Another journal

Emily enjoyed her ability to dilute herself in work. Mornings at the coffee shop were busy with regulars and sudden influxes of teens renting central air for the price of a house coffee. For most of her shift, Emily was able to push off thoughts of Abby, Michael’s plan and Tanis’ concerns. The summer barista, home early from college for break, manned the counter while Emily laid out the work schedule for the upcoming week. She gave herself the morning shifts. During the summer it was easier to dip into the Sidhe in the evening. Whoever sat watch, bridging the gap between the mundane world and the Sidhe, wouldn’t have to sit in the unshaded yard during the hottest part of the day.

She stared blankly at a page of a crossword puzzle book on her break, startled when she drew on her cigarette to find it’d gone out. A year gone in a week. When she’d last talked to the hare, only a day had passed in the Sidhe, during two weeks in the mundane world. She needed to look at Michael’s numbers. If the ratio of time was oscillating that much there was a strong possibility something very wrong was happening.

Back behind the espresso machine, none of it mattered. Emily could pretend to be Amelia Anderson, 33, a genial coffee shop manager who looked young for her age and lived in a well-maintained, if slightly abandoned, trailer park.

Walking home, she thought about the genius of her aunt and the others hiding in a suburban trailer park. Nobody gave a second thought about what happened behind the enclosing trees. People who didn’t live in ‘real houses’ were too depressing for most people to dwell on. That was fine. It gave them an island of peace in a world of nosy neighbours and judgemental PTAs.

Emily stood at the entrance to the court, next to the sun-faded sign. Michael was meticulous about up-keeping the grounds, but there was still a sense of long-abandonment that hung over the trailers. Emily tried to remember the way it was when she was growing up—children running around, adults on porches, easy familiarity. Even after the adults returned to the Sidhe, there’d been life. They’d lay out in the grass, or half in the shadow of the arbour, while one of the kids familiarised themselves with their birth rights and heritage. She’d set up tents in the summer so they could play at camping, running power cords out and playing old video games on a little TV while moths threw themselves stupidly at the screen.

Shaking her head at nostalgia, Emily went to her trailer and made a sandwich, bringing it out to the hammock on the porch. Michael and Ian wandered over before she was done and they sat in the chairs they always sat in, Ian’s cat following him and twining around Emily’s legs.

“I mean, do we need to go in after her?” Emily broke the silence, setting her plate on the ground and tucking her feet up. The cat delicately sniffed at the crumbs and crust, then licked the plate. “What if something bad happened to her?”

Michael shook his head vehemently. “How could we do that? One of us sits watch for what—days? In shifts? Otherwise, you go in the Sidhe, you don’t know when you’re coming back.”

“I know.” Emily set her jaw. “But I can’t be worrying about Abby. It’s my responsibility to make sure she’s okay.”

“What’s wrong with Abby?” Tanis stood on the porch steps, looking at the other three, worry in her eyes.

“Tanis!” Emily shaped her face into a smile. “We had a thing we were going to do, right?”

“Yeah, you were going to take me out to eat, so I figured I’d meet you here.” She looked at Ian and Michael. “But if there’s a family emergency—” she trailed off.

“No, it’s. Well, sort of. But dinner won’t make a difference and I am happy for the distraction.” Emily patted her pockets to check for her wallet and took Tanis’ arm, leaving the boys and the cat on the porch.

“Drive or walk?” Concern still lined Tanis’ face.

“Let’s drive, you pick where.”

Their little town had a few decent restaurants, but for going out Tanis and Emily tended to drive the next town or two over, where there were more options and the draw of novelty and distance. Tanis automatically piloted the very sensible, very purple, car her parents bought her in high school to one of their favourite burger places. As she drove, she tried to get Emily to tell her what was going on.

“So, you guys haven’t heard from Abby lately?” I thought you got a letter from her like a week ago.”

“Yeah, but with customs it’s not like she sent it a week ago.” Emily’s voice was distant, aimed at the passenger window.

“Have you tried calling her? Wait, she doesn’t have a phone, right?”

They parked and Tanis set the child locks so Emily couldn’t get out. Softly resting her hand on Emily’s arm, she asked again. “Emily, what is going on with Abby? Do you need to go see her? Where is she in Central America again?”

Emily’s shoulders fell. “She moves around. Listen, baby—let’s have dinner and then we can go on a drive and I’ll tell you about it.”

“You’re going to make me wait through dinner?”

“Yeah,” Emily smiled weakly, “please?”

Tanis sighed. “You’re lucky I love you.” She leaned across the console and gave Emily a kiss before unlocking the doors. “I’m getting the most expensive thing.”

“This is a burger place; the most expensive thing is probably gross.”

“It’s the principle, woman.”

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This post is part of The Consoling Divide – Serialised. See the archive and overall content warnings here, and find more of my writing here. I’m over on both Comradery and Patreon, if you feel like supporting my creative endeavours. If you’d like to subscribe to this story, here’s a handy email box for you: