She’d lost her landmark so she just teleported into the center of the sim. She knew her mother would be nearby.
“Lost again?” she said upon seeing Alice materialize about 15 feet away: 128/128 she knew; wasn’t uncommon for someone to beam in there. “Well come over and sit beside me and be found again, saved even. I want to tell you about–”
“Don’t start Mother. I’m not here for religion.”
Pause. “Then what are you here for? You know I’m working. Joe Smo due any moment. There.” She nods toward the horizon, pretending to see someone. “Office Johnston coming this way, along with Preacher Ben and Farmer Louis. All out for a good time, all sinners underneath holy cloth and whatnot — I don’t know, maybe the caffeine talking, child. So what gives? Money?”
“*No*. It’s not always about money.”
Maw takes a drag off her cigarette, still staring into the distance. “Where you staying now, girl? You haven’t been home–”
“6 weeks, I know.”
Maw takes a final drag, drops the half smoked cig to the leaf strewn cement and steps on it. “Don’t guess you’re going to tell me where you’ve been, hmm. Ashamed of your Maw, huh. Ashamed of what she’s become. Well, I have *dreams*.”
“I know, Maw. Lavern and Shirley. Just thinking about that this morning.” Alice tries to look where her mother is looking. Still nothing — no one there.”
“Rumors of a beer factory (being built) up in Barrow County, I’ve heard. Could be moving again soon, child. But what do you care? You don’t have any friends here. Not any more. Who did they lock up last week, the psychic children and all. Wanda? Gloria? Wait — they’ve been gone a while from me. Beach combers. Well — at least *you* stayed.” She thought about Alice’s recent absence from her side again. “Kind of I suppose. Soo…”
“I’m glad of the factory, if it’s true.” Alice really was. She wanted her mother to fulfill her dream. And business had been slow here lately, she knew, what with the law enforcement crack down. Crack came first, along with the rest of the hard drugs. Then it moved to prostitution and liquor, perhaps in that order. The officers were still loosey-goosey on the whoring but it had already scared most of the men away, her regular clientele and such. Bob the Baker — hadn’t been by in a week. Joe the Smo — wait, I made him up. Dennis the, not Menace — no, a farmer. Wait…
“I came here because of Robert,” Alice uttered while I was still spacing out about nonsense, making up names, making up games the made up names play. Tennis for Dennis, golf for Rolph, archery for Yvette Archer (Archer, Y.). “Robert, huh?” Maw finally responded, thinking about lighting another one. “Robert Johnston I suppose.”
“*No*. Not *him*. Robert Leferber.”
“Is that how you spell that? I mean…” her Maw quickly backtracked, “… pronounce that?”
“Robert Lefarber,” Alice tested. “Robert Lafoger, Lafager, Lafageux. Damn those French names.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about, honey.” Another cig from the carton, quick in the mouth, quick for a light.
“*Anyway*, the guy who owned the swamp.”
Maw almost swallowed her just lit cig. “*Matthew*??”
(to be continued)
Sunklands 