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mattered what she looked like. I think the universe determined
that we were going to be together and it just happened. We saw each other, our
eyes met, we drifted toward each other, while the rest of the room faded into
the background and some sappy love song overplayed the whole scene. It might
not have happened exactly like that.
    On my thirtieth birthday, Fran and I had been together for about
four months. Maybe she came into my life right before my mother died. Meeting
her and falling in love with her is a whirlwind that’s all blurred up in that
time frame. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced in my life. Yes, I
know all about the big lesbian joke about bringing a U-Haul on the second date,
but I had never been that woman. To this day, I am not that woman, though I did
move in with Voldemort about six months after our first date. I still don’t
know why, though I truly think I was still on a rebound from Fran. Somehow, the
idea of being with my ex, a woman so radically different from Fran in every
way, seemed a good idea at the time. I remember Sam literally begging me not to
move in with she-who-shall-not-be-named, but of course, I didn’t listen.
    Glancing over at Sam, I smile at the memory. Those two hated each
other from the beginning, but Sam stuck by me the whole time. Sam catches me
staring at her.
    “What’s up?”
    “Nothing. Just thinking
about you and Voldemort.”
    “I can’t stand that woman.”
    Laughing, I punch her on the shoulder. “I know. I was thinking
about how you tried so hard to talk me out of moving in with her.”
    “You know, you met Fran. Your mom died. Fran died. You moved to
the island. You met Voldemort. You moved in with her. You didn’t give yourself
the time you needed to recover from your mom or Fran.”
    “I was lonely. I thought getting into another relationship would
fix me.”
    “Yeah, perfect fix for a hermit.”
    “Who knew it would last ten years?”
    “I should have clubbed you over the head.”
    “Probably would have put me in a coma.”
    Sam grins. “The hospital bills would have been ultimately less
expensive.”
    “Less painful, too.”
    “Why are you wasting time thinking about her on a beautiful day
like this?”
    “I was thinking about that whole weird time around my thirtieth.”
    She nods. “Want to talk about it?”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “Fair enough.”
    She flags down a passing waiter and asks him to go get her a beer.
“I’m officially off the clock as of this moment.” He looks at her dubiously,
but trots off to get it for her.
    Part of me does want to talk about it. I’ve given Sam a glimpse
into the strange place that is my head, but I haven’t really delved into the
details. She read Annabelle Lies . We’ve talked a little bit about some
of my dreams. I don’t know if she really knows what I saw before Fran died.
    Fran gave me a kaleidoscope for my thirtieth birthday. She was
always doing little things like that. She didn’t have a lot of money, and she
knew I wasn’t into expensive things anyway, but she did like to bring me little
gifts. The kaleidoscope was a perfect present. It was a nice one.
    I instantly pointed it up at the sky and twisted it around,
watching the patterns converging and changing, enjoying the way the colors slid
around. Delighted with my interest, Fran was in a joyous mood. She laughed
uproariously at my smallest jokes, and flitted around me in a rush of
enthusiasm. The cake she had made for me, strangely lopsided and oddly colored,
was perfect. I remember her presenting it to me with glee, telling me that it
was the best she could do. She said it was Charlie Brown’s birthday cake. In a
way, I think I was still reeling from the loss of my mother. Bitch that she was , she was still my mother. I thought about her every day. I
would wake up in the morning and wonder when the phone would ring. My mother
spent hours calling me lazy and stupid, but she spent just as much time
lamenting where she