A Rock and Family Vacation

[30]

Brooke knew the perfect moment, just between the two of them, to use as proof of her identity for Eliot. It was oddly romantic but silly.

Her inevitable husband started out as a psychology major and was nervously stuck giving out survey flyers on the first cold November day. He had a script that he repeated rotely about human social situations and breaking clichés. But no one stopped to even look at his flyer.

Brooke felt consummately crummy. She had just broken up with her longest boyfriend effort and it had been brutal. Her father encouraged the relationship, which should’ve been a clear warning sign for her. Silvio. He worked at the same store she did and noticed a dainty decoration at the end of her keychain. He was so nice in all matters. She got back rubs, notes of affirmation, and calm reassurances. But then they moved in together at his suggestion.

It wasn’t long before he started scrutinizing and getting irritated at every single aspect of her life from how she threw trash away, by getting in close to the waste bin instead of letting it drop from a distance, to how she blew her nose. In response, she consciously made an effort to mend every division and respond to every flaw. But it just wasn’t enough, and she took every one of their fights as a failing on her part. Ultimately, his sleeping around in the worst possible way was what drove her to break up with him.

Not long after that, she gathered the full scope of what she had stepped into with Silvio. She learned multitudes about mental conditions which she never thought she’d have to know but deeply wondered if her own father had some of the same illnesses her former boyfriend did. The fact that Silvio stockpiled and divulged pages of inside information culled from all their heart to hearts to give her dad like he was just researching her the whole time absolutely destroyed her. On that piercing November day, she didn’t even want to think about guys or psychology or anything else when she ran into Eliot, almost literally.

Desperation met her in the eye as Eliot dipped to her level and ran through a plaintive version of his script and asking if she would participate. The autopilot clicked off in her head and she actually looked back at him. He was cute but in a rather grim and broken way. They got to talking and it wasn’t long before Brooke took charge. She would be dispensing the flyers. In about thirty minutes, they were all gone.

Eliot gave her the most genuine embrace of thanks she had ever felt. There was something different about him from the first moment they talked. It would’ve been easy to point to the fact that he barely noticed her overriding, ginormous aspects. That wasn’t a new trend though. Of all the guys, and a good number of girls, who flicked eyes to that region in surprise or delight, an even greater multitude locked onto her face, as though their lives depended on not glancing any lower than her mouth, lest they look into the Ark of the Covenant and melt their faces off. Those bothered her the worst.

She did her best not to dwell on how many flyer recipients looked her over or fervently resisted looking her over. Feeling Eliot’s hug and witnessing him relaxing beside her in relief and appreciation was the ultimate respect and treat. He didn’t put anything on. It was like they already knew each other despite only just meeting. The spell of this moment persisted as he protectively cradled her hand and started to lead her away. And she didn’t stop him. The spell was only broken when he put his key in the lock of his car and she asked him from the driver's side door where he wanted to eat for dinner.

Immediately, Eliot poured out nervous apologies and aghast realizations. That was so presumptuous of him, bordering on nonchalant kidnapping, he professed with horror. Brooke reassured him that she consented the whole way and she wanted to see where he would lead her next. Dinner was fun and that evening was even more fun. They played the wildest board games, even a few Euros. That was the part that Brooke always liked to lead into when recounting how they met because she could tell when the listener had a certain expectation.

The parts she tended to leave out involved impossible fragments of memory that felt like confabulations and daydreams. Elie. Eleanor Shore. A girl who didn’t exist. A girl who was a psychology major and couldn’t give out her flyers any easier than Eliot. Not for lack of trying. She could challenge Brooke in quite a few departments. But it was like she was fighting with her loose sweater and sunken self-confidence.

Brooke helped her when she pleaded and went with her when she held her hand. Same realization of practical kidnapping, same delightful dinner, and same playful night. One of their jokes was “gopher farts”. Elie would turn the brightest shade of red to the point it looked like she had an awful sunburn. She was embarrassed by so many different parts of her body and Brooke pleaded with her not to be.

For a silly, idle, confusing fantasy about her husband being a shy, busty, blonde coed that she was in love with, she held onto so many vivid and unmistakable details. Then, she challenged her father. She went to him with Elie practically hiding behind her shoulder and confessed everything during spring break. But, especially then, being around her father was like being in the presence of an all-consuming black hole. The fantasy stopped there, and she couldn’t even imagine what happened next.

There was just Eliot and she loved him. She always loved him, of course, because it had always been Eliot. There had never been anything or anyone else, not for real. But there were still the “gopher farts” jokes and the peculiar sense that even though Eliot blushed as bright as his female fantasy doppelgänger, there was this sliver, a shade that actually understood far more than either of them comprehended.

She did her best not to dwell on that as she collected all her thoughts and faced the front of the store. Her husband and eldest daughter approached, urgently at first, then slowed to a careful amble when they sighted her. Fussing with her clothes, she could see that they were both doing too much and not enough about her slight form.

Even though she blushed and did her best to look decent, at the same time, she reflected on the hellhole of the country club and all the clubs before. She could imagine gallivanting around like this, half-clothed in an adult’s wardrobe, while she screamed the worst and most bitter truths about the places her father frequented. In her heart, she knew Lacy would’ve done the same thing if presented with the opportunity. The real Lacy. The bewildered girl following her had the potential to be the genuine article compared to the stranger who touched her nose. There was no way she would ever let her touch Eliot like that. She would fight for him.

Nervously, she bridged the distance and wrapped her arms around him. Brooke whispered about all the gopher farts and urged him to believe it was her. He shared a blush almost as bright as the one way back when. To her relief, of course, he recognized her, and, of course, he trusted the impossibility that his wife was somehow this young tween girl.

She didn’t have to share their other secret, the one that hurt her in so many ways, intentionally. The reason she named her children the way she did. The ultimate cruelty, placed upon, burned into her by her father.

Blair Posie wasn’t too bad at names went. Her first child definitely experienced some teasing that stuck with him, but he was tougher for it and quick-witted with dispatching the worst of jokes and twisting them around to his benefit. He did get punched more than once until he started to bulk up. Lacy Anastasia had it worse. Brooke desperately begged her father for a different name for her second child. He absolutely refused and, not only that, set forth the ultimatum that if she even got close to denying these names then he would use the full power of his company to destroy her and any of her children for a dozen generations.

She wanted to get free, but he was always there, orbiting like a god in any of the spaces she tried to free herself from. By Clare Rose, it was just one of those things they had to endure. She shouldered the full blame as a crazy lady who wanted to buck the gender norms in naming her children. Her secret, their secret, her most horrifying mistake. In return, her father took care of them.

“What happened?” Eliot looked into her eyes with the same urgent concern as that first day. “Was it the rock? Where’s the rock? Be careful, everyone.”

Her husband sprang into action. He gathered them all up and made sure they were safe. Randomly, Blair‘s phone chimed a tone. She fumbled with it and looked at the screen with open distress. Probably one more thing to worry about, Brooke nervously suspected. But no one pried and Blair quickly volunteered to go grab something Brooke could wear.

Meanwhile, they tried to get everyone on the same page. Clare mentioned there was a weird buzzing in her head when Lacy looked at her. To this, Lacy appeared indignant but also relayed that she had no memory of when they left the country club or the previous location. She just had a vague dream that, it was dawning on her, actually happened. Lacy scrunched up her face to the point that it was like she shut her eyes.

“Whoever or whatever did this to me is going to get a real clobbering!” She didn’t have anyone to shake her fist in the direction of, so she simply raised it in the air. At the implication from Clare that there was a person or some sort of genie-like entity inside the rock, Lacy renewed her promise to smash it. Eliot absorbed all the details with as much rational sense as possible.

Blair soon returned with a dress not too dissimilar from what Brooke was used to in her wardrobe. Her stuff managed to fit a 12-year-old but that was with more prominent features. At least, it allowed her to feel decent enough to wear out once she changed. She sighed that was one more item they would have to purchase with no clue whether it would fit her in the next five minutes or five days.

It was a jumping-off point, even though it was desperately itchy, had pokey imperfections on the side where the seam jutted out, and stabbing tags in all directions. Blair remembered the country club, the car, and the first clothing store, along with questioning Lacy about whether she was alright. To this, Lacy looked faintly pensive, as though the mention brought out a half-concealed memory.

Taking Brooke by the hand once again, Eliot led her out of the narrow hallway and back into the main part of the store. No one screamed or gasped or had questions about them returning. Not that there were a great many people around or visible with the warehouse quality of the place. But they were also immensely normal as a group. Just a dad and his four daughters, to all appearances. He looked convincingly burned out processing these new events along with traffic troubles, the stress of brunch, and the weight of all the other uncertainties.

By contrast, Brooke felt amazing. She wanted to run and skip and climb and dash here and there. Her body was game for all of it without a single note of complaint or pinprick of pain.  Being twelve again was not an age she would ever want to repeat but to do so like this didn’t seem the worst. It was just terrifying to consider that she might be stuck like this.

Blair went to go get the rock, even though she still appeared flustered from whatever her text message contained. It likely wasn’t a good idea to bring it into this cramped location, but it was the only thing they had. Although, Brooke wasn’t sure what she was going to do once they had it. She couldn’t possibly interrogate or throttle it in frustration to provide her with answers.

The moment, with what had to be a possessed Lacy, desperately clung to her memory like stray clumps of sand lashed by the waves.

It is you? What does that mean? What was she to anyone else, especially to some sort of spirit trapped inside a rock? It said it was sorry, yet it just made things more complicated. Not enough time, she could sympathize with that. But what was in its way? Them? And the final note implied that it was helping and that was the most it could manage.

What would make a spirit like that afraid? She couldn’t imagine... 

[I have a question at the end of the chapter again to help with suggestions for where the story should go. I'm a couple chapters ahead but I love seeding ideas from people as much as possible. Feel free to add an idea which doesn't show up in the options. Also, if you see any random typos or uncapitalized starts of sentences, please pass them along. I have to cut down on my editing due to release speed and my programs don't seem to be catching lowercase sentences. Thank you for reading!]

Poll below