Elizabeth Wrenn - Last Known Address

ELIZABETH WRENN

Last Known Address

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

AVON

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Copyright © Elizabeth Wrenn 2008

Recipes copyright © Elizabeth Wrenn 2008

Elizabeth Wrenn asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

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Source ISBN: 9781847560155

Ebook Edition © 2009 ISBN: 9780007334988

Version: 2018-06-19

To all my girlfriends; you know who you are! With special love to my first and most enduring girlfriends: Ali, Peggy and Jenny. And to girlfriends everywhere, of every age.

Title Page

Copyright

Part One Leaving

CHAPTER ONE C.C.

CHAPTER TWO Meg

CHAPTER THREE C.C.

CHAPTER FOUR Shelly

CHAPTER FIVE Purdy

CHAPTER SIX C.C.

CHAPTER SEVEN Kathryn

CHAPTER EIGHT Meg

CHAPTER NINE Shelly

CHAPTER TEN Meg

CHAPTER ELEVEN C.C.

CHAPTER TWELVE Lucy

CHAPTER THIRTEEN Shelly

Part Two Arriving

CHAPTER FOURTEEN Meg

CHAPTER FIFTEEN C.C.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN Purdy

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Shelly

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN The Guy in the Tent

CHAPTER NINETEEN Meg

CHAPTER TWENTY C.C.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE Purdy

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO The Guy in the Tent

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE Shelly

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR Meg

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE C.C.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX The Guy in the Tent

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN Shelly

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT Kathryn

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE Lucy

CHAPTER THIRTY Kathryn

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE Lucy

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO Kathryn

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE Shelly

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR Meg

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE C.C.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX Shelly

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN Purdy

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT Meg

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE Shelly

CHAPTER FORTY Hatch

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE Azaad

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO Kathryn

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE C.C.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR Meg

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE C.C.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX Meg

Acknowledgments

E-book Extra

About the Author

By the Same Author

About the Publisher

C.C.’s huge suitcase lay open on her bed, looking like a collapsed buffet guest. It was already too full to close, primarily due to the brand-new velour sweatsuits, tags still on, neatly folded and fanned on top of the bulging mound. Even so, C.C. turned a slow circle, scanning for anything she might have forgotten. She could tuck an item or two into the trunk of Meg’s car.

Should she take the third of a bottle of Happiness perfume on her dresser? No. One orange foam earplug on the bedside table? She tossed it over the bed toward the wastebasket. When it arced right in, she grinned. ‘That’s a good omen!’ She bent to pick up an old paper bookmark lying forlornly on the floor. She walked over and dropped it directly in with the earplug. Bookmarks didn’t fly well, and if she missed the wastebasket, well…Best not to tempt the fates.

Looking around the room, she mostly saw what wasn’t there. The other earplug. The rest of the perfume. And most of all, Lenny, who had bought her the perfume, for whom she’d worn the perfume. And whose snoring had made her reach for the earplugs each night.

She stepped to her dresser, picked up the picture of the two of them, its chrome frame glinting in the stark light of the nearly empty room. She had already packed the smaller picture, the one of Lenny and Kathryn and Lucy on the couch on Christmas morning, Lenny’s long arms embracing both her girls amid a litter of colorful paper and ribbons. She’d wrapped it in a short-sleeve cotton top, placed it in the middle of her suitcase, safely tucking it away, ready for the trip.

The trip. That seemed too small a word for this big…adventure. She laughed a little, all by herself there in her quiet bedroom. C.C. and Shelly and Meg’s Big Adventure.

She stared at the picture in her hands. It wasn’t a great picture, but it was the last one taken of just the two of them, at the Iowa Accountants Labor Day picnic two years ago. They were in front of a big oak tree, had their arms around each other, hers on Len’s thin waist, his hanging over her shoulder like a friendly snake. The light around them was peach-colored, and lovely, but they were both squinting into the setting sun. Like they were trying to see into the future or something. She’d left this picture out of the boxes till the last possible moment, to keep her company, and give her resolve. She touched Lenny’s smile. She could imagine him telling her, Go ahead, be brave .

Her eyes moist, C.C. allowed herself half a moment to hug the frame to her chest, then hurriedly pulled the nearest unsealed box across the carpet toward her. But when she saw the contents of the box, she laughed. Her extra slips, lingerie and other ‘unmentionables’. She wouldn’t be needing those. She didn’t fit into most anyway. She tucked the frame in, burrowing it into the slinky depths.

‘How’s that, darlin’?’

Eighteen months after his funeral, she could now finally talk to him without bawling. She’d considered bringing his sealed urn down south, but realized it wasn’t practical; she’d be devastated if something happened to it while they were on the road, or after. Where would she put it, after all? There would be painting, construction–mess throughout the house down there. So, months ago, before her house even went on the market, Kathryn had taken it, checking with Lucy first to make sure it was okay with her to have the urn in their apartment. Kathryn had told C.C. that, every night, Lucy blew Lenny a kiss; she called him ‘Papaw-on-the-bookcase’. Blood may be thicker than water, C.C. thought, but sometimes love was thicker than blood.

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway drew her to the window. She knew without lifting the blind, from the glub-glub motorboat sound, that it was Kathryn’s old Pontiac. The engine cut as C.C. glanced at her watch. They were early. Meg and Shelly wouldn’t be here till six thirty for the ‘clean your fridge out potluck’, as Shelly called it. C.C. sucked in a breath. This dinner would be it, the big goodbye, to Kathryn and Lucy. And C.C.’s last chance to make things right with her daughter, which she had little hope of achieving.