The Entirely Fabricated Story of Lizzie Nickerson

Chapter 43

When she saw the Taco Bell, the one that shared a parking lot with KFC, Lizzie knew they were walking in the right direction. She remembered the odor of sugar, salt, and saturated fat leaking out of the restaurants and collecting in a greasy cloud of processed ingredients that cut right through the smell of traffic.

Her bearded chaperone said, "Would you like to stop and get a drink or maybe a snack?"

"That's the smell of obesity and diabetes," she said with a seriousness that made the man laugh.

"What? Obesity isn't funny," she said. "Either is heart disease."

He nodded in agreement, trying to tuck his laughter back in and save it until he told the story when he got home. "I'm Walt," he said.

She didn't reply.

"What's your name?"

"Lizzie Nickerson."

"Are we getting closer to your house, Lizzie?" Walt asked. He tipped his head back, eyes on the dark clouds sliding over the sun.

"I live with my Aunt Sonya in her apartment."

"Are we going the right way?"

"I had to think about that for a minute but I'm pretty sure the answer is yes."

"Good." Periodically, he glanced over his shoulder checking for that tattooed face creep, and was glad he didn't see him.

They walked through small groups of people, none of them looking glad to see one another, most staring at their phones like the most important thing in the world was happening right in their hands. It reminded Lizzie to check her own phone. There were multiple texts from Scooter but she'd save them for when she got home and give them the full concentration they deserved.

She looked up at Walt and it occurred to her that the polite thing to do in this situation was to give him a smile. She forced one but she could barely feel it on her face, so it must have been only the start of a smile and that's as far as it got.

But it registered. Walt smiled back at her.

As they passed yet another pizzeria, Lizzie remarked, "Oh, geez. I didn't know that people ate so much pizza. I tried it and I liked it. Probably because Scooter gave it to me. It seemed greasy and my stomach felt weird afterward but I don't know if that's from the kissing or almost falling down the steps." She shrugged.

There was so much to unpack within that chunk of dialogue, so Walt steered around it. "Yeah," he said. "People sure do like pizza."

Lizzie felt lighter now walking with Walt. Her shoes didn't scuff so heavily against the pavement. For most of her life, women had been her caregivers, not many men. Lizzie never met her father, and only saw a picture of him once. Mr. Frederick Gibbs came the closest to being a male caregiver. Lizzie thought of him as a pretend grandfather. She liked the feeling of knowing that he was always happy to see her and would tell her stories about when he was a kid. His second-floor apartment didn't feel empty now because all the furniture was gone, it felt empty because he was gone.

Just ahead, Lizzie saw the familiar red brick building with the green-striped canvas awning, and empty orange vinyl chairs arranged in a line along the sidewalk. When she and Aunt Sonya walked to the Kroger, she'd look in the window and notice women's clothes on mannequins but she never saw anyone in there. The store was dark and there were no signs that said 'Clothes For Ladies' or anything like that. It didn't even make sense. She wondered if maybe it was a secret clothing store for secret ladies.

"We're almost there," she said to Walt. "Just another block, I think."

The occasional familiar face became a recognizable pattern of neighbors. There was the short stub of a woman with the fake fur jacket who traded cookie recipes with Ms. Brennan. Across the street was the rail-thin young guy with the backward ballcap, his blue and gold skateboard tucked under his arm. Sitting on his porch smoking a pipe was the white-haired man who used to play Gin Rummy on Wednesday afternoons with Frederick Gibbs. The black and white cat that the neighbors called 'Blinky' scooted out from beneath a row of hedges, down the sidewalk right past Lizzie's apartment building.

"There. Right there." She pointed. "That's where I live."

And just in time. The clouds had gone from gray cotton to slabs of slate. Shadows disappeared from the pavement.

"Nice meeting you, Lizzie Nickerson," Walt said, watching her pick up her pace to the porch steps. "And be careful, okay?" His cheeks caught the first sprinkles of rain.

Lizzie produced the key ring from her pants pocket. It had only two keys, one for the front door and one for Aunt Sonya's apartment. She smelled Mrs. Brennan's noxious perfume before she pushed open the front door so she held her breath.

Once inside, she remembered to push the heavy door closed and check that it was locked. She climbed the first flight of steps wishing so hard that the apartment door would open on the second floor and Frederick Gibbs would be there to greet her with a grandfatherly smile. But of course, neither happened. The apartment was silent and there was scarcely a trace of pipe tobacco remaining in the air. 

As she scaled the stairs to the third floor, she heard muffled voices. Aunt Sonya had a guest. Lizzie shoved the key into the lock, and when she turned the doorknob she froze. Standing in the kitchen, her long blonde hair framing her pretty face was Indigo. 

"Maribeth!" she shrieked, her eyebrows raised nearly off her forehead. "Dude! Look how you've grown!"