”Fleur Pillager…that’s your name…my girl…my baby girl”

 Meanwhile Bette was doing some serious cleaning. She collected all of Kirsten’s belongings and put them out on her driveway, she made each thing supercheap so that by the end of a long day it was all gone. She was past being angry at Kirsten. But Bette did mourn her a bit…and was grateful. Kirsten really helped her, but Bette guessed Kirsten had more ghosts in her closet than Bette had guessed. She spent all of the next day cleaning her house, scrubbing it all down, dusting…everything. It looked spick and span. The only room she didn’t clean was Angelica’s bedroom. Bette rarely went in there, and when she did it was to just sit on the bed…maybe lie on it and think of how fucked up life was. How the most unexpected things, the unexpected twists and turns life held and gave out. But Bette learned that crying over it wouldn’t do anything. And though she often bothered the police, they gave her a look like maybe Angie was good to get out, and called Kit daily…Bette was doing ok. She had a routine going on and everything. She had officially retired and so had all this time on her hands, she filled the hours with reading, gardening, going daily walks, yoga, writing the odd article, talking to kit and some of the gang, going to art shows…she even talking to people and striking watery ‘friendhsips’. One such one was a 70 year old man who had a crush on Bette. He didn’t know she was a ***** but was too shy to make any moves except talk. Bette liked him, and didn’t want to burst his bubble…so she agreed to lunch three times a week. They talked about a lot of stuff, stuff Bette cared about. In fact Bette filled the days so much as to not get to thinking too much about stuff. About Tina…about her daughter….about the baby. She still had no idea. Besides that Bette was  close to something that could be called a  form of happiness. Really it was sad. But Bette got through the days and that was important. Getting through each day. she had her old man friend…who looked at her with such love in his eyes almost, he talked intelligently and never made a move…Bette figured she was his only friend. He never talked about anyone else.

 Soon a postcard came, Bette looked forward to it each week…it was a reminder that her daughter was still out there somewhere. This week it was different…

“The baby is fine. I’m fine. It’s a girl…….Angelica.”