than anything she could tell, he was changing. He was on his computer all the time, reading forums, watching videos. In the past he would quickly hide his screen, but now he seemed to want to talk about it. It was all he seemed to want to talk about. Always going on about anti-trans laws gaining steam across the nation. He was reading a book by some transgender congresswoman. “You’re kidding me, there’s a transgender congresswoman?” Lucy asked.

“Yeah, Sarah McBride, her life story is amazing. Her husband was trans, and he died from cancer right after they married. It’s so sad.”

Lucy stared at him for a moment.

This was not her husband.

Then there was Grace. She was changing too, and Lucy knew their time with her would be ending soon. Grace was spending more time with her new friends, and apparently was dating a “non-binary person” named Evan.

Lucy had never felt more like a Mom than when Grace came to her with a question, “How do you know if you love someone?”

“Oh my God, tell me everything,” Lucy said. Evan was born a male, but now they were a “they.” Lucy thought this was kind of dumb, but she kept that to herself. Apparently, they were sweet, they were cute, and they were making Grace feel ways she’d never felt in her life, both emotionally and physically.

“Whoa, whoa, TMI.” Lucy said giggling like a kid again. Lucy imagined what she would have said to her daughter, if she had one, “If it’s love, you’ll know.” It sounded cheesy when she said it, but that’s the kind of thing a mother tells her daughter.

Grace had enrolled for the Spring semester at Shawnee College. She had her financial aid award letter. All she had to do was pass her GED, scheduled in early January. If she passed, she would start classes on January 12th.

On a less bright note her insurance payment was almost finalized, but Nick had decided to keep most of it. He claimed it had to do with the liability of the property, cleaning up the damaged trailer, and other expenses. Grace would be getting a few thousand dollars. Money that she desperately needed, but not the life changing sum she hoped for.

Finally Lucy and Whit’s short bout with internet fame had burned out, but Whit could not forget how he felt when Levi Hale asked him what he should be called. Almost every day he played the event back in his mind. But in his memory the faces in the crowd were longer and sinister. Hale was taller, his jawline sharper. Whit imagined herself standing her ground, she turned to the man and said, “Sarah, My name is Sarah Whitlock.”

Then there was Christmas.

For Lucy and Whit the month of December had always been a pressure cooker. There was no greater reminder of the soul crushing emptiness of a childless marriage than the sound of Christmas carols on TV, watching “Elf”, and “White Christmas” for the 28th time, and the 2 sad stockings hung side by side on the mantel.

Lucy watched Whit pull his Jeep out of the driveway. He was going to his second therapy session with a woman named Cassie. A woman he was telling all his secrets to, a woman that would convince him that he was a woman too, but the only way to be that woman was to move to New York or California, anywhere but Mud Creek, Illinois.

Lucy picked her keys off the table and held them tight. She’d already been drinking, just a little. She was good to drive, and there was somewhere she had to go, but she didn’t know how to get there.

There was an easy way to find out. Kill two birds with one stone. Lucy shouldered her purse and gripped the counter. There were rules against the thing she was going to do, but like husband was showing her, rules were meant to be broken.

***

Lucy pulled her car into Debbie’s driveway. She remembered the way to the quaint two story colonial well. But she made a quick stop at the liquor store and drove some backroads first to get her courage up. She walked down the driveway, her steps were fluid. She climbed the stairs then banged on the door.

Debbie answered, “Umm, Lucy right? Can I help you?”

“Yeah, I need to know where Nick lives.”

Debbie stepped out of the house and closed the door behind her. “Nick? My ex-husband? What is this all about?”

Lucy gave a short humorless laugh. “Well Deb, it’s about alot of things.”

Debbie crossed her arms, “Maybe you should start with one.”

Lucy stared at her for a second. Then it slipped.

“You see Deb, Nick’s decided to steal Grace’s money.

Debbie pulled back, “What are you talking about, Grace’s money?”

Lucy felt it pour out, “The insurance money from the trailer that fell on your daughter. Remember when I went and saved her life that night, when she was alone out there?”

Debbie felt tears in her eyes, and a white hot anger, “I have a son. Not a daughter.”

“You can shut the fuck up, bitch,” Lucy spit the words out before Debbie had finished. “You’ve got Jesus so far up your ass you couldn’t raise the child God gave you.”

Debbie could smell the alcohol on Lucy’s breath. She backed up against the door. “You need to leave right now before I call the police.”

Lucy grinned, “Gladly, just give the address.”

Debbie smiled, thin and fake, “Yeah, you should go talk to Nick, get out your phone. It’s 115 W Somerset Drive.”

“Thanks,” Lucy said and floated down the stairs. She stopped and turned around, “She’s a really fucking great kid. She’s going to college. I just want you to know that. Really fucking great, and you should be proud of her.”

Debbie took a deep breath as the small car drove out of sight. She swallowed, her jaw tightened. “A daughter?” she asked.

Her eyes burned, she blinked hard and shook her head.

“No.”

She turned and went back inside, closing the door behind her.

***

Lucy decided she needed more courage to confront Nick. She stopped for some at the Hick’s One Stop. then drove around a few backroads until it was truly good and dark before making her way to 115 W. Somerset Drive.

Lucy steered into Nick’s long driveway and then cut hard right into his lawn and drove across soft turf before stopping with her headlights facing into the house.

Before she was even out of the car Nick was on the front porch with a shotgun. “It’s Lucy, put the gun down,”she yelled as she cut the engine and stepped out of the car.

“Lucy?” Nick asked. “What the hell are you doing?” Nick turned and yelled back into the partially open door, “It’s Lucy.”

Nick watched as the woman took a few unsteady steps towards the porch.

Lucy stopped and put her hands on her hips, “Is that your new wife in there? Pretty young isn’t she?”

Bella came out in her nightgown with wide eyes, “I’ve called 911, the cops are coming.”

Nick frowned, “I’ll handle this, go back inside.”

Lucy chuckled, “Yeah, we have bid’ness to discuss.”

Bella shook her head and turned to Nick, “What the hell is going on?”

“Your husband owes me,” Lucy laughed, “For services rendered, and now he’s trying to screw over his own daughter,” she yelled maniacally.

Nick grimaced, Bella looked between both of them, “You… Her?”

Nick glanced down, realizing he was still holding the gun, “It was a long time ago,” he said, backing into the house. “Before I met you..” Nick sat the gun inside.

Lucy took another step towards the porch and almost fell down, “You just disappeared,” she said. “Like I didn’t even matter.”

Nick couldn’t answer.

Bella crossed her arms, and glared at her husband, “The cops will be here soon,” she went inside.

“Why are you keeping Grace’s money!” she yelled.

Nick stepped back on the porch, “Lucy, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said. “It’s going to cost thousands just to clean up the mess out there, then there was a lien on the property, and a deductible.”

All that information flew over Lucy’s head, “It’s so easy for you to just walk away from people. I’m not going to let you treat her the way you treated me,” she said.

Headlights turned into the driveway and Lucy staggered to her car, and grasped at the door.

“Wait, don’t.” Nick said and bounded down his porch putting himself between her and her car.

“Get the fuck out of my way!” Lucy said and pushed him. She immediately lost her balance and fell backwards, landing awkwardly on the concrete driveway.

“Lucy!” Nick yelled as he reached over to her.

The SUV stopped, its headlights illuminating the scene. A cop stepped out of the SUV and approached.

“Lucy?” he said looking down.

“Oww,” Lucy replied. She recognized the voice before the face, “Hi Brad,” she said.

Brad put his hands on his waist, “Lucy, I was hoping I wouldn’t be seeing you like this again.”

***

Whit sat in his recliner the TV was on with the sound so low he could barely hear it. At first he was relaxed, telling himself she was just out, maybe at the store. But after a few hours of her not answering he called her Mom, then he called Grace, who was out with Evan. No one had heard a thing from Lucy. Now it was almost 11 PM and he was seriously worried.

She hadn’t taken her belongings, so that meant she wasn’t leaving him. He kicked himself for not installing Life360 or something on her phone.

His phone finally rang, an unknown number.

A deadpan voice sounded through his ear, “Whit, hey. This is Brad Davis. I’ve got Lucy here.”

Whit stood up, “What happened?”

“She took a fall, just minor injuries. We’re at the ER.”

“Was she?” Whit couldn’t finish,

“Yeah she was intoxicated. Her car’s getting towed, the property owner wanted it gone, but isn’t pressing charges.”

Whit shook his head and, “Property owner?”

“Nick Miller, Lucy parked her car on his lawn and caused a scene. You should come down here,” Brad said.

Whit was already putting his shoes on, “Yeah, OK.”

“Sorry Whit, I thought this was over.”

Whit sighed “Thanks, it’s good you got the call.”

***

The ER was quiet, a few people were scattered in the waiting room, and a soft hush filled the space. The lights seemed to bright and hurt Whit’s eyes. He was quickly ushered from the counter by a very physically fit male nurse, Whit noticed his bright colored running shoes, they looked like something from the future.

The nurse turned and smiled, “We think she’s fine, minor sprained ankle, bump to the back of head. Possible concussion though so we’re keeping an eye on that. She should be able to go home soon.”

Whit wasn’t completely sure this was real, he nodded because that was what he was supposed to do.

He was taken into the curtained bay where Lucy sat in a bed, still in her clothes. She looked down at her hands folded on her chest.

“Hey Lucy, your husband is here.” The nurse announced. “How are you feeling? Still nauseous?”

Lucy shook her head side to side, “No,” she said meekly.

The nurse bent down over her, “OK, do me a favor, see if you can follow my finger.” Lucy watched the finger go back and forth a few times.

The nurse stood straight, “Great, she’s doing better,” he said. “We’ll get you out of here and at home soon.”

He left and Whit sat down in the chair near the bed. Lucy looked so small. An IV drop ran into a port on her arm.

“I’m sorry,” Lucy said quietly.

Whit took a deep breath, “What were you doing at Nick Miller’s house?”

Lucy’s exhaustion was almost overwhelming, she didn’t have the energy to lie, “We had an affair. A long time ago. I was pissed that he’s keeping the insurance money, and that him and Debbie didn’t take better care of Grace.” Lucy paused and looked towards the window, “And that he wasn’t interested in me.”

Whit’s mouth hung slack, there was a moment where he felt paralyzed, then a stabbing pain.

His voice was softer and quietly he asked, “You said you tried to cheat on me.”

Lucy began to cry, she dragged her hand across her face, “I lied.”

Whit felt the tears, he’d felt this before, but whatever he’d used to hold them back in the past was gone. “You lied?”

“I tried to leave you. Nick wouldn’t have me. He said he wanted a family and he knew I couldn't give him that.”

Lucy pulled the blanket to her face and blew her nose. Whit got out of the chair and took a couple steps back.

Lucy’s mouth hung open and she shook her head back and forth, “I’m so sorry. I’ve ruined everything. I can’t do anything.”

Whit looked at his hands.

There was nothing left, no plan, not a single constructive thought to fix this.

Just nothing.

She had never really looked at her hands before. Tears blurred her vision. “No,” she said. “I ruined everything. I lied, I’ve been lying for years. This is my fault, not yours.”

Lucy looked up and wiped her face, “No Darren, you’ve always been there for me. I’m the fuck-up. I’m the one who can’t stop drinking. I’m the one who couldn’t give you children.”

“Lucy,” she said quietly.

“My name is Sarah.”

No one spoke.

Sarah sat back down in the chair by the bed. She took Lucy’s hand and held it. They both dried their faces.

The curtain opened and the nurse poked his head in, “Okay, the doctor says you’re good to go.”

They drove home in silence at one in the morning past the empty storefronts and faded murals of a dying town. Mud Creek was asleep. Sarah noticed the time-worn Christmas decorations that had been hanging from the street lights for a month.

“Tomorrow is Christmas Eve,” she said.

Grace was waiting for them on the couch, she jumped up when they shuffled in the front door. “Where have you been? Why wouldn’t you answer?”

Lucy ignored her, she kicked her shoes off.

“It’s been a long night,” Sarah said. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

Grace heard something different in Sarah’s voice. She saw Lucy’s long exhausted face. She nodded and went to her room.

Lucy staggered into the bedroom and shut the door behind her. Sarah went to the couch, sleep came quickly.

Chapter 28 December 25th 2025

There were times in Whit’s life when he saw himself in a photo, or a video, or in the mirror, and for a brief moment he saw her instead of him. Eventually he gave her a name, Sarah. Over time he realized that Sarah could be a great person, far less reserved than Whit. Sarah didn’t define her life by what she avoided. Whit imagined Sarah living a rich life full of new friends and experiences.

All Sarah ever needed was a chance…

Sarah woke up, and she knew nothing would be the same again. She walked to the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. Her hairless body seemed a tiny bit softer than it did a couple months ago, her nipples a bit darker, and maybe the beginnings of female breasts starting to show.

This was really happening.

Lucy zombie walked into the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee. Sarah sat at the kitchen table with a cup. “Did last night really happen?”

“Yeah, how’s your head?” Sarah asked.

Lucy frowned, “I feel like I’ve been dragged behind a truck, but its less than I deserve. I’m so sorry.”

Sarah didn’t answer, she took a bite of her waffle, then a sip of coffee. Lucy hung there for an awkward moment. Finally she sat the mug down, “Are you going to say anything?”

Sarah sat her fork down, “We’ve done this before.”

Lucy frowned.

“I can’t do it again,” Sarah said.

Lucy turned her back and looked out the kitchen window, “All I can do is say I’m sorry.”

Sarah sat her hands on the table and took a deep breath, “I will always love you, but I can’t stay with you if you destroy yourself.”

Lucy turned and glared, “Who’s the one destroying themselves Darren? Don’t you see it? You’re throwing your life away. This isn’t fair. I married a man, Darren, Whit, Priscilla, whatever the fuck you want to be called. A man!”

Sarah stood up from the table and sighed, “I told you my name.” She started to walk away then turned. She spoke quickly, “I’m sorry. I should have told you. I couldn’t even tell myself, how could I tell you?”

Lucy wiped her face. “OK, so now what? You’re moving to California, or wherever. What am I supposed to do?”

Sarah sat back down, “I never said anything about leaving.”

Lucy looked up, “You’re not leaving me?”

Sarah smiled and quickly responded with her own question, “You’re not leaving me?”

“No.”

The smile left Sarah’s face. “You are the most important person in my world, and you will always be a part of it, but I can’t go on lying to you and everyone. If that’s not something you can live with then?”

Lucy folded her arms.

“OK, it’s Christmas tomorrow,” she said. “Are you going to sit my Mom and Dad down and tell them you’re Sarah now. Tell them to return that flannel shirt and get you a nightgown?”

Sarah took a deep breath, “No, not tomorrow, but one day.”

***

Sarah opened the front door for her father-in-law, Donnie. He was carrying a dish, “Hey Whit, Merry Christmas,” he said with a grin.

Sarah had been addressed as Whit thousands of times in her life. She liked it way better than Darren, but this was the first time it felt wrong.

“Hey Donnie, Merry Christmas,” Sarah replied.

She had decided to keep things simple, her barrel legged feminine jeans, and the red sweater. Technically girls' clothes, but they wouldn’t raise suspicion. Her most daring wardrobe choice was a headband that was unmistakably feminine. Donnie seemed to study her for a second before taking off his Camouflage jacket.

“Hey Whit,” Carla said as she walked through the open front door. “Can you help us bring stuff in.”

“No problem,” Sarah said and headed out in the cold air.

Donnie could see Lucy and Grace in the kitchen over the stove and a boiling pan. He looked behind him to make sure Whit was gone then leaned in close to Carla and nodded his head towards the kitchen.

“That’s the… girlboy?” Donnie asked with half a frown.

“Shhh, her name is Grace, she’s nice,” Carla said.

“Hey Mom, Dad, have a seat, we’ll be out soon,” Lucy yelled from the kitchen.

Donnie and Carla sat down on the couch. Christmas music was playing through the TV and the decorations were immaculately placed on the mantel. Lucy had spent the rest of yesterday making her house spotless.

After getting off her shift, Grace jumped in and volunteered to help with Christmas dinner. Sarah took her aside and told her formally her pronouns and name, and that it was going to be very hard for Lucy. Grace was doing everything she could to help out. “If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here for you,” Grace told Lucy while they took a break.

At first Lucy said she was fine, but it wasn’t long before she was laying out her fears and insecurities while Grace nodded. She knew there were no answers but it felt good to get it off her chest while they cooked.

Donnie smiled, “I think they are rubbing off on Whit. What's up with that headband?”

“Shutup,” Carla said.

Sarah came in weighed down with a tote full of heavy boxes and sat them under the tree. She grunted as she stood back up. Women don’t grunt, Sarah thought. But if I really was a woman I wouldn’t be sent out to carry stuff in the house.

“Whit there are some dishes in the back seat you can get,” Carla said.

“Sure thing,” Sarah replied.

Carla went into the kitchen and took Lucy aside, “Are you OK honey?”

“Yeah Mom,” Lucy said. I’m fine now. Sorry.”

Carla only knew what her daughter had told her. She relapsed. She went off on her own and drank, then ended up in the emergency room. She left her car on private property and it got impounded. Carla could relate.

So far this was going exactly like Christmas had for the last 5 years. Carla and Donnie came over for a Christmas morning meal, then left in the afternoon to go to Lucy’s brother’s house and see all the kid’s new toys. Carla would try to get Lucy to go with her, and Lucy would decline. They would take a few photos together and then they were alone again.

Lucy, Grace and Carla stayed in the kitchen getting the food ready while Donnie and Sarah sat on the couch trying to have small talk.

“So… you got a deer this year?” Sarah asked.

“Yeap, not bad, good size, decent, kinda small, it’s allright.” Donnie mumbled back. He’d changed the TV and it was playing “A Christmas Story.”

“Hows the post office going?” Donnie asked.

Sarah frowned, “Fine, busy, not too bad, lots of packages,” she replied.

“Huh,” Donnie said and closed his eyes.

Sarah got up and started helping the women with the food. Carla was examining Grace’s finger nails.

“Oh my gosh, that’s adorable,” Carla said looking at the little green Christmas trees painted on Grace’s nails.

Sarah watched as Grace held her hand out, palm down, in the most girly way possible.

“Thanks, it’s just appliques,” Grace said. My Dad invited me over for Christmas, so I thought I should try to look holly and jolly.”

Sarah felt a stab of jealousy. Grace, Lucy and Carla were all decked out for Christmas; ear rings, festive outfits, painted nails, and christmas tights.

Sarah felt just as out of place here as she did on the couch with Donnie.

“Whit, could you get the rolls out,” Lucy asked without looking at her.

“Yeah, sure,” Sarah said.

She moved past them carefully, and pulled the oven open. Heat rushed out hitting her face. She reached in with a towel.

Carla glanced over, “Whit, use pot holders, and use both hands.”

“Be careful Whit, those are hot,” Lucy added.

Sarah looked back at the women in annoyance, “I’ve got it,” she said.

Grace glanced at her, then was distracted when Carla asked where she got her cute Mary Janes.

They set the dining room table that was almost never used and filled it with dishes. Sick of feeling awkward Sarah returned from the kitchen with the pitcher of tea and lemonade she had made earlier.

“Welcome to Bistro a ‘la Lucy, I’ll be your waitress today, tea or lemonade,” she asked Carla in a funny fem voice.

Carla stared at her before finally saying, “tea,” in a deadpan voice.

Sarah giggled and continued the act, Lucy rolled her eyes, but Grace played right along, “Good afternoon Ma’am, how is the lobster bisque this evening?”

“I’ll have to ask the chef,” Sarah said then quickly turned to Lucy, “Hey chef, do we have any lobster?” she asked in an annoyed voice.

The table giggled, “Tell her she gets ham and mashed potatoes,” Lucy replied.

Everyone turned their attention to the incredible meal that Lucy and Grace prepared. Afterwards Carla talked about how all the grandkids had called to tell her what they got for Christmas. Lucy smiled politely, and mentioned she’d prepared each of her nieces and nephews a little Christmas gift. Then Carla tried to talk her into coming over with them and Lucy politely declined.

Sarah finished her last bite then announced, “That’s going to go straight to my hips.” There were some awkward laughs, but Lucy frowned.

They gathered around the tree for gift exchanges. As usual Lucy received the most gifts. Carla felt bad that Lucy had no kids to buy for, so she bought her daughter extra.

Grace was genuinely touched when she received gifts from Carla, Lucy, and Sarah.

Sarah looked down at her single box, from Carla and Donnie. She opened it to find a polo shirt, an “Old Spice” deodorant and body wash set, and an Amazon gift card.

“Sorry Whit, we never know what to get for you,” Carla said.

“Oh, no I really like it, and who doesn’t like an Amazon gift card. Grace couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Eventually she came over and casually pulled Sarah away from the gathering. She followed her back to her room and she shut the door.

“How are you holding up?” she asked.

Sarah glanced away, “I’m fine,” she said.

Grace snapped a finger in her face, “No really, how are you feeling,”

Sarah looked straight at her, “This sucks and I want to cry,” she said.

Grace hugged her. “I know. It feels like living in black and white.”

She reached behind her bed and handed Sarah a gift bag, “I got you something, but didn’t think you’d want to open it in front of everyone in there.”

“Oh Grace, you shouldn’t have,” Sarah said.

“Just open it.”

Sarah felt butterflies when saw the tag on the box read, “To Sarah.” She pulled out a box of nail polishes, a gift set with 4 vibrant colors.

“Oh my God Grace,” Sarah said

“Those are OPI, that’s not cheap,” Grace laughed.

Sarah frowned, “I don’t think…”

“I know,” Grace said. “You don’t have to now, but one day you may want to.”

Sarah felt her eyes water and she hugged Grace again, “Thank you,” she said quietly.

Sarah pitched in with the other girls to clean up and do dishes, feeling more like she belonged. Donnie sat on the couch scrolling his phone.

Once the food was stashed in containers, the dishes dried and put away, and the wrapping paper bagged up, like usual they used the self timer on Sarah’s camera for a group picture. Carla and Donnie left a bit later, then Grace left to go to her Dad’s.

They were alone.

Lucy collapsed by Sarah on the couch, “I’m so tired,” she said.

Sarah smiled and left the room, and came back with a little gift box. “I know we missed our usual gift exchange, but I got this for you.”

A smile crept across Lucy’s face. She opened the box and saw the most beautiful set of crystal heart ear rings.

“Oh my God, these are gorgeous,” Lucy gushed.

Sarah smiled, “They are real Swarovski crystals.” She mispronounced the name on purpose. A call back to a decade old Saturday Night Live skit.

Lucy giggled, “Did somebody mention style?” she asked.

Lucy went over to the Christmas tree and returned with a gift bag that she’d stashed. “I got you this, if you don’t want it you can return it,” she said.

Sarah ignored that the tag read, ‘Darren.’ She smiled and opened the bag, and lifted out a deep red sweater dress, “Oh Lucy, it’s so perfect,” she said.

Lucy smiled and Sarah pulled out a small box that was hidden below it. “A vintage game console. Wow, this is so cool.”

They sat down across from each other on the couch, there was a moment of awkward silence that stretched.

Finally Lucy said, “I can’t call you Sarah, you can’t expect that from me.”

Sarah ran her hand along the soft fabric of her new dress. “That’s my name,” she said quietly.

Lucy didn’t respond and the awkward silence continued.

Lucy got off the couch, she grabbed the game console box and turned it over in her hands.

“OK bitch, you beat me in Tetris and I’ll call you whatever you want.”

Sarah grinned ear to ear, “It's on.”

Authors note: Hi, short chapter for this week. This felt like it could have been the end of the story, and it would be if this is was a story about Grace, but this is a story about Lucy and Sarah and they are far from resolved. I'm just about finished with chapter 32, but I'm not sure if I'm going to finish posting the story here since I'm concerned with publishing issues. I'm planning on cleaning it up and publishing an ebook this summer. Thanks again for reading and your comments.

Chapter 29 February 22nd, 2026

“It can’t still be February, can it? Lucy asked.

Grace spoke as she continued down the trail, “I know, crazy isn’t it, like 70 degrees in February.”

“We should get used to it,” Sarah said as she brought up the rear of the group. “Climate change and global warming guys, it’s for real.”

“Geez, you're so much fun to be around,” Lucy said.

Grace laughed, “Why you gotta be a Debbie Downer?”

“Sorry,” Sarah said “But do you really remember it being 70 degrees in February when we were kids?”

Lucy blew air through lips, “Yeah.”

“OK, it’s a real problem and we’re all more aware of it now. Thank you Sarah, but can we enjoy our hike?” Grace asked.

Sarah giggled, “Sure, sorry. Ignore me.”

“Trying,” Lucy said. Sarah wasn’t sure if that was a joke or not.

They stepped down a small incline in the trail, and Sarah felt her tender nipples bounce. She looked down at her light green, soft knit shirt. If a person looked close they could see the outline of her sports bra under it. She didn’t really need it, not yet at least, but the compression seemed to help with the mild pain, pain she had come to cherish.

The last two months had created some huge differences for all of them. Sarah had kept going to therapy every week. The first few sessions felt like talking in circles. She stuttered, she froze up. She often said things like, “I’m not really that sad, I’ve been really lucky in life.” When the topic turned to their attempts to have children, and the miscarriage, Sarah found herself crying over a decade of pent-up grief that she’d never allowed herself to process or even feel.

She wasn’t out in public, but Sarah was changing in both her body and her mind, she felt like she was moving half a step out of sync with the world. Men at Wal-Mart were giving her suspicious looks. People who she’d known forever would do a double take when they saw her and when they used her old name it felt wrong. “How’s it going, man,” sounded like an insult.

Lucy had started seeing a therapist too. Talking about her anxieties and fears didn’t make them go away, but talking about them seemed to help her feel less need to drink. She’d also begun her own project. She was researching foster care again, like she had ten years ago.

She was still awkward around Sarah, and often still used her old name, or some random female name with a laugh, which Sarah would gently correct.

Grace had started school. She liked her classes, liked her professors, but the rest of it hadn’t come as easily. Her new friends were an hour away, living a different version of college. But she had started talking to a girl who wore at least 100 bead bracelets up and down her arms.

Ahead of her, Grace stopped and turned, raising her camera towards them.

“Hold on,” she said. “The light’s really good right here.”

Sarah and Lucy stood side by side and smiled for the camera, but there was an awkwardness to their closeness that didn’t used to be there.

Further down the trail they came to the edge of a clearing, there in the thick grass stood the deer. Grace knew it, as sure as she knew anything this was the same deer. The deer she painted last summer when she first joined Sarah’s class.

She turned back to the other women and whispered, “That deer saved my life.”

As if he could hear her from 500 feet away the buck’s head came up high out of the grass and focused on them. He still held his antlers late into February. They all watched each other in silence for a few moments before the deer went back to searching around the grass.

“That’s the deer you painted?” Sarah asked.

“Yeah,” Grace said. “It was right after I met you. I wasn’t doing well, like, you know. I was alone, and didn’t see… But I thought I heard him tell me to paint him.” Grace turned from the deer and faced them, her face turned from serious to a smile. “I was imagining it of course.”

A couple more deer walked across the field and joined the buck. Grace dug in her camera bag and switched over to the tele photo lens. She was able to snap several photos.

As they made their way back to her truck Grace broke a long pause in conversation. “I’m going to move in with Evan.”

Sarah and Lucy looked at each other with a mix of excitement and surprise.

“You are?” Lucy asked.

Grace smiled, “Don’t worry, I’m finishing this semester.”

“Evan lives in Carbondale. What about next semester?” Sarah asked.

“I’m going to transfer to SIU, or maybe John A Logan? Don’t worry, I’m not quitting. I think I’m going to go into nursing. Get my RN. They need nurses everywhere.”

Lucy and Sarah looked at each other and smiled, “You sound like you’ve been thinking,” Lucy said.

Grace stopped and faced them. “I have, and seriously guys, I don’t think I’d be here if it wasn’t for you.”

Tears fell from the three women’s faces, and they huddled together for a hug.

So... we've come to a sex scene. Be warned.

Chapter 30 March 15th. 2026

Lucy came into Sarah’s room. She was still in her workout clothes from this morning, and sitting at the computer. “Hey,” she said and slid in close behind her. “I think we’re alone now.”

She slid her hand over Sarah’s shoulder and touched her small breast. It was compressed under a sports bra. She gently began to tweak her nipple with her thumb and forefinger.

Sarah’s body went rigid, and a tiny moan escaped her lips. In the past Lucy’s attempts to initiate sex were often met with Whit slapping her hand away, drawing back, and phrases like, “I’m tired.”

Now Sarah was putty in Lucy’s hands, “It’s been awhile,” she said with a smile.

It had been awhile, between Grace and their difficult time after Christmas it had been weeks since they were intimate. Sarah reached out and took her wife by the hips, lifted up her shirt and kissed her side, working her mouth up to her bra. Her hands slid up her back and unhooked it.

Sarah slid her tongue over Lucy’s nipple, and felt her go rigid then melt into her embrace.. A few moments later Lucy pulled Sarah up out of her chair. She nodded towards the door and they shuffled together towards the bedroom taking off clothes as they went.

“Oh my,” Lucy said as she turned to see her wife in her sports bra and teal panties. “Turn off the lights.”

For a couple that has been married for as long as Lucy and Sarah had been, sex was a walk down a familiar path: Touch here, lick there, round the bases, move from foreplay to the main event, and eventually score.

This time Sarah found herself stuck on third base.

Lucy stopped moving, “You’re not hard are you?”

Sarah froze above her, “No, I’ll go get my pink thing,” she said and scampered away. It wasn’t easy for Lucy knowing that her partner owned a dildo and she didn’t. She’d been given one as a joke gift years ago, and threw it away. Knowing that her husband was now her wife didn’t really make it easier.

Sarah came back in and Lucy took the basic egg vibrator, her one sex toy, out of her nightstand drawer and rolled over. “Lie down,” she said.

Lucy straddled Sarah and with the help of “the pink thing” and her bullet she came soon. She reached down, Sarah was only marginally hard.

This wasn’t new territory, but one key fact had changed. This time Sarah wanted it. She made a pouty face showing her frustration.

Lucy took her penis in her hand and squeezed it, “Here, lets try something,” she said and placed her vibrator under the shaft. For a few minutes familiar sensations filled Sarah, pleasurable, but nothing she hadn’t felt hundreds of times. Then something changed. Lucy held the vibrator in one spot, and eventually sensations began growing in Sarah’s body.

“Oh… Ohh. Ohhhhh,” she said. She began to feel her body tense and pushed upward. Lucy threw her naked leg over Sarah’s hips and weighted her down. With her other hand she teased her nipples.

Working on pure reflex Sarah reached out and took hold of the headboard as she’d watched her wife do many times. The feelings seemed to radiate through her body, up and down her spine, turning her mind to mush.

“Oh, fuck, oh God, what…. Ohhhhhh,” she was losing control of her mouth. The feeling was too much, and she was powerless to control it. Pinned under Lucy’s weight her fingers were turning white from clinging to the headboard.

“Ohhh Fuck,” she screamed and Lucy smoothered her mouth.

The orgasm was like nothing she’d ever felt in her life, her body bucking wildly but powerless to stop the sensations. Her screams were muffled by Lucy who giggled as she clamped down hard on her mouth.

“My God Darren, what was that?” Lucy asked.

“Sarah,” she corrected through deep breaths.

“Yeah, yeah, sure Sarah. You going to be OK?”

There was a long pause, Sarah opened her eyes and looked into Lucy’s face. It had been six weeks and she still messed up her name. “No, I think… I don’t know what that was.”

“Well it sounded like you had a good time,” Lucy said.

“I… I had something.”

***

Sarah walked into the CVS store, and had the strangest feeling she’d walked into a horror film. Despite being 4 in the afternoon the store was dead silent.

It didn’t help that she was on edge. Sarah was wearing black tights, and a pale blue T-shirt she’d found at Five Below, of all places. It had a beautiful dark blue print of Irises and the name Van Gogh in cool Gothic letters. More importantly she was wearing a very thin coat of foundation and mascara. Her hair, which was now shoulder length, was pulled back with a headband. Then there was the bra, the one that gave her growing breasts just enough lift to be visible under the shirt.

Lucy had been in the kitchen when Sarah stepped out of the “computer room.” In reality the computer room had been morphing into her room with all her new attire.

“Hey if you’re going to drop off that package at CVS on the way to class, can you get me some cough drops,” Lucy said and then turned and did a double take.

“Oh, you’re wearing that?” She asked.

Sarah looked down, “Can I?” she asked. “I mean, is this OK?”

Lucy turned back to the sink, “Sure, whatever, you can wear whatever you want. Just don’t forget the cough drops.”

Under her arm was a package she was sending her Mother for her birthday. A box of chocolates and a small painting she’d done of daisies. She walked back into the store and an older woman in a red polo popped up out of nowhere.

“Hey, hun, Can I help you?” she asked.

“I’m looking for cough drops,” Sarah answered.

“Over there Ma’am,” the woman pointed vaguely behind her. “Aisle 9.”

“Thanks,” Sarah said. Had she just been misgendered, or correctly gendered for the first time in her life? She felt her face blush and electricity run down her spine. It occurred to her, at no time did she even consider correcting the woman and without really thinking about it she used her voice. Not Whits.

She grabbed Lucy’s cough drops and went up to the counter. “Thank you Ma’am the cashier said. Sarah did notice she had very thick glasses.

Back in her Jeep Sarah looked over at the jeans sitting in the seat beside her. She intended to throw them on before painting class. She stopped herself in the middle of reaching out for them.

“Fuck it.”

Sarah walked into her class in her tights with the makeup still on awkwardly carrying her wooden paint box and canvas holder, with a 16x20 canvas turned backwards. A few were already in the room. Mrs Wicker looked up, smiled, went back to sitting up her canvas, then suddenly looked again.

“Oh, Mr. Whitlock, I just love your shirt.” she said.

“Thank you Mrs. Wiker,” Sarah said as she walked by. She turned on the blue tooth speaker and started playing 10,000 Maniacs Unplugged softly. Then removed her canvas from the holder and placed it on her easel.

Sarah had always liked painting women, often from photographs from the late 1800s, and occasionally she’d copy a painting by William-Adolphe Bouguereau, since no one would recognize it.

The painting Sarah sat on her easel was almost a direct copy of Bouguereau’s 1889 painting the Shepherdess. Rendered with academic realism, the painting depicted a young woman in peasant clothes, standing barefoot in a pasture with a crook balanced over her shoulders. She is beautiful, but strong, independent and just a little threatening with her crook.

There were a few differences, the background showed the Shawnee Hills behind Grace’s old trailer, and Sarah had painted her own feminine face on the shepherdess. The painting was 80% finished with only details of the clothing left to complete.

Mrs Wicker came to the easel, “My word Mr. Whitlock, she’s really quite beautiful.”

Sarah smiled, “Thank You.”

Sarah’s class slowly filtered in while she prepped her space, they all came by and admired their teacher’s work. Grace was the last show, half an hour late. Her schedule was tighter now that she was juggling classes and work. A smile creeped across her face when she saw how Sarah was dressed and the painting on her easel.

She walked in close, “My God Sarah, are you coming out tonight?” she whispered.

“No,” Sarah frowned, I don’t think anyone even noticed.”

Grace smiled, “Trust me, they noticed, but what do you expect? Do you think they’re gonna say ‘congratulations you’re a girl.’

Sarah shrugged. “I guess not.” In reality she was fighting back emotions. The clerk at CVS saw her, why didn’t her students? Here she was dressed like a woman, displaying a painting of her as a woman, but they were still calling her, ‘Mr. Whitlock.’

Grace leaned in even closer, “To them you’re not Sarah to them until you tell them you’re Sarah,” she whispered.

Sarah nodded, then went to check on the anime inspired fox girl that Egon was painting.

***

Sarah and Lucy walked side by side down the tree lined cinder bike path, something they’d made into a regular habit as Winter was turning to Spring. It was still cool enough for gloves and a hat. They could see a mile ahead and behind them, on the long forested path. They were completely alone.

Lucy turned to Sarah and said, “I’m worried about something.”

Sarah laughed, “Just something?”

“OK, yeah,” Lucy frowned,”Yeah I’m worried about a lot of things, but right now. Are we ever going to have sex again?”

Sarah turned, and looked away. This was a conversation she knew they needed to have, but it wasn’t going to be pleasant. “I… I really liked what we did the other night,” she said.

“Yeah, I could tell,” Lucy chuckled. “But, like, listen. I’m glad you enjoyed that, but I need the real thing.”

Sarah and Lucy walked side by side in silence and eventually took each other’s hands. Neither were able to say the words they were both thinking, “You can’t give me what I really need.”

Authors Note: This will be the last chapter of Mud Creek I post here. I finished the book recently and have been editing, adding, and rewriting some scenes. There are 2 chapters left after this one. Thank you for everyone who read and especially, Dallas, Emma Anne, Joanne, Teri Ann, Patricia, KayD and anyone else who commented. Those comments kept me writing all through the Winter to finish this. I can't thank you ladies enough. As for Mud Creek Sarah, her story is complete for now. As for this Sarah, who knows we're still writing.

Love you!

Chapter 31 March 31st, 2026

Jax’s bouncing blue curls greeted them at the door, “Hey guys, welcome.” Grace, Sarah and Lucy walked into PKs all three of them suffering from anxiety. Grace was a bit more dressed up than usual, a black low cut top, necklace, tight jeans. Lucy was just wearing a Beatles T-shirt and jeans, but Sarah had decided to make this her night. She was wearing her new sweater dress, Lucy had helped her with hair and makeup.

“Oh wow guys, you look great, I’m so glad you could make it. The sign up book is over there at the DJ. Get over there and pick out your songs,” Jax said.

“Oh no… that's for,” Lucy glitched a second, “Her,” she said pointing at Sarah. “I’m not singing.”

Jax smiled, their blue hair bouncing on their head, “No pressure, we’re a really friendly group.”

Evan arrived at Grace's side and took her hand, “Hey babe, I got us all a table.”

They followed Evan through the bar, it was kinda full for a Tuesday night at 7PM. The LGBTQ center held this as one of their “Out, Take Over Events,” but it wasn’t really a take over. Anyone was welcome, with the understanding that this was a queer night and if they had a problem with it they’d get to meet the bouncer.

Interspersed through the small crowd was the occasional older flamboyant gay with a silk shirt or a fully decked out drag queen, but for the most part the crowd could have blended in any night. Sarah was aware that people were looking at her in ways that they never looked at Whit. Her nerves turned up to 11, but she felt a bit more relaxed when she saw her friends from group.

“Hey Sarah, Grace, and you must be Lucy,” Marlene stood up and gave Grace a hug, then Sarah, and finally Lucy. She was looking as well put together as usual, a smart dress that said, “I know I’m older, but I can still have fun.”

Sarah made introductions, “This is Marlene, and that’s Dani, Tyler, Samantha, from the group, and Evan's friends Izzy and Brooke.”

Lucy examined the table, they looked harmless. Brooke was the girl with the mouth issue, so Lucy tried not to look. Her focus quickly changed to what was on the table in front of them. Marlene had a glass of wine, Tyler a bottle of Bud Light, Samantha a bottle of Corona. Evan, Izzy and Brook were all drinking soda.

Why the fuck did he take me to a goddamn bar? Lucy thought, she looked over at Sarah, making small talk with Marlene. Lucy could feel her heart beating faster, what the fuck was she doing here with these people. She didn’t know them, or the woman that brought her here, more than anything she wanted her husband back.

One of them was looking at her in the eyes, talking to her, but she couldn’t make out the words.

“Excuse me,” Lucy said and made for the bathroom.

Everyone looked at Sarah, and she frowned. “I’ll be back,” she said.

Sarah crossed the floor to the bathrooms and stood at the women’s room for a few seconds before finally saying, fuck it and going in. She walked up to the closed stall, “Lucy?” she asked.

“I’m using the bathroom,” she hissed.

“OK sorry, look if you want to leave it’s OK, we can go,” Sarah replied. She waited for a few moments before finally hearing.

“I shouldn’t have come,” she said.

Sarah leaned closer to the door, “Jax said they have amazing mocktails here. When I said I didn’t know what that was they told me it’s like a fancy non-alcoholic drink. Let me buy you one.”

After a few moments of silence Sarah fought back a tear, “Look I’ve been working really hard on something, and I want you to hear it. I need you in there. I’m not stupid, I don’t know where we’re going. For so long you’ve been my wife, but tonight I want you to be my friend.”

A few moments later the toilet flushed and Lucy opened the stall door. Her phone was in her hand. “You can get me a Grape Tarragon Spritzer,” she said.

They watched several acts, a few really good, and a some… Eventually they heard, “Sarah Whitlock, come on up.” She stood up and headed towards the stage surrounded by applause.

Something only a few people knew about Sarah is that she loved to sing. She had been selected for a special choir in fourth grade. She auditioned and everything, but quit when her friends made fun of her for signing. Now her singing was usually saved for long road trips, or nice days out on the mail route.

Lucy knew that her wife loved to sing. She heard it on hundreds of car trips. She knew that she was good at it, but not like, quit your day-job good.

Sarah climbed the steps to the stage and walked up to the DJ table where two cheezy looking rainbow light balls were spinning around at either side. The DJ handed her the mic. She stood there with her back to the crowd and suddenly realized how she was dressed and how her voice sounded. She froze.

This wasn’t the DJs first rodeo, he sensed her shutting down. He drew in close, “Remember, you’re not here, this isn’t happening,” he said quietly. Then put his arms on Sarah’s shoulders and gently turned her around.

“Hi,” she said and the crowd erupted in laughter. This isn’t happening. Just remember I’m not here. This isn’t happening.

“I’m Sarah, thank you for your support tonight.” She took a deep breath and quietly said, “I’m not here, this isn’t happening.”

A guy in the crowd shouted, “Radiohead!”

“Sorry, no. Umm, Rod Stewart,” Sarah glanced behind her. “Start it,”

Heavy Piano Chords filled the room, then Sarah sang out, “If I listened long enough to you, I’d find a way to believe that it’s all true.” The room erupted in clapping, laughter, and cheers.

The words were etched into Sarah’s heart, she didn’t need the small screen in front of her and stepped in front of it. She sang, “Knowing that you lied, straight faced while I cried. Still I look to find a reason to believe.”

Her words soared across the room, she had the cadence, she had the voice, and just a bit of Rod’s breathy, sexy, hoarseness.

Her eyes met Lucy’s and she continued, “Someone like you, makes it hard to live without, somebody else. Someone like you makes it easy to give, everything about myself.”

Lucy’s mouth was hanging open, her eyes wide. The next line caught in Sarah’s mouth and she quickly caught up, but she felt it shift. This song wasn’t about her, It was about the woman she had locked eyes with. How they both had tried so hard to find a reason to believe.

“If I gave you time to change my mind, I’d find a way to leave the past behind,” Sarah sang. And there and then on the stage she realized, it was time to leave the past behind. She took the hem of her dress in her hand and swished it around, drew herself in and then recoiled with her voice.

“Knowing, that you lied, straight faced, while I cried. Still I look to find a reason to believe,” Sarah sang and a smile grew across her face. The crowd was going wild. She began a bit of a jig with the music and then tossed her hair around during the violin solo.

As the next verse wrapped up the piano and organ notes soared then fell silent. Those in the crowd not already on their feet stood. Sarah counted the bar of silence in her head, 1,2,3,4.

She poured every ounce of pain into the line. “Someone like you, makes it hard to live without, somebody else,” Sarah’s words echoed around the room. Mimicking something she’d seen performers do she pointed the mic at the crowd. The piano came back in, and the crowd sang along with her, “Someone like you, makes it easy to give, everything about myself.”

Sarah had done what all great entertainers do. Everyone in the bar thought she was singing about them..

Sarah came back to her seat out of breath, surrounded by applause. She sat down next to Lucy with flushed cheeks. The adrenaline rush was amazing, addictive maybe.

“Oh my God Sarah, you were amazing,” Grace said.

Lucy smiled, she congratulated Sarah too, but her smile was hiding something. Their focus quickly went to the next performers,

A little during a short break a tall woman came up to their table, “Hey that was amazing. Are you in a band or anything?” She asked.

“Thanks, No… I just like to sing,” Sarah said.

The woman handed her a phone number with the name, Macie written on a napkin. “I’m Macie, and a few of us are putting together a queers-only cover band. We’re looking for a singer, so give me a call if you want to audition.”

Macie left and Sarah could see everyone at the table was gawking at her. “Ladies and gentleman, a star is born,” Jax said and they all started clapping.

It wasn’t long before everyone said their goodbyes.

Lucy got into the passenger side of Sarah’s Jeep, still happy to let her drive.

“They pulled out of the back parking lot onto Southern Illinois avenue. It was 10PM on a Tuesday night and the strip was dead.

“You were good up there,” Lucy said.

“Thanks,”

They sat in silence, both their ears still ringing from loud music.

“Marlene thought you were a ringer,” Sarah said. “Like this was a setup. She couldn’t believe that you have never sang before, like in a band or something.”

Sarah laughed, but didn’t respond.

Lucy shifted a bit uncomfortably and asked, “Are you going to call that number?”

Sarah turned and grinned, “Between work and class, I’m not sure when I’ll have time for it. But it would be cool.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking, but you were really good.”

Another block of silence, she reached across the center console like she always did when driving. The space where she always found Whit’s hand and held it. She stopped, Whit didn’t exist anymore. She folded her fingers into her lap.

They stayed silent the rest of the way home, each wondering if the other was coming to the same conclusion they had: They were running out of reasons to believe.

Marley looked up from behind the wheel she was truing as she heard the bell attached to the door. "Great, two bimbos," she thought as she watched the two young women enter the bike shop. She put the spoke wrench down and wiped her hands on the the worn denim apron then walked out to the sales floor. It was a Wednesday afternoon and she was closing the shop, which meant besides fixing bikes she had to deal with customers, which was far from her favorite activity. She removed the shop worn apron and hung it on a peg, "Can I help you?" Marley asked.
"We're looking for bikes," the taller girl said. They both wore matching Pi Beta Phi Sorority sweatshirts and had the carefree look of girls who'd never had to deal with real life, Marley thought. She instantly disliked them.
"Well you've come to the right place, here let me show you a few," Marley said. She moved her thin body gracefully through the crowded shop, and to a row of cruiser style bikes that were popular with college students. "These are great for getting around campus," she said.
"Well actually we are looking for something a bit more like race bikes," the tall girl said again. She was taller than Marley, and very athletic looking.
"We're going to train for the Little 500," the shorter blond said.
"Oh, you're going to race it next year?" Marley asked.
"Yeah, I'm the Pi Beta Phi coach, team captain, and whatever else they decide to make me do." the taller girl said.
"You haven't raced it before?" Marley asked.
"No last year the team was mostly Seniors, but our house doesn't take it seriously. I spoke out that we should do better than last place, and thanks to my big mouth I'm in charge now," the taller girl said.
"It's good you've got like 6 months to get ready, and you definitely want a drop bar bike to train on. You can spend alot of money on a road bike, but you don't really need to, let me show you what we have," Marley said as she directed the girls over to the bargain area of the shop. "These bikes are about the cheapest drop bar bikes we've got, at about 600 dollars, but they're way nicer then the coaster brake bikes you'll be riding. Marley gave an overview of the bikes, and found that her customers were both engaged, asking questions and genuinely interested.
"I'm Stacey, by the way, and this is Brita," Stacey said and held out her hand.
"I'm Marley," she said and carefully took Stacey's hand noting that it was just as big as her own.
"Do you own this shop?" Stacey asked.
"Oh no, I just work here, fix bikes and stuff, part time, I'm going to school too," Marley answered.
"Oh thats so cool, what's your major?" Stacey asked.
"Physical therapy, what's yours?" Marley asked.
"Marketing and communications, I love your outfit, that shirt is so cute." Marley looked down at her T-shirt, it showed a boy pedaling like crazy on a bike with a girl riding on the back wearing a long black dress with a big red bow. Marley's outfit was completed with tights and a short skirt with decorative buttons up the front, and Doc Martin Boots sort of a cute punk look.
"Thanks, Marley said and blushed a bit.
"Kiki, is one of my favorites," Stacey said.
"You know Kiki's Delivery Service, that is so cool," Marley said.
"Yeah I love Ghibli, Howl's Moving Castle is my favorite," Stacey said. Brita lightly punched her in the side and made a noise. "Oh, Brita has a date or something, we'll definitely take the bikes." Marley gave the bikes a quick adjustment, and adjusted the saddles. Stacey bought both bikes on a credit card and thanked Marley for the help.
"Oh, if you guys are interested, we do shop rides on Tuesday and Thursday nights, I usually ride on Thursdays. It would be good practice for you to get used to riding around others," Marley said.
"That sounds awesome, thanks!" Stacey said while Brita hurried her out the door. Marley watched the girls clumsily mount their new bikes and ride down the sidewalk, her eyes following Stacey until she rode out of sight.
"Calm down girl, she's not your type." Marley said out loud to herself and put her apron back on.

Marley rolled her pink spray painted beater bike into the communal bike rack, scanned her card to enter the apartment building, and made her way to the 3rd floor. "Hey," she said and dumped her messenger bag on the kitchenette counter. Amy rolled over on the couch and sat down her Psychology book. The apartment the two girls shared was far more spacious than a dorm room, tasteful Japanese art prints were interspersed with brightly colored anime posters, there was little in the way of furniture, other than a couch and coffee table. The four bicycles hanging from the ceiling on hooks were dead giveaway that this was the home of a serious cyclist.
"You're late," Amy said in her detached monotone voice.
"Yeah I sold a couple bikes to some sorority girls and had to finish the repair work I was doing," Marley said as she flopped onto her bed.
"I hope you get paid for that extra time," Amy replied.
"Yes Mr. Scrooge I did, they were buying their bikes for the Little 500," Marley said.
"Let me guess, they were bubbly, friendly, and invited you to a 'mixer' or some other social event," Amy said.
"They were friendly, and one of them liked my shirt."
"Ahh, perhaps you can start watching your cartoons with her, and stop torturing me with them," Amy said.
"You know you like them, anyway it got me thinking, why haven't you ever done the Little 5?" Marley asked.
"Because it's a stupid event, you ride dumb little under geared bikes on a dumb cinder track while a bunch of drunken idiots watch," Amy said.
"You were never invited on a team." Marley said with a laugh.
"No, I was invited," Amy said.
"Oh, you were kicked off, that's it!"
"No, I quit... I was the only one who took it seriously, all they wanted to do was hang out and drink, it was a waste of time and it still is," Amy huffed. Marley poured a bowl of cereal and sat down on the couch. Amy picked her book up and pushed her thick glasses up her nose, then sat up higher on the couch, "You want to do it don't you?"
"Do what?" Marley asked.
"Race the Little 500."
"You know I can't do that," Marley said unable to disguise the bitterness from her voice.
"Why?" Amy asked.
"You know why, don't be stupid," Marley said.
"You know NCAA rules stipulate that..." Amy was cut off.
"I don't give a shit what the rules say OK, I'm not racing, what do you think it will be like for me when they all find out that chick they're racing against has a dick, or maybe you forgot how well it worked out the first time?" Marley asked.
"I'm sorry, I'm not trying to upset you," Amy said.
"No, its fine, who said I want to start racing again anyway, and like you said, it's a stupid event. Now I've got something new for us to watch, "Midnight Occult Civil Servants," Amy said flicking on the TV.
"Oh Lord spare me," Amy said, but once the show as she put down her book and pushed the glasses up her nose again.

Marley and her friends had staked out a regular spot in the student center and met there like clockwork every Thursday between classes. It was a secluded corner on the third floor with comfy couches near a piano that would often be played by students. "So can I talk you guys into coming to ride with me tonight," Marley asked, speaking slightly loud over the music student playing piano.

"Let me check my social calendar, nope," Tink replied and took a drink from her big plastic disposable coffee. Marley chuckled, but wished her friend would change her mind. Tink, was big, about 6 feet tall and overweight, she claimed to like being overweight because she felt she was more passable with her "baby fat." The truth was that Marley found her quite pretty, her long dark brown hair was always smooth and gleaming, her makeup just right, and her seemingly never ending supply of cute dresses. Marley met her Freshman year at the LGBT center and they quickly became best friends.

"I'll go, if you loan me a bike." said Jordan. Jordan was new to their group, a Freshman and feeling very out of place and alone. She was the definition of androgyny. She fit exactly down the center, seemingly in all aspects, not exactly short, but not tall either, her skin was not quite white, but not quite black, her hair not short, not long, her button up shirt and pants were those of a man. A couple weeks ago she saw Tink and Marley talking and asked if she could sit with them. She asked to be referred to as a she, but both Marley and Tink believed that she was harboring a mistrust of her biological gender.

"Really that's awesome," Marley replied.

"Well have fun girls, I'm off to see the wizard," Tink said as she lifted herself off the couch.

"What does that mean?" Jordan asked.

"I'm going to the bathroom, you know to whiz, then I've got a class, see you," Tink said as she adjusted her big purple cateye framed glasses and projected her bright smile.

"I'm worried about her," Marley said once Tink was gone.

"Why she seems fine," Jordan asked.

"She's put on 15 pounds at least since last year, which is fine, but I know her, she's a stress eater, she's like really good at acting happy. Anyway I'm glad you're going, I'll get you set up on a loaner bike if you can come by the shop a bit before the ride" Marley said.

"Yeah, sounds great, but I don’t know if I’ll be any good, I haven’t rode a bike in a long time,” Jordan said.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about, it’s always a no drop ride,” Marley said.

“No drop ride?”

“Yeah like if you can’t keep up that’s called being dropped, so on this ride no one gets left behind,” Marley explained and Jordan nodded in understanding.

“So why don’t you and Tink don’t go to the LGBT center anymore?” Jordan asked.

“I don’t know, I’m busy with school, working and riding, and it’s really not my thing I guess,” Marley answered.

“But you’re still...” Jordan stuttered.

“Transgender?” Marley asked and Jordan nodded in embarrassment. Marley chuckled, a couple years ago that question and answer would have left her so insecure, but now she looked down at herself. She was wearing pink and purple girls trainers, jean shorts that revealed her long smooth legs, and a loose fitting casual shirt. She only wore a tiny bit of makeup, a little mascara, a little foundation, a dash of eye shadow, her long hair was pulled up in a high pony tail. Most importantly two years on HRT had changed her skin and caused her to grow some small but clear breasts. She had no doubt who she was now. “Would you mistake me for a boy?” Marley asked with a laugh.

“No of course not,” Jordan said.

“It’s very political, the people there… They are always aggrieved, always so pissed off, it’s like just go live your life, you know. That's why I stopped going last year,” Marley explained. Jordan looked off into space. “Hey you know, it’s not all like that, there are lots of good people and they really listen if you want to talk and you know you can always talk to me if you want.”

“Thanks Mar,” Jordan said and checked her digital watch, “Well time for class, I’ll see you tonight.”

***

"You are so going," Stacey said as Brita rolled over in bed and pulled the pillow over her face.

"Get up! I bought you that bike and you're going to ride it."

"Can't you get someone else to go?" Brita asked. Stacey grabbed Brita under the elbows and lifted her up off the bed. "Jesus, how did you get so strong?" Brita yelled.

"Cross fit, now come on I need you. When the others see how much fun we're having we'll have no problem getting them fired up for the team," Stacey said.

"Yeah, woo hoo, we're having so much fun. What do I even wear? I don't have any bike clothes," Brita said looking around the messy bedroom they shared at the Pi Beta Phi house. It was obvious neither girl was a neat freak.

"I don't have any bike clothes either, just put on some workout clothes," Stacey said.
Brita huffed and began digging through some stacks of clothes and found some capri tights, sports bra and a workout top and stomped to the bathroom. Through the half closed door she said, "Why are we going on this ride, we don't know what we're doing, anyway that bike shop girl kind of freaked me out."

"What do you mean freaked you out?"

"I don't know, something was off, plus she dressed like a weirdo." Brita said.

"You should hear yourself, you sound so stuck up, but you're right, we don't know what we're doing, that’s why we need to learn, hence we go to the ride and learn from Marley," Stacey explained.

"FIne," Brita said as she stepped through the door and pulled her hair into a ponytail, "lets go make fools of ourselves."

Stacey and Brita rolled into the parking lot of Campus Cycles a few minutes early and immediately felt like they were on another planet. There were three distinct groups gathered in the parking lot, A tight group of athletic riders in skintight lycra stood around with sleek high tech bicycles that looked more like something from the future. A second group of riders mostly on similar bikes but with less uniformity in clothing style and body shape formed a second group, and a third group appeared to be composed of more women in far more casual clothing and bikes more like hers.

There was an awkward moment when everyone on the parking lot seemed to turn towards Stacey and Brita at once and stare. “Lets get out of here,” Brita said.

“Chill,” Stacey replied as she scanned the crowd for Marley. “I don’t see her anywhere,” A tall guy rolled over from the skintight group and smiled taking off his sunglasses to reveal bright blue eyes., “Hey, I’m Ben, are you guys here for the ride?” He said in a deep voice.

Brita reached over and pinched Stacey, and she seemed unable to form words, “Yeah Marley invited us, I’m Stacey and this is Brita.”

“Cool, well she’s in the shop and will be out in just a second, do you guys need helmets?” Ben asked.

“Ummm,” Brita said, seemingly unable to remember what a helmet was.

“We don’t have helmets,” Stacey replied.

“Yeah, gotta have a helmet to do this ride, but we’ve got loaners, Marley will set you up, just head over to the shop.” Ben said. Stacey had to pull Brita away, thanked Ben and headed towards the door.

“I think I’m going to love cycling,” Brita said as she turned around for one last look at Ben’s chiseled backside. “That is so hot,” she said and licked her lips.

“Would you calm down,” Stacey said. As they approached the shop door Marley and Jordan came out pushing a bike.

“Hey you made it awesome,” Marley said. “This is my friend Jordan, she’s going to ride with us tonight,” Stacey felt a bit of relief in knowing Jordan was a girl, as she wasn’t quite able to place her gender. Jordan stuck out her hand for a handshake.

“Why don’t these bikes have kickstands?” Brita asked.

“That’s a good question,” Marley said with a laugh and showed them to lean their bikes along the wall of the shop. She took Brita and Stacey in to loan them helmets but made a funny face. “Well, we have a slight problem here,” she said and lifted two helmets out of a box. One was a standard white with blue accents, while the other was a girls helmet with several variations on neon pink and purple and huge hearts all over.

“Oh no,” Brita said.

“I’m sorry these are the only two we have left,” Marley said.

Stacey reached out and took the adult helmet and stuck it on her head, “Sorry but this is one of the few times having a big head has been an advantage, it’s a perfect fit,” she said.

Brita grabbed the kid’s helmet and stuck it on her head, “Whatever it’s fine, it's cute, I like it,” she said as she stomped out.

Ben rolled over to Marley’s group back in the parking lot, “Big group tonight,” he said.

“Yeah, little 500 brings them out,” Marley said.

“Well I’ll see you afterward,” Ben said and rolled back over to his group. There was a sudden storm of clicking sounds as the riders all locked their shoes into their pedals and began rolling out.

“Are you guys like dating?” Brita asked Marley.

Marley raised her eyebrow and couldn’t help but raise a smile, “Why do you ask?”

“Because he’s flipping hot,” Brita said.

Marley laughed and said, “No, he works at the shop too, we’re just friends.”

“Cool,” Brita said.

Are you done embarrassing us now?” Stacey asked then turned to Marley, “So I take it that’s the fast group.”

“Yeah, thats the A group they will do 35, we’re the B group and we’ll do 25, and over there is Mary and the C group they’ll do 15,” Marley explained.

“25 miles? Tonight?” Brita asked.

“Yeah, it’s really not that far, but you’re welcome to go ride with the C group,” Marley said.

Brita looked over and studied the group, it was mostly older women and men, many of them looking a bit pudgy in tight fitting spandex and didn’t say anything. Marley clicked into her pedals, with the same style of shoes as the guys had in the A group. Stacey looked over Marely’s bike, it was spotless, sleek and aerodynamic. The paint was gloss black with highlights in feminine colors, and the word Specialized was emblazoned across the downtube in a beautiful rainbow gradient. “Wow that’s a really nice bike, do you race?” Stacey said.

“Thanks,” Marley said as she began to lead out the B group. “And no I don’t race,” she said.

Out on the road Marley stayed in the front of the group leading them through the hustle and bustle of traffic and then onto quiet city streets where she drifted back to Jordan, Stacey and Brita. “So if you want to take a break, just stop, the C group will be by and stay with you. In about ten miles you’ll need to decide if you want to do the longer ride or take the shorter one with the Cs,” Marley explained. For the next 5 minutes Marley gave the girls a crash course in group riding, covering drafting, car back warnings, road safety, and the basic tactics. Stacey noticed they were no longer in town as the group turned a corner onto a smooth country road. There was a change in the group, the pace began to quicken. Stacey felt her heart rate begin to rise as the group stretched out into a line.

A smile found its way to Stacey’s face, the feeling of blood pumping, wind in her hair, and the ground rushing by reminded her of cross country running in high school. Minutes ticked by and Stacey found the smile growing. She looked behind her to see a frown on Brita’s face. “Are you OK?”

“Yeah peachy,” she said between breaths. Ahead of her Marley’s friend Jordan was beginning to struggle to hang on and a gap was growing between her and the other riders. Marley drifted back from the front of the group.

“If you guys want I’ll hang back with you until the C’s get here.” she explained.

Brita stopped pedaling, “Yes please,” she said. Jordan slowed her pace as well and the main group kept getting farther away.

“I can keep going,” Stacey said.

“I’ll stay back with her if you guys want to keep going,” Jordan said.

“Are you sure?” Marley asked.

“Yeah we’re big girls, we’ll be fine,” Brita said.

“OK the C group rides a lot slower and they won’t leave you behind,” Marley said and gave Stacey a good look of appraisal. She was breathing deeply but appeared more athletic and toned then Brita or Jordan. She winked at her, “You ready to catch up?”

“Yeah lets go,” Stacey said, and immediately felt cheesy for her enthusiasm. She waved bye to her friend and tucked in behind Marley who very slowly and steadily increased her pace until they were beginning to catch back up. “How fast are we going?” Stacey shouted into the wind.

“21,” Marley yelled back. It wasn’t long before they were back with the B group. Stacey noticed that Marley still didn’t seem to be breathing hard, but she was taking deep breaths and feeling a not altogether unpleasant burning in her legs. Marley went back to the front of the group and worked her way in with the guys breaking the wind. A few miles later she drifted back to Stacey, “OK, point of no return, still feel like doing 25?”

“Yeah I feel good,” Stacey said.

“Awesome, this road has a few hills and segments, you’re going to see the group come apart but we’ll regroup in a few miles, just stay on this road.” Marley said. They turned onto a smaller road and soon were climbing a significant hill. Just as Marley said some riders surged forward and others began to drift back. Stacey began passing people, and noticed Marley was on the front setting the pace. At the crest of the hill her lungs and legs were burning, but she couldn’t believe she was still with the group, at least what was left of the group, it was now just Marley, herself and two other riders. Marley turned around and looked surprised to see Stacey still with them, she gave her a thumbs up. The downhill rush was incredible, then they turned a corner and another huge hill loomed before her.

This time Stacey found herself in the easiest gear and still struggling, one by one the riders she all passed went around her, giving encouragement and praise for how strong she was on her first ride. It was a huge blow when she saw what she thought was the top, wasn’t really the top, but just the halfway point. “Crap,” she said as the last rider she could see disappeared over the top.

Marley stood alone, leaning against her bike and watched Stacey struggle over the crest of the hill and roll to a stop a few feet from her. The exhausted girl slumped over the bars to catch her breath. “Sorry this was way too hard of a ride for someone who hasn’t rode before,” Marley said.

“Now you tell me!” Stacey said looking up, then laughed and said “Thanks for waiting on me.”

“No problem, a few others wanted to wait but I shooed them along,” Marley said. The girls began to ride and soon were coasting down out of the hills and into some more forgiving terrain. “Trust me you’re doing great for your first ride, all of us have been doing this for years.”

“So how did you get into riding,” Stacey asked.

“Well, my Mom was a bike racer when she was in college, we rode bikes as kids, she took me to my first race when I was 13,” Marley explained.

“I thought you said you didn’t race?” Stacey asked.

“I don’t anymore,” Marley said with a slight edge to her voice.

“Why’d you stop,” Stacey asked.

Marley felt her breath shorten and not from the sedate pace they were riding, she thought about what happened. She could still remember the way people looked at her, the stinging hatred in their eyes. Not only was she a freak, but a cheat who had stolen from “real” girls. A big part of her just wanted to be honest and say, I’m transgender and was hated for riding with the girls. Marley forced a smile on her face and looked at Stacey, “I just got tired of the stress of competition. So what’s it like being in a Sorority?”

“Well, I’ve only been there a month now, but it’s good, lots of new friends, lots of opportunities, the hazing wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.” Stacey laughed

“Hazing, that’s for real?” Marley asked.

“Yeah, I mean, some of the houses are kind of intense, like insane stuff, but Pi Beta Phi is really pretty tame,” Stacey said.

“Well what happened?” Marley asked.

“It’s kind of embarrassing,” Stacey said.

“I’m trying to live vicariously through you, my college experience revolves around going to classes, riding my bike, and working at the shop,” Marley said.

“It was last year, and I was scared because I’d heard horror stories about Rush week. First we were all assigned a ‘Mom’ and mine was Brita. So for a week we had to call her mommy, which was like no big deal you know. They all treated all the pledges like little kids, we had to ask permission for everything, and I mean everything, but in the process they taught us everything we needed to know,” Stacey explained.

“Well that doesn’t sound so bad,” Marley explained.

“I’m leaving out the real embarrassing stuff,” Stacey said with a laugh.

“You can’t leave out the good stuff!,” Marley said.

“Well they took the whole mommy and daughter thing kind of far, we had to wear a pacifier holder with our letters on it, at all times that week, and then there were the spankings and diapers,” Stacey said.

“The what!” Marley said.

“Well a big part of the week was learning the culture and history of the Sorority, so we were given lots of tests, if you didn’t pass you’d get spanked,” Stacey said.

“Umm, and diapers?” Marley asked with a giggle.

“Yeah, I guess we sound pretty immature,” Stacey said. In my defense they were those cute pull-ups for bedwetters, so you know.

The thought of Stacey in such a garment getting spanked brought butterflies to Marley’s stomach, but she forced the thoughts out of her head and said “Well it’s not for me.”

“I know it sounds stupid, but it really helps bring us all together, now Brita is my best friend,” Stacey said.

“That’s cool,” Marley said.

“Now it’s your turn, tell me an embarrassing story,” Stacey said.

Marley felt a lump in her throat as she thought of all the ways her life had changed and how many emberassements she’d suffered. “No thanks,” she said.

“Come on, it’s only fair,” Stacey said.

“I don’t really have an embarrassing story,” Marley said.

“Every girl has an embarrassing story,” Stacey said.

“OK so I was doing this ride once and there was a rest stop with tons of people. I rolled into the rest stop and couldn’t get my feet out of the pedals and fell over,” Marley said.

“Ouch, that sounds painful,” Stacey said.

“It really just hurt my pride,” Marley said.

The girls rode together chatting and the miles ticked away, soon they were back in the parking lot of Campus Cycles. A few riders were hanging around talking but most everyone was gone including Jordan. Brita was talking to Ben and waved when they rolled in. “Can you guys believe that Ben rode 35 miles tonight,” she said.

Ben just smiled, and Marley laughed, “He’s pretty amazing,” she said.

“Jordan had to go, she left her bike up against the wall over there,” Brita said. Stacey helped Marley gather up the loaner bikes and helmets and return them in the shop.

“Thanks for waiting for me, I really enjoyed riding with you,” Stacey said.

“Oh.. great thanks, we ride every Thursday night,” Marley said. Stacey approached her and hugged her, Marley immediately tensed her back, and left her arms stretched out in front her. “Oh, OK,” she awkwardly said.

Stacey laughed, “Sorry, I’m a hugger, thanks again.”

Stacey turned to leave and Marley felt a word forcing itself up from her throat, “Wait,” she said a bit too forcefully.

“Would you like to get some coffee, we could talk about training for the Little 5,” Marley said.

“Oh, that would be awesome, but I promised Brita I’d help her with some school stuff tonight,” Stacey said.

“Oh, yeah cool,” Marley said.

“How about tomorrow night, say 6 or something. Let me get your number,” Marley struggled for a few seconds sputtering before she could remember her number, and Stacey laughed again. “Bye,” she said and left. Marley didn’t move for several seconds then finally took a deep breath.

“What the hell are you doing?” she asked herself.

“So did you get his number?” Stacey asked Brita as they rode home.

“Whose number?” Brita said with a smile.

“Don’t be coy with me bitch, the hunky bike guy you were drooling all over when I pulled up,” Stacey said.

“Oh Ben, why yes, yes I did,” Brita said. The two girls fist bumped and giggled. “By the way, thanks for leaving me with that weirdo.”

“Weirdo?,” Stacey asked.

“Jordan, she was so awkward, but I did find out something interesting, I was right about Marley, I knew something wasn’t quite right about her.” Brita said.

“Right about what?” Stacey asked.

“I asked Jordan how her and Marley were friends, and guess what, they met at the LGBT center, they’re lezzies.” Brita explained.

“Oh, wow, I’m going out with her tomorrow night,” Stacey said. Brita nearly fell off her bike laughing.

Chapter 2

The morning sun had barely crested the horizon when Jim Patton laced up his sneakers and stepped out onto the porch, breathing in the crisp dawn air. For the first time in years, his knees didn’t creak. His back didn’t protest. He felt… light.

He stretched, rolling his shoulders, and took off down the sidewalk at a pace that would’ve left the old Jim wheezing after half a block. Now, he barely broke a sweat.
Martha Whitmore, their nosy neighbor, nearly dropped her watering can as he jogged past.

“Jim? Is that you?” she called, squinting through her bifocals.

Jim slowed just enough to flash her a grin. “Mornin’, Martha! Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
She gaped. He hadn’t called it a beautiful day since… well, ever.

Inside the Patton house, Linda hummed softly as she knitted. The needles clicked in rhythm, the yarn, soft pastel blue, coiling into something small, something for a child. She wasn’t sure why she’d picked that color. It just felt… right.

She’d spent the last week deep-cleaning the house, rearranging furniture, even buying new throw pillows. Jim had joked that she was nesting, and she’d laughed—but then she’d caught herself standing in the baby aisle at Target, staring at stuffed animals for no reason.

A knock at the door startled her. “Linda? You in there?” Martha’s voice carried through the screen.

Linda set down her knitting. “Come on in, Martha!”

Martha pushed inside, her sharp eyes scanning the living room—the freshly vacuumed carpet, the organized shelves, the half-finished tiny sweater on the coffee table.
“You’ve been busy,” Martha said, raising an eyebrow. Their house hadn’t changed in years.

Linda smiled. “Just feeling inspired.”

Martha’s gaze lingered on the knitting. “That’s awfully small for Jim.”

Linda’s fingers stilled. “Oh, it’s just… practice. I’ll donate it or give it to the Henderson’s for their little boy,”

Martha wasn’t buying it. She set the sweater down and crossed her arms. “Linda Patton, I’ve known you for years. You haven’t knitted since… well I’ve never seen you knit. And Jim? Jim is out there running like he’s training for a marathon. What in the world is going on with you two?”

Linda hesitated. She hadn’t even realized how strange it must look, Jim, who used to groan getting out of his recliner, now bounding around like a man half his age. And her, suddenly obsessed with tidiness, with soft things, with,
No. That’s ridiculous

She forced a laugh. “We’ve just been… feeling good, I guess. Maybe it’s the weather.”
Martha’s lips pursed. “The weather doesn’t un-stiffen joints or make women suddenly reorganize the house.”

Linda’s cheeks warmed. “Well, whatever it is, we’re not complaining.”
Martha’s eyes narrowed. “You taking some kind of miracle drug?”

Linda stiffened. “Of course not!”

“Vitamins? Experimental treatment?”

"Martha, we're just feeling refreshed," Linda said, forcing a smile as she carefully folded the tiny sweater. The yarn between her fingers felt instinctively comforting, like she'd done this a thousand times before. "Jim started walking more, I've been gardening, it's amazing what a little movement can do."

Martha's penciled eyebrows climbed toward her hairline. She leaned in, lowering her voice like they were sharing secrets at church. "Linda Patton, a week ago Jim struggled to walk to the park, now he’s out jogging.” Her eyes flicked to Linda's smooth hands. "And since when do your arthritis knobs not look like walnuts?"

Linda instinctively tucked her hands under the knitting basket. The joints had been painless for days now. "Maybe we caught a second wind," she said lightly. Too lightly.

"Hmph." Martha's gaze landed on the end table where a parenting magazine lay half-hidden under a crossword book. Linda didn't remember buying it. Had it come in the mail? The cover showed a beaming mother cradling an infant, the headline screaming "Your Best Nursing Bras!"

A flush crept up Linda's neck as Martha's fingernails, frosted pink and filed sharp, tapped the coffee table. "You know," Martha said slowly, "the Wilsons down the street got one of those illegal youth hormone cocktails from Cuba. Woke up in the hospital missing a kidney."

"For heaven's sake!" Linda's laugh came out shriller than intended. "We're not,"
The teakettle whistled from the kitchen, saving her. Linda practically leapt up, knocking her knitting to the floor. The ball of blue yarn unraveled across the carpet like a retreating tide.

Martha stooped to help gather it, her rhinestone glasses glinting. "This looks just like the layette set my niece knitted for her baby shower," she murmured. When Linda didn't respond, Martha added, "Funny how life works. All those years teaching other people's children... never got to have your own, did you?"

Linda’s eye’s narrowed at her friend's biting comment, “No… and by the way how is your daughter doing, she still on the other side of the country in Seattle?” Linda asked.

Linda's fingers paused on the knitting needles as Martha leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Linda Patton, tell me the truth now." Her knobby fingers gripped the armrest. "Have you found some... fountain of youth out there?

The laugh that bubbled up from Linda's chest felt lighter than it had in years. "Oh Martha, if I'd found the secret to youth, I'd have bottled it and sold it at the church bazaar by now." She set aside the tiny blue sleeve she'd been working on. "We're just feeling good, is all. Sleeping better, eating right,"

The front door burst open before she could finish. Jim stood in the doorway, cheeks flushed pink, his white hair damp with sweat but his eyes bright. In his hand, a perfect yellow daffodil trembled with his excited breathing. "Thought you might like this, Lin," he said, presenting it with a boyish flourish that made Linda's heart skip.

Martha's eyes narrowed at the flower. "That's from my garden bed by the mailbox, Jim Patton!"
Jim blinked, then grinned unrepentantly. "Well Martha, beauty ought to be shared, don't you think?" He winked as he handed it to Linda, his fingers surprisingly steady for a man who'd needed both hands to lift his coffee mug just weeks ago. Linda brought the bloom to her nose, inhaling the sweet scent. When she looked up, Martha was studying them both with new intensity.

"You're different," Martha murmured, more to herself than to them. "Not just healthier. You move like... like..."

"Like we've got springs in our shoes?" Jim laughed, bouncing on the balls of his feet as if to demonstrate. "Tell you what, Martha, come by tomorrow morning. I'll show you the stretch routine I've been doing. Might put some pep in your step too." Martha opened her mouth, then closed it again. Her gaze drifted from Jim's energetic stance to Linda's radiant complexion, then to the half-knitted baby garment on the coffee table.

She was well into to dealing with the indignities of old age, they were getting younger, whatever they were doing she had to find out. "Well," she said at last, pushing herself up from the chair with considerably more effort than either Patton required these days, "I suppose some people just age better than others." The words held no malice, only wonder. "You two enjoy your... whatever this is. Oh and stay out of my daffodils Jim!” Martha said as she shut the door behind her.

“She’s definitely on to something, do you think she’ll mind her own business?” Jim asked with a chuckle.

Linda twirled the daffodil between her fingers, watching the petals catch the light. "Not for a second," she said, and found she didn't much care. Jim mopped his forehead with his sleeve. Then his smile faltered. "Lin... how many miles do you think I just ran?"

Linda set the flower carefully on the coffee table next to her knitting. "However many it was, you weren't doing it three weeks ago." She reached for his hand, turning it over in hers. The age spots that had dotted his knuckles for a decade were fading. "Jim, what's happening to us?"

Jim flexed his fingers, watching the smooth movement of tendons beneath unexpectedly firm skin. "Remember the day the guy we helped in the park bought us lunch.”

"Clark," Linda nodded automatically, then blinked. She hadn't thought about him since that day, yet his name came to her lips without hesitation.
"Yeah, well..." Jim rubbed the back of his neck where a very bad mosquito bite had nearly driven him crazy last week. "Then we were both bit by those giant mosquitoes, the next day, my neck was all swollen up and sore, but my back didn’t hurt.”

Linda's knitting needles clattered to the floor as the realization hit. Her gaze dropped to the tiny blue sweater sleeve. "Yeah, it was a really bad bite, but the next morning my arthritis was better than it had been in years."

Jim cleared his throat. "You don't think... I mean, it's not possible that we were infected with something?"

"I don't know what's possible anymore. But I know I woke up yesterday wanting oatmeal with brown sugar for the first time since I was 30."

Jim's laugh started deep in his chest, richer than it had been in years. "I ate peanut butter straight from the jar last night. Like a damn college kid."

Their eyes met, and in that moment, an unspoken agreement passed between them. Whatever was happening, whether miracle or madness, they wouldn't question it. Not yet.

Later that night the Pattons sat on the couch, Linda thumbed through her parenting magazine, trying to remember when she bought it. Jim flicked through TV channels, and settled on old cartoons that he’d watched as a child, but they seemed so new and he found himself engaged. During a commercial he glanced over and watched Linda reading, the article was top 5 things to do when preparing for a new baby. Then his eyes caught an ad for Pampers. He felt himself growing aroused and started staring at Linda’s breasts, they seemed far more supple and... Without thinking he reached over and lifted her nightgown.

“Jim, what are…” Linda started but grew silent when Jim latched on to her nipple and began sucking, something he had enjoyed doing back in their youth when sex was far more frequent. She dropped the magazine and instinctively began rubbing his head, and in a few minutes they made their way to the bedroom for something they hadn’t enjoyed in a very long time.

Chapter 3

Jim woke slowly, wrapped in a warmth he hadn’t felt in decades. His limbs were heavy with sleep, his mind still floating in that soft, dreamy place where nothing hurt and nothing worried him. He hadn’t woken up to pee at 3 AM. He hadn’t woken up at all.

Then he shifted, and froze. The mattress beneath him was cold. His stomach dropped.
No. Not again.

He lay perfectly still, as if maybe, just maybe, if he didn’t move, it wouldn’t be real. But the dampness clinging to his thighs was undeniable. The faint, sour tang in the air was unmistakable. He’d done it again. Two nights in a row.

Linda had been awake for ten minutes, her nightgown cold and damp, just like yesterday morning. She felt Jim stiffen beside her, heard the sharp hitch in his breathing. She’d pretended to sleep through his frantic, whispered “Oh no, no, no” as he realized.

Last night, he’d blamed a spilled glass of water. This morning, she wasn’t giving him the chance to lie. She rolled over and flicked on the lamp. Jim flinched like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. His pajama pants were dark with moisture, the sheets beneath him soaked. His face, younger now, smoother than it had been in a decade, was flushed with shame. They stared at each other in the yellow lamplight.
Finally, Linda reached out and touched his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” she said softly.

Jim’s throat worked. “Lin, I…”

“You wet the bed honey, don’t lie,” Linda said.

“Yeah I guess, I don’t remember, I was asleep, it wasn’t on purpose.”

“I know, lets just get cleaned up again, its no big deal.” Linda said. They stripped off their wet clothes and bedding, then Jim got towels to dry the mattress where there was a ring from last night's accident.

The washing machine churned in the background as Jim sat at the kitchen table, wrapped in a robe, staring at his coffee struggling with shame. Jim Patton, 71 years old, or was he? Had just wet the bed like he did when he was 6 years old. He remembered that shameful time in his life and how his Dad accused him of being too lazy to get out of bed.

But Linda… Linda wasn’t upset. That was the strangest part. In fact she seemed to be amused, maybe even happy about it. She set a plate of pancakes in front of him, the syrup pooling golden in the center. “Eat,” she said. Jim picked up his fork, his hands steady. No tremors. No arthritis. Just smooth, easy movement. He took a bite. The sweetness burst on his tongue, rich and comforting. He hadn’t craved pancakes like this since he was a boy.

Across the table, Linda watched him with an expression he couldn’t quite place. “OK, here’s what we are going to do, we’ll buy a mattress protector, and you’re going to go to the doctor and get checked out. Make sure you don’t have a bladder infection or something,” Linda said.

“I don’t feel like I have anything wrong, and what about the changes..” Jim asked.

“I don’t know but we need to be smart about this, your health is the most important thing to me sweetie. The doctor can rule out there is nothing wrong, maybe it’s just a phase, but I’m putting a towel between us tonight, she said. THey both chuckled.

Jim got an appointment to see the doctor the very next day, and for the third morning in a row woke up wet. It wasn’t as bad this morning since Linda had placed a heavy towel under him. Doctor Patel entered the examination room and seemed surprised when he looked at his patient. “Wow Jim, you look younger, what's your secret?”

Jim forced a chuckle. “Retirement and a good moisturizer?”

The doctor’s laughter faded as he scanned Jim’s chart. “Says here you’re here for nocturnal enuresis.” His stethoscope hovered over Jim’s chest. “Three nights running?”
“Yeah, but…” Jim swallowed as the cold metal touched his skin. “

“Hey bud, don’t be ashamed, you wouldn’t believe how many people have that issue, incontinence is way more common than you’d think. 20 million americans” Dr. Patel said. Jim didn’t feel relieved.

Dr. Patel stared at the urine analysis results, then at Jim’s blood pressure reading (117/78), then back at the chart. “Your PSA levels are better than mine. Kidneys function like a twenty-year-old.” He flipped a page. “You say you stopped drinking?”

Jim’s fingers drummed on his knees, smooth knees, no more creaking. “Not a drop.”

“And you’re still taking the lisinopril?”

“Every morning.” Until last week, Jim didn’t add, when he’d inexplicably started forgetting.

The doctor scribbled notes, his pen hovering over the diagnosis line. “Jim… medically speaking, you’re in better shape than you were at fifty. There’s no physiological reason for the bedwetting.”

Jim’s pulse throbbed in his suddenly dry throat. “So what’s next?”

Dr. Patel wrote on a notepad and tore off the page. “Go to Wal-Mart and buy some of these. If it persists past a month, we’ll do a sleep study.” He hesitated. “Off the record my grandfather lived to ninety-six. Grandma said he wet the bed like a baby for years. Getting old sucks, my friend.”

Jim stared at the script for Depend overnight protection. “Thanks doc,” he said.

***

Jim was breathing heavily as he and Linda pushed a cart towards the incontinence aisle. "You can go back to the car," Linda said with a smile.

"No, this is no big deal," Jim said though his quicker pulse would indicate otherwise. Jim's palms were slick against the shopping cart handle as they turned down the dreaded aisle. Neon blue packaging screamed "OVERNIGHT PROTECTION!" beside cheerful young men and women on packs of disposable briefs. His stomach clenched. There was someone down the aisle, an older woman. She placed a pack of Depends for women in her cart and turned. Jim and Linda froze, it was their neighbor Martha.

“Oh, umm, Hi Linda, Jim,” she said. There was a large pack of Depends already in the cart and a container of baby powder.

“So umm, shopping?” Jim asked.

“Yeah, I pick up supplies for Mildred you know down the block, she doesn’t drive now,” Martha replied.

“Oh, I see,” Linda said with a smile.

“And what are you two doing here?” Martha asked.

Linda didn’t hesitate, “Jim’s having accidents, he needs bladder protection,” she said.

“What, no!,” Jim said in horror.

“There’s no use trying to hide it honey, you’re not as young as you used to be,” Linda said and winked at him.

Jim's face burned hotter than the Florida pavement in July. He opened his mouth, closed it, then saw the mischievous glint in Linda's eye. Two could play this game.

"Well since we're airing grievances," Jim said, slinging an arm around Linda's shoulders, "my lovely wife here keeps buying prune juice and fiber supplements like we're running a retirement home cafeteria." He nodded to Martha's cart. "Though I see you're shopping for Mildred's... special needs too."

Martha's grip tightened on her cart handle. The baby powder suddenly looked conspicuously placed next to the Depends. "Mildred has very sensitive skin," she sniffed.

"Of course she does," Linda said sweetly. "You're such a good neighbor."
An elderly man turned into the aisle, paused at the sight of the three of them, then quickly reversed his cart with surprising speed.

Jim grabbed a package of men's briefs with exaggerated consideration. "Now Linda, do you think I need the overnight protection or just the light days?" He held them up like wine bottles. "This one has a floral scent, might pair nicely with Martha's selection."

Martha's lips pursed. "You're enjoying this."

"You're right," Jim sighed dramatically. "I should be embarrassed. But between Linda's fiber obsession and your... Mildred supplies, I figure we're all in the same leaky boat."
Linda squeezed his hand in approval as Martha's stern expression cracked into a reluctant smile.

"Fine," Martha grumbled, tossing a container of adult sized baby wipes in her cart with defiant flair. "But if either of you breathe a word about this at bridge club, I'll tell everyone about Jim's little waterworks problem."

"Deal," Linda laughed.

As they parted ways, Jim called after Martha: "Tell Mildred I hope her sensitive skin improves!"

Martha flipped him off without turning around, the Depends in her cart bouncing as she rounded the corner.

“Why did you tell her?” Jim asked as he dropped a package of the incontinence briefs in the cart.

“She’s very nosy, she’d find out anyway, plus she’s very curious about our recent changes, she thinks we have a fountain of youth somewhere. So I thought if she knew you were having accidents then she might not worry about it.

“Oh, clever I guess,” Jim replied.

Later that night Jim found that there seemed to be no end to the depths of humiliation he was enduring. “OK sweetie, it’s bedtime, so lets get you in your night time pants,” Linda said. Luckily her parenting magazine had an article about dealing with older bedwetters so she was ready.

Jim stood frozen in the bathroom doorway, clutching his pajama top like a shield. "Lin, I can put them on myself."

Linda fluffed the freshly protected mattress, her tone breezy but firm, the same voice she'd used decades ago with her third graders. "Of course you can, sweetheart. But we need to make sure they're fitted properly or they'll leak." She patted the bed. "Come here."

The parenting magazine lay open on the nightstand to an article titled "Nighttime Accidents: Keeping Your Child (or Loved One) Comfortable." Jim's eye twitched at the highlighted section: "Make changes part of a calming bedtime routine."

"This is ridiculous," he muttered, but his feet carried him forward anyway. The crinkle of the mattress protector under his knees sounded absurdly loud.

Linda knelt before him with the same focus she'd once given to knitting those tiny sweaters. She slid the undergarment up his legs and pulled it tight into his crotch. "There. Snug but not too tight." She patted his hip. "How's that feel?"

Jim opened his mouth to protest but stopped, "Better than last night," he admitted grudgingly. The protection did feel secure. Less like a medical device and more like... well, he wouldn't finish that thought.

Linda beamed and produced a blue plastic cup from the nightstand. "Here's your water. Just half-full tonight, we don't want too many accidents while we're training."
Jim blinked. "Training?"

"Mmm." Linda smoothed the sheets, avoiding his eyes. "The article says consistency is key for overcoming bedwetting. We'll start with scheduled bathroom trips." She fluffed his pillow. "Now, do you want a story or..."

"Linda."

She froze at his tone, then sighed. "Too much?"
Jim studied her face, the genuine concern in her eyes, the way her hands still hovered near his shoulders like she might tuck him in. A month ago, this would've sparked an argument. Now, he just felt... cared for.

"Just turn out the light," he grumbled, sliding under the covers.

Linda pressed a kiss to his forehead before he could dodge it. "Goodnight, baby."
The nickname hung in the air between them. Neither acknowledged it.

The next morning Jim woke up with a soggy wet pull-up between his legs, but a dry bed. There were a few damp spots on his pajamas but it was worlds better than waking up and stripping the bedding. He quickly got up and carefully waddled to the bathroom. Seeing himself in the mirror with the wet garment felt strange, he had wondered what this would be like for years, and now all the sudden here he was, but it wasn’t really what he wanted, it wasn’t really babyish. He pulled the soggy garment down his legs.

"Let me help." Linda stood in the doorway, bathrobe tied tight, her hair mussed from sleep but eyes alert. She'd clearly been awake waiting.

Jim instinctively turned away. "I've got it."

"I know you do." She stepped closer anyway, and took the wet pull-up from his hands and tied it in a tight ball. “The article said skin needs proper cleaning or you'll get rashes." She wet a washcloth under warm water, testing the temperature on her wrist.
Jim stared at the tile wall as she gently wiped his thighs. The clinical touch should have humiliated him, but the warm cloth soothed him.

"I bet that was better than waking up wet?" Linda murmured, applying powder with feather-light strokes. Her fingers lingered at his hipbone, thinner now, his body shedding the middle-aged spread. "You're doing so well."

The praise settled in Jim's chest like sunlight. He caught her wrist. "Lin... are you enjoying this?"

“Maybe,” she said and kissed him.