Free Her Story by Christina Casinelli Page B

plopping himself down quickly and awkwardly beside her mother in the first pew. Linus smiled at her and she did her best to smile back. They turned toward the pastor, and she took a deep breath. “Dearly beloved,” the pastor began. Linus reached over ever so gently, and lightly placed his hand on the small tummy that she had begun to develop and had been attempting to hide under all of the white taffeta and silk. “We are gathered here today….”

 
    Chapter 2
    She rolled over to her alarm clock blaring. She had no idea how long it had been going off for, all she knew was that she was running late. She was always late, but today was an important day. Or at least that’s what he had told her. She couldn’t understand why he had to be so vague. After fumbling around on her night stand she finally silenced the screeching alarm. She rolled back over, accidentally slamming her elbow into the shirtless back of Jim. Or was it Mike? Whatever, it was one of her bar regulars and he had been here before. He knew the drill. He’d show himself out. He groaned and flopped over onto his side, facing away from her and toward the window. She had completely forgotten he was there.
     
    Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she grabbed an oversized t-shirt off of the floor and pulled it over her head. She rummaged around in the drawer of the night stand and found a crumpled pack of cigarettes. She popped one in between her lips and dragged a Strike-Anywhere match across the base of the bedside lamp, bringing it to the tip of the Pall Mall dangling between her lips and inhaled deeply.
     
    Stumbling into the kitchen she absentmindedly put on a pot of coffee, leaned against the counter, and stared at it until it slowly began to drip, never lowering the cigarette from her mouth. She really needed to get a new one of those. But then again, she thought that every morning and it had yet to materialize on her counter. She glanced up at the clock hanging on the wall above the door. Fuck! She tossed her cigarette into the sink, jumped into the jeans hanging over the back of the closest kitchen chair, grabbed her moccasins and car keys with sweaty palms and ran out the door.
     
    She jumped into the driver seat of her black Ford Focus, shoving her feet into her shoes as she reached into the center console, searching for the pack of cigarettes and the lighter than lived there. She had about 10 minutes to make it across town, and that was with the token 10-15 minutes he always assumed she’d be late. He wasn’t going to be happy with her. She threw the car in reverse, lit her cigarette, and backed quickly down the driveway and onto the silent fall morning street.
     
    Weaving in and out of traffic she navigated the oh-so-familiar roadways to the same beat up diner she had frequented on so many Sunday mornings.
     
    She knew right where he’d be as soon as she walked in – at the end of the counter, furthest from the door, a day-old Providence Journal newspaper folded over several times with the crossword puzzle already half-filled in by its previous owner in his hand. Chances are he was already on his third cup of coffee. Given how late she was running it might even have been his fourth. If they had still been allowed to smoke in restaurants, he would’ve had an overflowing ashtray in front of him as well. That was the first thing she had noticed when she had walked into this same diner almost 15 years earlier and found him in the same exact seat.
     
    “You’re late,” he growled, as she meekly slid onto the stool next to him.
     
    “I know, I know. I’m sorry John.”
     
    “It wouldn’t kill you to be on time ya’ know. It also wouldn’t kill you to”
     
    “Not going to happen,” she cut him off.  She refused to call him dad. He shrugged. It wasn’t going to stop him from trying.
     
    The waitress walked up, placed a fresh cup of coffee in front of her and poured hot coffee from an overused pot into John’s cup.