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Posts Tagged ‘George Forrest’

6. CORA: Disaster Cocktail

can’t understand what happened here,” Cora said.

They were back downstairs after maneuvering her father up and into his filthy bed. George assured her that now that Senior’s stomach was empty, now that he’d been shot full of antibiotics to deal with the bronchitis-bordering-on-pneumonia that had combined with the booze to make him pass out, he should be all right. Until the next episode.

She was so tired. She didn’t think she had ever been so tired, not when Juliette was a baby, not when she’d pulled all-nighters in college, not when they were launching the restaurant in Paris and worked from dawn until well after midnight. It was well after midnight now, and she still was a long way from bed, given the state of the house.

“After your mother passed,” George said, “your dad and Jamie, they just never seemed to recover.”

“But it was only six months ago,” said Cora. “I was here for the funeral. Mama had been sick for a while then, but the cafe and drugstore were still functioning, the apartment was in good shape….. I mean, I didn’t expect to find all the beds made and the counters wiped down, but I had no idea things had disintegrated so far so fast.”

George let out a deep sigh. Even in his disheveled state, even through her bleary eyes, she could see he was a handsome man. Tall but not imposing, slim but at the same time soft-looking, he had a sweet smile and eyes that seemed to be searching for something to believe in.


2. GEORGE: Kisses Like Marshmallows

eorge’s first thought on opening his eyes in his dark bedroom was: Taryn.

That was always George’s first thought when he woke up: Taryn.

Then he heard the phone ring, realized why he was awake to begin with, and thought again: Taryn. A ringing phone always made him think of Taryn too.

Shit: Taryn. Breath caught short, he lurched out of bed and fumbled for the phone. It was so black out tonight, barely a sliver of a new moon in the sky, and no street lights out here on the lake, only the lap of the water against the varnished wood of the houseboat and, from up in the hills, the hoot of an owl.

Something had happened to her this time, he could feel it. An overdose. Beaten up in the parking lot by some yahoo frustrated that all he could do was watch. Raped by some monster more than frustrated.

“Hello,” he said, grabbing the receiver. “Hello.”

He heard a woman’s voice, yelling, pleading, not making sense.

“Wait,” he said, the outlines of the houseboat’s only room taking shape through the darkness. “Taryn? Has something happened to Taryn?”

There was a pause at the other end and then the woman said, “Who’s Taryn?”

“Who are you?”

“This is Cora McAdams. I’m Senior McAdams daughter, from down at the MAL….”

He knew who Cora McAdams was. How could he forget, after what happened between them? Dark hair. Slender, bordering on scrawny, back in high school. Lips plump and mouth always open, just a little bit, An air of being perennially pissed off, which she probably had been, considering she’d hightailed it to London, Paris, one of those places, and never come back.