Back In the City by the Lake
Chapters (62)
  1. In the City by the Lake
  2. Taylor Saracen
  3. Contents
  4. Untitled
  5. Copyright
  6. Dedication
  7. Acknowledgments
  8. 1
  9. 2
  10. 3
  11. 4
  12. 5
  13. 6
  14. 7
  15. 8
  16. 9
  17. 10
  18. March 1932
  19. 11
  20. July 1932
  21. 12
  22. December 1932
  23. 13
  24. April 1933
  25. 14
  26. August 1933
  27. 15
  28. December 1933
  29. 16
  30. February 1934
  31. 17
  32. April 1934
  33. 18
  34. October 1934
  35. 19
  36. December 1934
  37. 20
  38. February 1935
  39. 21
  40. June 1935
  41. 22
  42. October 1935
  43. 23
  44. December 1935
  45. 24
  46. February 1936
  47. 25
  48. April 1936
  49. 26
  50. July 1936
  51. 27
  52. October 1936
  53. 28
  54. December 1936
  55. 29
  56. February 1937
  57. 30
  58. June 1937
  59. 31
  60. September 1937
  61. 32
  62. December 1937

Cal’s sweet tooth would make me porky one day, but I could not deny I enjoyed a chocolate bar or two. Cal, on the other hand, enjoyed a higher quantity than that.

“You know they sell full boxes, too, right? We could buy a box and have enough for the week. We won’t even have to walk to the store to get more,” Cal explained as we headed over to the market.

I laughed as I opened the door and followed him to the candy aisle. It felt like months since we’d last laughed and I was relieved we’d achieved some levity.

“I need to get a few for Rosie too,” he said as I eyed his handful of candy bars, amused.

“Of course,” I indulged, knowing damn well Rosie hadn’t been eating much of anything.

We walked back to the apartment, snacking on our Snickers, and chatting about nothing of consequence. It was by far my favorite type of conversation. Easy days were hard to come by, and I relished in the simplicity of the afternoon. I should have remembered that above frothy lightness was where the darkness liked to loom.

As soon as we crossed the threshold to our apartment we knew that something was wrong. Rosie wasn’t in the living room, and a quick peek into his bedroom told us he wasn’t there either.

“He wouldn’t go out without us,” Cal said, panic raising his voice an octave.

“Maybe he’s taking a shit,” I suggested, dropping my candy on the counter as I made my way to the bathroom. When my eyes caught sight of the note taped to the door, I knew what Rosie did:

Call the police.

“No,” Cal howled over my shoulder. “Tell me he didn’t … no!”

“Go,” I yelled, practically kicking him away as he crumpled to the floor. “Into our room. Go in there right now.”

He was crying so hard that the words he punched out were incoherent, but I didn’t try to understand. I needed to get him away from the door and to our room, so I could process what the fuck had happened, what Rosie had done.

Bending over, I threw Cal’s lanky form over my shoulder and carried him to our bed where I deposited the pieces of him. He was a fractured soul, crushed heart, and boneless body all lying in a lifeless heap.