#fall 5

And thus concludes Fall 5 of The Mess. Find a complete PDF for your reading pleasure via Mega now!

Fun also — Winter 6 starts during real life winter! Yay for seasonal immersion! ☃️

Inside Whibley’s Government House, Mayor Diane Green-MacDonald was finishing a lecture to convince her son and protegee Adam Green that neither his recent divorce from Sadie Hill or his bastard child Hannah Payne’s existence matter in the end so long as he focuses on what’s truly important: his career.

“Family is nothing but a picture you hang on your living room wall,” she told him. “But I ask you, is that any more important than your mayoral portrait? No, of course not. Divorce happens everyday, families change all the time; what’s done is done, you must move on with your future, Adam.”

“But without Sadie and the girls, who am I even doing any of this for?”

Amy Parker returned to the lake house a few hours later. She probably would’ve stayed out longer just walking all around Whibley, trying her very best to cool her temper and calm her mind in a healthy way, but the sun set earlier these days and once the streetlights popped on she instinctively headed home.

She stood in decision paralysis when she got in. How could she explain everything to Rich in a way that wouldn’t cause more damage? She was so embarrassed for how she acted.

She took her indecision to the stairs. Her legs were tired, she was tired, the whole damn situation was tired at this point.

Richard Ward found her there a little while later. He breathed, “Hey, how’d it go?”

She shook her head, then asked, “Kids in bed? Sorry, I didn’t mean to come home so late.”

“Forget it, we knew it’d be a long day.”

He sat next to her, which signaled her chance to tell him all about it. And she did, every painful detail, punishing her own miscommunication the worst.

“So, that’s it. I guess he’s really gone now. I can’t believe he sold the townhouse. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to the first place I called home since—well, Jack’s house now. God. Like, I know I’m not perfect, but why is everyone so quick to dismiss what I have to say? I’m not wrong! No one’s listening to me; no one listened when Dad died, and no one’s listening to me n—”

Amy stopped short when she realized, but it didn’t stop Richard from asking, “What?”

“You’re listening to me.”

“Always have, always will.”

“I really screwed this up with Max today,” she said. “You should’ve seen his face.”

“Oh, I have a pretty good idea.”

“He’s never gonna talk to us again because of me.”

“Not just you, surely.”

Brandon waved a console controller in the air and said, “Here, Uncle Max! You can use this one for the race.”

“It’s not broken, is it? I already know Uncle Jack’s gonna cheat, so I can’t afford any more handicaps here.”

“I’m not gonna cheat, sheesh. I’m winning Cool Uncle fair and square, you’ll see.”

Brandon answered, “It’s not broken, Uncle Max. Here, take it.”

But before Brandon could hand the controller over, there was a knock at the door and it wasn’t the first time that afternoon. As the day progressed, more and more neighbours stopped by to express condolences for Ted’s passing with flowers or food. Jack got the door last time, so Max jumped up for his turn this time.

“I’ll make your character,” Brandon offered, and Jack asked, “How do you change your outfit again?”

Max opened the door as he’d done a few times already that day, but this time he didn’t know what to say.

And for an extended pause, neither did Amy Parker. But eventually she said quietly, “I'm sorry, I didn’t think you’d be here.”

“Dad died, where else would I be?” Between the exchanges at the funeral and now this, Max was getting pretty sick of people assuming things of him.

“I know now’s not exactly the best time,” she began, “but Max, we really should talk. Can I come over to the townhouse sometime soon?”

He mumbled with a weak shrug, “I sold the townhouse.”

“What? When?”

“Last summer. There was some construction or something, and it’s not like I had much left there anyway.”

“But it was our home!”

“Why’re you upset? It’s not like you lived there, you moved out way before I did. Real nice temporary arrangement you and Rich cooked up.”

“How do you even know about that?”

But she quickly shook her head. “Never mind. It’s complicated, Max. We have a daughter, and unlike you we’re actually trying to keep our broken family together.”

Max was quite taken back by that. What did she think he was doing right now? Did grieving his father or racing her brother to be their nephew’s Cool Uncle really mean nothing to Amy? Where was she at the funeral? He assumed she stayed away because she knew he’d be there, but it’s not like they talked beforehand or planned it that way. Regardless of Amy’s intentions, past or present, Max was left to manage this side of their family alone. Maybe there was more truth in Beth’s nasty descriptions of Amy than he wanted to admit.

That’s when Jack placed a reassuring hand on Max’s back. “You know she said this same family loyalty guilt trip crap when Mom and Ted got together? Go ride that high horse of yours all the way back home, Amy.”

She warned, “Jack, stay out of this.”

“Tag me in, bro. I can take her.”

“Okay, you know what? I’m not wrong about Dad and I’m sick of you gaslighting me about it. It’s not like there’s much of a difference between Max and Dad now anyway.”

“What was that?” Max asked.

Through quickly forming angry tears, she cried, “You left! No warning, no goodbye, you just disappeared one day just like Dad did. It’s not like you don’t know where we live, or know how to call us, or email. Ben — remember your son? — he actually asked me if you died. So, yeah, forgive me for not seeing much of a difference here.”

Max felt the impact of a shotgun blast shoot through his rib cage but he didn’t say anything. Ben thought I was dead?

But Jack on the other hand, with his own strong sense of justice, and the only one not scared to stand up to his sister’s torment, couldn’t listen to Max’s devastation without saying something.

He pushed Max aside. “Satisfied, Amy? Anything else you’d like to add on the same day this man buried his father? A great father, I might add, seeing as I wasn’t the one too blinded by my own pride to appreciate how much of an awesome dad Ted was. That’s right Amy, there’s more than just one good dad out there. Robert Parker wasn’t special, so stop treating him like he was a god, and stop treating your boyfriend like he’s shit to you!”

The men remained tightly united with Amy as their decided enemy. Her first reaction was anger, of course, because how dare Jack meddle in affairs that he doesn’t have any chance of truly understanding? This was Bonnie at the park all over again!

But her second reaction came in the form of a wispy voice in the back of her mind, telling her, “He's right. You’re the problem. Do everyone a favour and just leave. Now.”

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

Even with a freshly bleeding hole in his chest, Max felt compelled to chase after Amy. He wanted to tell her everything would be okay, brush hair from her pretty face, and kiss away her pain. He could easily imagine the mental torture she was no doubt inflicting on herself right now; he knew neither of them had expected or wanted this to happen, least of all today of all days. Maybe if he could let go of their painful past, like dropping a heavy stone, she’d invite him back to the lake mansion where he could hold Ben in his arms again and prove to everyone that he was not, in fact, a dead dad.

But that heavy stone was all he had left of them anymore. If he dropped it now, he’d lose Amy, Ben, and Richard all over again with the added bonus of learning what he suffered through was droppable all along. Besides, even if he did find the courage to drop it, there was no guarantee that they could figure it out, whatever it was, and skip off into the sunset.

He still had to ask, “What did you tell Ben about me being dead?”

In a notch just above a whisper she said, “I told him you weren’t dead, and then we put our feelings for you in the fridge. We’re hoping they’ll last longer that way, or at least long enough until you decide to come home to us.” She sniffed. “Bye, Max.”

Brandon walked up to his Uncle Jack and asked, “What’s going on? Why’re Aunt Amy and Uncle Max fighting?”

“Boyfriend-girlfriend stuff, you’ll understand when you’re older. Well, I hope not, but hell, probably. Uh, Max won Cool Uncle for the day, okay bud? We’ll just race for fun again when they’re done.”

Bonnie Weseman said softly, “I’m sorry we can’t stay longer, Mom, but I really don’t like leaving Nicky home alone with Sam and Frank for too long.”

“I understand, dear,” Elizabeth answered calmly. “Men are downright useless when it comes to childrearing, among most everything else. What would they do without us, hm?”

Unlike her mother, Bonnie could sense the hurt reactions from the men around them. But to help keep the peace, she agreed: “It definitely doesn’t come naturally to them, does it?”

“I have one life, same as anyone, but two husbands, three children and four grandchildren later, I’m still standin’.”

“Yes you are. Where would we be without you, hey Mom?” She really did admire Beth’s resiliency, even at the cost of some boastfulness. “I’ll come by the house later with both the boys. Would after supper work?”

Then Brandon whimpered, “I don’t wanna go home, I wanna go to Grandma’s house.”

“Your cousin Ben won’t be there,” Bonnie explained, trying to anticipate why her son would object to going home with her.

“But your Uncle Max will be.”

Brandon lit up.

Bonnie asked a little nervously, “Are you sure?”

“Super sure,” he said while skillfully squashing a hug-tackle from Brandon. “Every kid needs his uncle time.”

“Hey, Jack? We’re down for some quality uncling with Brandon, eh?”

Jack Parker eagerly matched his step-brother’s invitation. “Oh yeah, always down to uncle.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” Bonnie answered, smiling down at Brandon’s beaming little face. Maybe this was just what her son needed to cure his grief-stricken heart. Ted Green was his favourite grandpa after all, a fun-loving and kind man who made toys in his garage, not at all like old, cranky Frank Wesemann who bummed around their house most of the time.

As they began to walk away, Max left the women with a quick, “Seeyah back at the house!”

Mostly to herself, Bonnie mumbled, “Even after everything he still considers himself Brandon’s uncle. But didn’t he and Amy break up?”

“Well, he’d still be his uncle through our marriage. It’s nice to see Maxwell still respects mine and Ted’s union, unlike your sister,” Beth scoffed. “Lord knows Ted and I tried our best with those two, not that it matters; we both know Amy will do whatever Amy wants. Ted’s boys are good boys, if not a little misguided, so I don’t know why she won’t just let that poor boy be a father. That girl. Can’t even be bothered to show up and support the family that supports her, today of all days!”

But Bonnie knew why her sister wasn’t here with them and it wasn’t what Beth was suggesting. “Of course I’ll miss Ted! But I know Max needs this closure more than me. I’ll come by with flowers later.”

Ted Green passed away peacefully in his sleep. Although no one could think of a nicer way to leave this life, the day remained nonetheless sad and confusing like any other death.

It was the first time in many years that both of Ted’s sons, Max and Adam Green, along with their mother Diane, all shared the same air.

“You look like shit,” Adam frowned.

“Yeah, well, you look like double shit.”

“Good one. Where’s Amy, Ben?”

“Where’s Sadie, the girls?”

Adam smirked. “Two for two. What, did'ja save all the poetics for your music? Got nothing good to say in person?”

“You really wanna fight at Dad’s funeral? Aren’t you trying to win to an election or something?”

“Three for three.”

Their mother approached them and gave Max a thorough once over. He looked about as good as a wannabe tough guy could, if that was really how he wanted to live his life. At least he had the decency to cover up his hideous tattoos — well, mostly.

“Max.”

“Mom.”

“Adam, we really should be going. Lots of work still yet to do.”

Then Diane began coughing loudly all at once. The small attack surprised everyone, but none more than herself.

Adam panicked, “Mom?”

“I’m fine,” she lied, frowning at her watch, “we just need to go. I’ll meet you at the car.”

“And Max, try not to get yourself into any more scandal while Adam is focusing on his career, please?”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“I said try, alright? Adam has it hard enough right now as it is.”

“Well, good talk. Seeyah at the next funeral. Uh, just don’t make it yours.”

Kathleen Rose was in a trance watching cold, autumn rain drip down her office window. Across the foggy street stood a big maple tree who wasn’t the first one to lose all of its leaves on this block. The exposed bare branches made Kathy think of family trees, and what all can be exposed within them.

She had just finished going through the Marion family’s donations when she discovered three journals stuck inside a squished cardboard box. They belonged to Charlie, and as far as Kathy could tell from his sporadically dated entries, the journals covered his youth in Feverfew to some of his final days in Whibley. Across all three books, the entries were consistent in context, writing style, and ink impressions to heavily suggest that Charlie Marion himself wrote what Kathy held snugly in her arms now.

She knew Charlie’s secret child with another woman in Feverfew.

Once she read the other woman’s name she began a feverish record search. Luckily for Kathy, the woman was easy to find because she was part of a large property sale in Feverfew this past spring. A real rags to riches tale for the new owner of the River Seasonne Bathing Spot. She wondered about telling Gordon Marion, Charlie’s son, what she found out, or if Gordon already knew when he donated these materials to Historical Whibley. The historian in her wanted to record, archive, and move on, but strong moral values compelled her to withhold doing anything with the journals for now.

Later that evening, Kathleen was preparing a warm, comforting soup for supper while her daughter did her homework at the kitchen table. Kate asked, “Mom? Can you help me?”

“What’s the question?”

“My Family Tree,” she answered.

“What? Let me see that.”

“See? I know where to put you and me, and Grandpa Will and Grandma Lila, but there’s still a lot of blanks I have to fill out. Like, who do I put in for ‘My Dad’?”

“Allan Murphy,” Kathy answered instinctively. “And you can put down your Aunt Vivian’s name next to mine.”

“Under, ‘My Mom’?”

“No, under ‘Aunts and Uncles.’ Vivian is my sister.”

“Oh.”

“I’m going to have a talk with that education minister of ours. I don’t think this kind of assignment is really appropriate.”

“Um, how do I spell Vivian?”

“V-i-v-i-a-n. And Allan is A-l-l-a-n.”

“Um, Mom?”

“Yes, Catherine?”

“Who is Aunt Vivian?” She wanted to ask more about Allan too, but Kathy was already growing increasingly annoyed with her questions, so Kate figured it was safer trying one at a time.

It wasn’t like Kathy didn’t see this coming, but it was certainly curious timing that she would discover Marion family secrets on the same day her daughter would start poking around their own tree.

“I’ve told you, Vivian is my sister.”

“How come I don’t know her?”

“Because she lives far away, so we don’t see each other very often.”

“Where does she live?”

“In Feverfew, far away.”

“Can I meet her?”

“Dammit, Kate—Catherine. How many times do I have to repeat myself? Your Aunt Vivian lives far away. Now, just, put your homework away for now and eat your dinner while it’s still hot.”

“O-okay. Sorry, Mom.”

Lydia Williams and Allan Murphy shared a quick embrace on the corner of Fore and Pupil Street in Feverfew.

“Hey!” she sang.

“What happened, Lydia? We used to get together all the time.”

“If anything or anyone’s to blame for that, it’s probably someone’s too busy being a famous author these days.”

“Most recently a short series, but yes — my books are selling well.”

“Busy today,” he said, sitting down. “Lucky we got our usual table.”

“Lucky I didn’t have to watch you embarrassingly name drop yourself, you mean.”

“Hey! Well, maybe.”

Then the friends got into it: the reason for their meeting in person today.

Lydia and Allan met through their mutual friend Jeremy Humble; Jeremy and Lydia went to RBU together, while Jeremy and Allan work together at his publishing company. Jere thought they’d make a good match, and they did for a time, but in the end the couple decided they were better off just friends. But Feverfew is a lonely place, and these two singletons were smarter than to lose a good friendship over poor chemistry.

So Allan knew all about his friend Lydia Williams: her academic accomplishments, her study with Minister Carlyle Finch in Whibley, the affair with her thesis supervisor, and even the children she let go into foster care. In an exchange of trust Lydia similarly knew all about Allan, although admittedly there wasn’t much exciting in his world besides moving in with his long term girlfriend.

The reason Lydia asked to see Allan in person was to, sadly, end their semi-regular coffee dates. “I got an email from social services,” she explained. “My children want to meet me, so I’m moving back to Whibley.”

“That’s so great, Lyd! You always said you’d embrace the chance to meet your kids. And hey, it’s not like Whibley is much more than a train ride away. We can still be friends, right?”

“I hope so! Who else will listen to me rattle on and on?” she laughed.

He laughed too. “And who else can I truly count on to humble me? Only real friends tell you what you don’t want to hear, and you’ve always been a really great friend.”

“Thanks? That’s probably the nicest backhanded comment you could’ve given me, smart ass.”

“I’m only proving my point. I’m a real friend too.”

It was true: Allan Murphy was a good friend to Lydia. He gave her space to sing her song at her own pace, and the trust they grew together gave Lydia hope that she was not, in fact, so alone in this world after all. Without it, she wasn’t sure if she would have ever found the courage necessary to finally reconcile her past.

She moved into one of Whibley’s townhomes later that fall.