OverTime 03: Slipping (First 70 Chapters)

Chapter 59: The Only Option (Lillabit) -- warning, f-words

Garrison, drop-reining his horse, waited right back at me.

Benj broke the tie. "To be fair, they weren't all addressed direct to you. Juan found the first one tacked to a tree and brought us out to see it. Ain't seen no reason to worry you--"

"Son of a--!" I cut myself off only because it didn't seem fair to blame these men's mothers. Instead, I went with the now-classic, "Fuck!"

In fact, I said fuck about fifteen times. Sometimes pointing at one or the other of them. Sometimes looking up at the sky, like Garrison sometimes did, to register my complaint with God. Sometimes I shouted it at my fists, or the ground, or one of the horses.

The partners just exchanged glances--likely complaining to each other telepathically--and waited me out.

The problem with overusing swear words is, they lose some of their potency. Oh, they still pissed the Boss off pretty well, which I appreciated. But he just grit his teeth and waited me out, and without further reaction, which did me no good.

Finally, I was reduced to real sentences. "Why do I bother? Why do I even tell either of you any damn thing, when you don't even listen?"

"Now darlin'," started Benj.

"No, you only pretend to listen, to placate me, because if you actually heard me, we wouldn't be having this conversation again and again. And again. Hell--once I asked you flat out, and you changed the topic to Lisle!"

Garrison turned his angry stare to Benj.

Benj shrugged.

"The next time you men gang up on me to protect me from something that directly affects me? I'm done. As in, I'm leaving."

Now I had their attention.

"If I can get home to the future where I can vote and earn my own money and make my own decisions, that would be amazingly great. But even if I can't, I'll go to Chicago, or San Francisco--until 1906--or New York, because I am not doing this anymore! I am an adult human being with rights. When something upsetting happens--like, oh, my friends being targeted for lynching, or my husband sending those friends away without letting me say goodbye, or, I dunno, being followed by a killer? I have a fucking right be upset!"

Garrison jerked his bearded chin toward my hand. "Got you a letter right there, wastin' breath bellyaching."

"That isn't the point!" But in at least one way, it was. I was angry about not knowing what the killer wanted to say to me, and the whole time I was ignoring what the killer wanted to say to me. Curse Garrison and his stupid, down-home logic! "And I am coming back to why the hell you would destroy something meant for me which, by the way, is the last time you are ever touching anything of mine, and yes, I mean that exactly the way you think I do!"

I even made a few angry gestures I'd learned from my old friend Rita, for good measure. Then I turned my back on them both and returned to the letter.

I was so upset, I had to take several deep breaths before I could hold the paper still enough to actually read.

If Operation Use-Cute-Children has succeeded, you're finally reading this, my fifth (yes, 5th) attempt to contact you since my abrupt departure from Julesburg.

Fine marriage you've got there. So trusting. No wonder you stayed.

Funny thing? We wouldn't have to go through all this trouble if I weren't such a perfectionist. My bad. I was maybe 90% sure back in Dodge City that you were the Elizabeth Rhinehart I'd been sent back to find, but I wanted to be 100%. Kudos on your proper-lady act and the fastest engagement in the West, both of which threw me. Sympathy for the terrible picture you took on your employee ID card back at Closer Look. If it had been a better likeness, you'd be home by now.