Jezebel Read Free

out,” pushed the woman after a pause of silence.
    “I don’t have a choice. It was volunteer for six months or serve jail time. I chose this.” she answered lifting her chin and meeting the woman’s gaze.
    “A rebel. I like it. What’d you do?”
    “I got pulled over for driving drunk,” Annabelle explained.
    “Was anyone hurt?”
    “Only my pride.” Her tone was laced with sarcasm.
    “Oh posh, scandals and alcohol go together like peanut butter and jelly. That’s not all that exciting,” the woman tsked. Annabelle felt her face wrinkle in confusion. “There must be more to it . . .”
    “Nope. Grounded until I leave for college. No phone. Limited computer use. No friends over and stuck here once a week for four hours.”
    Stifling a snort the woman said, “Dear God, you mean that I’m to be your only source of entertainment for the next six months?” She slapped a hand to her chest dramatically. Annabelle cocked her head and stared at the nut job, hard. “Your life is definitely worse than mine,” the woman concluded with a roll of her hazel eyes.
    Bubbles formed in Annabelle’s gut. Her rib cage started to shake and finally, she laughed. A loud, hearty laugh. A laugh that startled her. A laugh the likes of which was so genuine that she couldn’t remember the last time it had happened. The mystery woman promptly joined in, giggling right alongside her. It put her at ease. Her heart felt lighter.
    “So tell me, do you have a boyfriend?” the woman asked as their laughter died down.
    “Do you have a name?” she responded with a smart-ass smile.
    “Touché, tiger, touché.” The woman grinned a dazzling smile revealing a row of straight white teeth.
    “So, are you going to tell me?” she pushed.
    “Not today,” the woman answered simply.
    “You are strange. Very strange. And you don’t seem to be confused at all. Why are you here?”
    “Ahh, life’s great mysteries. Confused— is that what you think dementia is?” the woman asked.
    “Well, mostly. Forgetful and confused.” She shrugged.
    “And does that come and go?” the woman pushed.
    “Sure, like you’re fine for a while and then not. That’s why you need to live somewhere like this.”
    “I think based on your definition I would be delirious. Dementia affects memory, thinking, language, behavior. Delirium is more of a sudden unexpected severe confusion and rapid change in the brain’s ability to function.”
    Annabelle rolled her eyes. “How are those different?” Annabelle asked. She was struggling a bit to keep up with the woman. Her brows were knit together as she tried to work out what the woman was getting at.
    “Exactly my dear! How are they different?” Annabelle huffed and shook her head in frustration. Having a real conversation with this woman proved difficult and tiring.
    “Okay, I give up. New topic? You said you had quite the life before this. Will you tell me about it?” she asked.
    “That depends.”
    “On what?” she sighed. Maybe the kitchen crew would be better.
    “Whether or not you like love stories.”
    Annabelle half-shrugged. “Sure. I usually like a little suspense or mystery with my romance but a love story could be alright.”
    “Oh but my dear, every great love story has a twist. If there’s no twist, how does one ever know if their love can endure?”
    “Endure what?” she questioned as she pulled at imaginary threads on her sleeve.
    “Anything,” the woman answered as if that were the only answer.
    Annabelle thought about her words for a moment. Let them sink into her brain. Did her parents’ love story have a twist? Surely not one that she’d heard about. Or could a twist be a tragic event? If that was the case then her family, her parents, had endured a twist and survived it together, even if just barely. Either way, she wanted to corral the woman into a singular train of thought.
    “Okay. Tell me your story,” she answered.
    “It might upset you, or perhaps I have no story