Francine & Earl

Epilogue

"Francine?"

Looking up from the stack of staff reports in her hand, the woman in question raised her eyebrow at the man in front of her. Her father was there, shifting nervously on his feet in front of the desk she took over in his office. She thought that it was only fair, since she was doing most of the work anyway.

Francine tucked her pencil between the pages of the packet, glad for the momentary distraction. She would have to lay off some workers due to budget cuts, and it wasn't the best feeling in the world to terminate, no matter how temporary, someone's career. Pushing her newly acquired glasses up her nose as she stared at her father, she noted his slouched posture and the new streaks of grey in his hair.

It was jarring for her to think that, just eight years ago, she was in his same position. But now, instead of standing awkwardly in front of the paper littered desk in her father's study, she was sitting behind it in the rolling chair she had always been jealous of as a child. Even though she was twenty-six, she still loved to spin around on it when no one was watching.

"Yeah, Dad?" she finally responded, feeling her phone vibrate on the desk. It bounced underneath the mountain of paperwork she still had to look over, and almost wanted to groan because tonight was the Superbowl. Like most things in her life, however, it would have to wait.

Her father gave her a smile, the skin around his eyes crinkling in the laugh lines that had now become more defined on his face. Physically, the years had been good to him, mostly due to the constant pestering done by Francine. Yet, she could still see the wistful looks he gave to the chair her mother would sit in, chatting on the phone with her equally as stuck-up friends. Francine wished that she could say that she wanted her mother back into her life as much as her father did, but that would be a lie. The words that her mother had said could never be taken back, and Francine still had to catch herself when she thought something derogatory about her appearance. The malicious voice in her head would always be in the slightly passive-aggressive speech of her mother, and the weight of a disapproving gaze on her back could never quite be ignored. 

Despite the fact that she and her mother were now estranged, Francine still had to admit to herself that there were moments when she was brought back to a time when her mother was her hero. She was the caped vigilante off to save the day, but still had enough time to pull off the costume and return home to read Francine a bedtime story. Things were more simple then. A lot more simple. She didn't have to wonder if she should pick up her phone and dial a number that was most likely disconnected just to hear her mother's voice when she was a toddler. Her biggest worries back then were based around her toys and whether or not she would get in trouble for beating up her cousins. But, Francine had to make her peace with the past, because she couldn't go back and change it.

"The mail came, and there's a letter for you. I think that the address for your new place didn't switch over yet," her father said, interrupting her thoughts. Lifting her slightly unfocused gaze, Francine took the letter from him with a sheepish smile, about to sit it on the side of the desk so she could finish her final report. Before she could, her father reached out his hand and stopped her.

"Stinkweed," he began, making sure that he had her attention, "go relax and read the letter. If I knew that training you to take over for me would result in you becoming a recluse, I could have done this before you went to college to keep all those boys from knocking on my door."

He released his grip on her wrist, giving her a slightly stern look.

"Now, go read the letter. I can take care of some paperwork." Gesturing with his hands, he pointed toward the door. "Shoo."

Rolling her eyes, Francine stood, grasping the letter in her hand. She realized that she was working more than usual, but if she didn't do it, how was anything going to get done. The only break she needed was on the rare Sundays she had relatively free, when she would go to the youth group the next town over and partially coach their all girls' football team. As she made her way to the living room, a smile curved her lips, thinking of the excited faces that made all the stress from the week fall away. These hopeful faces were the reason that she drove out there and shared the less than glamorous experiences she had when she played football, because she wanted these girls to know what to avoid and how to continue with their dreams. They didn't need to be snuffed out like her own.