The brown paper turkeys are up, colorful feathers winding and moving under the subzero air conditioning blowing out of the office vents in November. An eternal afternoon waiting for the phone to ring. Lyllian sits in her swivel chair brain gone numb. There are emails to respond to and orders to fill. There are calls to be made and charts to colorize and slice. But Lyllian continues to sit and stare at her screen.

Write. The words float in front of her eyes like a speck of dust on her contact.

She knows the minutes are fleeing. She knows despite the lethargic clock that that day is in fact pushing past, a hasty retreat from the cold. Soon she’ll be on her way home, endless red brake lights in her way chatter from the backseat, Vivienne and her dinosaurs narrating the traffic scenery. Soon the laundry will distract Lyllian. And the six bowls her little one uses for the six different times she convinces her father she needs just a bit more cereal and teddy grahams. Six times he fails to see the bowls dumped in the sink with nothing more than a dusting of crumbs. Blots of mayo to wipe up from Michael’s burger, bless him. Crayons to toss down the hall after Vivienne. Books to restack. Spam emails to delete. Snacks to dole out to Viv and Frankie who ventures from her room in search of bread. Lyllian will get distracted by social media as she tries to fold towels and endless pairs of Michael’s socks. Then it will be bedtime. Brushing teeth and laying down blankets just so. Books with rainbow pictures and talking animals. Last minute requests for water and tissues. Third time knocks on the bathroom door, “Frankie stop looking at yourself in the mirror and finish up already!” Then a final plop down on the couch, another hello love text to Michael at the restaurant. Followed by a series of suggestive texts to make him laugh and shake his head. She may perhaps get lucky later, if she can stay awake. An unending search through Netflix for something to watch as she slowly begins to unwind from the day. And then she remembers to write.

Now is the moment. Write.

There is a flurry of activity outside her office door. Eugenia and Olivia are talking in shrill tones. Nell joins in, her voice flecked with nervousness. Something has happened. She inches her chair away from her desk and pokes her head around the corner, “What’s up?”

“Another bombing or something. In Paris. It just happened.” Eugenia’s face is solemn.

Lyllian’s eyes begin to tear up unexpectedly. She quickly takes out her phone and types in for the day’s news and events. Sure enough, article after article. Terrorist attacks in Paris. A concert hall full of people taken hostage. Shootings in the streets. Lyllian slams back into her chair emotions racing unbidden. What the fuck? This is all that comes to her mind as she blots with a tissue and blinks rapidly at the overheard light. 

Next Chapter: Joe, Croke Park Ireland, September 1928