Chapter 3.3: Ouija

Steffie believes in the spirit world.

“The dead speak to us, Taylor, they do.”

Taylor sat back on the couch, passive, unable to focus.

Steffie muttered and moved the Ouija marker.

“Your mom, I can feel her. She just …” Steffie said with tears in her eyes. “She just wants her son to be happy.”

Taylor, looking toward the spot where his mom disappeared, gets a case of The Glooms.

She unbuckled his belt. He tugged at her goth pants. Pretty soon they were going at it on the couch, quiet but urgent. It was Taylor’s first time in the sack since Karen had dumped him. Steffie’s warmth made him realize how shut down he’d been.

Steffie grunted to an orgasm, almost like he’d hurt her. “I need this so much,” she muttered. She was immediately ashamed of that confession. It revealed the depths of her desperation. She had a million dollars in her love bank, and no one to spend it on.

She and Taylor lay there sweaty and happy until there was a tap on the window above them. Taylor sat up. Steffie did too.

It was Lisa tapping on the window. She was on the deck, swilling, naked and alone.

“Such a cute couple,” she said. “You know I’m a Wiccan priestess, right? I could marry you right now. You’d be legal and all. How would you like to be married by a naked drunk witch?”

Steffie whispered to Taylor: “Let’s get married, just as a joke. She won’t remember in the morning.”

Lisa dropped to he knees, maybe to keep herself from falling over. “You’d better grab him,” she advised Steffie, “before that little spa tart gets her hands on him.”

“What does that mean?” Taylor demanded.

“Good night to the lovely …” Lisa said and belched … “Couple.” She sat back, out of sight, against the cottage wall.

Steffie sank into the couch and pouted. “The little spa tart?” she said. “Cammie Vang? Are you carrying on with her, Taylor?”

“I have no idea what Lisa’s talking about,” Taylor said. He shouted out the window: “Lisa?” Getting no response, he rummaged the hall closet for a sleeping bag. He removed the cushions from both couches and made a bed on the floor. He zipped open the bag, lay atop it and patted it.

“Come down here, beautiful,” he said.

Steffie curled up next to him and the warmth of his body put her into a hypnotic sleep. She dreamed of flying babies, little angels with wings.  

Taylor, suffering from the drys, got up, stumbled in the dark toward a glass of water, stepped out onto the deck to take a last look at the glorious stars. There lay Lisa, naked, snoring, passed out in the yellow light of the deck lanterns, empty vodka bottle beside her.

Taylor snatched a pillow from the living room and positioned it underneath her head. She began breathing easier. He covered her with a sandy beach blanket, retreated to the living room, and settled in beside the sweetly sleeping Steffie.

Lisa’s had a little too much vodka.

Chapter 3.4 a curt reply