Diary of a Heretic

Double the Fun

kathleenmaher — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 14:53:45 -0500

In the gallery’s workroom Tara was stringing metallic beads for a complicated necklace her mother had designed and wondering if Brooke ever realized how connected they were. Not just as sisters. But in how Brooke’s reckless persona made Tara appear sensible and calm. [Click here to read the first episode, or here to read the previous one.] Brooke took wild risks, got smacked around, and criticized. Book-smarts saved her from being entirely written off. But thanks to Brooke, Tara watched from the wings, safe from the line of fire. They protected each other—their parents being too self-absorbed and dull-witted to...

Fantasyland

kathleenmaher — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 11:28:14 -0500

Brooke hated that Tara had called out her ex-boyfriend in front of his friends. Because Brooke was the senior boy’s secret. And especially because, Brooke tried to explain, he had used her. Gotten bored and forgotten her. Or pretended to. So when Tara rose to his bait, the pathetic−but over−situation only got sorrier. “Figure it out, Tara; now everybody knows.” [Click here to read the first episode, or here to read the previous one.] Tara apologized and begged for details, which Brooke was anxious to unload. So Tara had crawled beside Brooke on the floor, the TV casting its blue...

No Cold Fish

kathleenmaher — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 20:34:43 -0500

Brooke and their mother Connie overheard Tara on the phone. “I’m not going anywhere with you, Pop. Come over if you want. But you won’t change my mind.” “About what?” Connie asked when Tara hung up. “About God. He can’t force me into church.” Brooke said, “See ya.” She wasn’t hanging around for this. [Click here to read the first episode, or here to read the previous one.] Connie thought she better hang around, though, and called a friend to work at the Trinity Gallery, which sold arts and crafts made by local artists and crafters. When Jim, who legally...

Never No More

kathleenmaher — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 13:36:50 -0400

Tara considered wearing a few little braids by her face. Jazz up her colorless hair that refused to grow long. But if she got into that—how she looked—she’d miss the bus. Halfway down the stairs, she heard Brooke singing in the kitchen, “Never no more will I cry for him…” Their father liked Patsy Cline. Brooke, however, couldn’t sing. Really. She could not sing at all. [Click here to read the first episode, or here to read the previous one.] After practically dying last night from drinking half a bottle of whisky, she was wearing a red t-shirt with the...

The Reason for Everything

kathleenmaher — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 11:38:14 -0400

Unaware of it, Tara gloated when Brooke staggered home only forty minutes after she left. The back door slammed off the kitchen wall. Tara was upstairs watching a documentary about a boy who videotaped his truly embarrassing parents. [Click here to read the first episode, or here to read the previous one.] Their house was rickety but Brooke was causing a ruckus. So that while little Chester on TV told his bickering parents, “You guys are golden,” Tara visualized Brooke opening and closing the refrigerator and crashing into furniture. Then Brooke tromped upstairs and stalked noisily in Tara’s vicinity before...

Nobody Anywhere

kathleenmaher — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 22:00:41 -0400

Brooke rode her bicycle along this path every day, including weekends. Already after seven, the evening had started changing from gold to silver. Bright flecks glinted off random pebbles when she peddled fast. But it was still warm enough for no sleeves. [Click here to read the first episode.] Matthew had invited Brooke to watch “Palimony,” her favorite movie and his first hit. His wife Sasha and her assistant had taken Dexter and Ivy home to California yesterday but Matthew needed another day to finish stuff. So anytime after dinner, why didn’t she drop by? They’d watch him in high...

Corn Chex or Wheat

kathleenmaher — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 23:05:20 -0400

Brooke, 15 about to turn 16, and Tara, 14 since May, disagreed on almost everything. But the evening before school opened, they agreed that people who compared them like breakfast cereals were so out of bounds. They didn’t see Brooke. They didn’t see Tara. They saw what they liked to imagine. At dinner with their mother they agreed that practically all the adults in their historic artsy town in the Catskill Mountains fixated on Brooke being the colorful intense sister and Tara the calm one. They were eating tuna fish sandwiches on heavy rye bread, and instead of hurrying the...

All in Love Is Fair

kathleenmaher — Thu, 15 Oct 2009 11:46:24 -0400

Markham’s Pub is perfect for this neighborhood. Since I’m the bartender, I know the regulars. Roger and Jackson arrive after work without fail, and again after dinner. Friends since grade school, they’re grateful to still have jobs. Their girlfriends are nursing students. Zoë and Vanessa don’t come in when Roger and Jackson are here. They arrive earlier, drink wine near a window, and hold hands. Today after an hour of giggling and entwining pretty ankles under the table, the girls approach the bar, having agreed I should know what’s happening tonight. Ordinarily, I turn my back when people offer details....

The Embezzlers' Club

kathleenmaher — Fri, 09 Oct 2009 20:31:45 -0400

John was a cash-only antique dealer in Chicago. Everything he sold had once belonged to the grand old rich, famous, and scandalous. His side business salvaged architectural remnants and sold them to contractors. Another all-cash scam. John’s crews stole stained glass windows and glazed tiles off buildings and unloaded them before daybreak. In a bar tricked up like a church, I convinced him I was better than his current bookkeeper. “Look,” I said when he was blind drunk. “Look at my face. Trustworthy as faces get.” My timing must have been right. In three years I skimmed three million. With...

Boys To Men

kathleenmaher — Fri, 02 Oct 2009 19:55:21 -0400

From age seven until seventeen, I was responsible for my brother Ryland and his friend Rico. Being three years older seemed plenty at the time: girls are more mature than boys. Our mother traveled in sales. Dad came and went—mostly went until he was totally gone. If people asked about Rico’s family, he said, “Nada.” Not that he knew Spanish. His real name was Richard. “Call me that and I’ll bust your lip.” He was five. Rico wasn’t always around; it just felt like it. He probably spent holidays away. But I remember taking care of him if he had...