You can’t shop your way out of a monopoly
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If you're running a business, you can either invest at being good at your business, or good at Google SEO. Choose the former and your customers will love you – but they won't be able to find you, thanks to the people who choose the latter. And if you're going to invest in top-notch SEO, why bother investing in quality at all?
For more than a decade, Google has promised that it would do something about "lead gens" – services that spoof Google into thinking that they are local businesses, pushing down legit firms on both regular search and Google Maps (these downranked businesses invested in quality, not SEO, remember). Search for a roofer, a plumber, an electrician, or a locksmith (especially a locksmith), and most or all of the results will be lead-gens. They'll take your call, pretend to be a local business, and then call up some half-qualified bozo to come out and charge you four times the going rate for substandard work:
https://www.nytimes.com/2016/01/31/business/fake-online-locksmiths-may-be-out-to-pick-your-pocket-too.html
Some of them just take your money and they "go back to the shop for a tool" and never return:
https://www.riverfronttimes.com/news/when-a-fake-business-used-a-real-st-louis-address-things-got-weird-32087998
Google has been promising to fix this since the late aughts, and to be fair, it's a little better. There was once a time when a map of Manhattan showed more locksmiths than taxis:
https://blumenthals.com/blog/2009/02/18/google-maps-proves-more-locksmiths-in-nyc-than-cabs/
But GMaps is trapped in the enshittification squeeze. On the one hand, the company wants to provide a good and reliable map. On the other hand, the company makes money selling "ads" that are actually payola, where a business can pay to get to the top of the listings or get displayed on the map itself. Zoom out of Google's map of central London and the highlighted landmarks are a hilarious mix of "organic" and paid listings: the British Museum, Buckingham Palace, the Barbican, the London Eye…and a random oral and maxillofacial clinic in the financial district:
https://twitter.com/dylanbeattie/status/1764711667663831455
Hell of a job "organizing the world's information and making it universally accessible and useful," Big G. Doubtless the average Londoner finds the presence of this clinic super helpful in orienting themselves relative to the map on their phone screens, and it's a real service to tourists hoping to hit all the major landmarks.
It's not just Maps users who'd noticed the rampant enshittification. Even the original design team is so horrified they're moved to speak out about the moral injury they experience seeing the product they worked so hard on turned into a giant pile of shit:
https://twitter.com/elizlaraki/status/1727351922254852182
Now, when it comes to locksmiths, I'm lucky. My neighborhood in Burbank includes the wonderful Golden State Lock and Safe, which has been in business since 1942:
https://www.goldenstatelock.com/
But you wouldn't know it from searching GMaps for a locksmith near me. That search turns up a long list of scams:
https://www.google.com/maps/search/locksmith/@34.1750451,-118.369948,14z/data=!3m1!4b1?entry=ttu
It also turns up plenty of Keyme machines – these are private-equity backed, self-serve key-cutting machines placed in grocery stores. Despite Keyme calling itself a "locksmith," it's just a badly secured, overcaptilized, enshittification-bound system for collecting and retaining shapefiles for the keys to millions of homes, cross-referenced with billing information that will make it easy for the eventual hackers to mass-produce keys for all those poor suckers' houses.
(Hilariously, Keyme claims to be an "AI" company):
https://www.businesswire.com/news/home/20200114005194/en/KeyMe-Raises-35-Million-to-Further-Its-Mission-of-Building-the-Premier-Locksmith-Services-Company-in-the-Nation
But despite the fact that you can literally see the Golden State storefront from Google Streetview, Google Maps claims to have no knowledge of it. Instead, Streetview labels Golden State "Keyme" – and displays a preview showing a locksmith using a tool to break into a jeep (I'd dearly love to know how the gadget next to the Slurpee machine at the 7-Eleven will drive itself to your jeep and unlock the door for you when you lose your keys):
https://www.google.com/maps/place/KeyMe+Locksmiths/@34.1752624,-118.3487531,3a,75y,350.19h,90.21t/data=!3m6!1e1!3m4!1ssHrtqjqvgFir3NBauMy13Q!2e0!7i16384!8i8192!4m15!1m8!3m7!1s0x80c2959cd65dbb1b:0x4b3744cf87492a71!2sBurbank+Blvd+%26+N+Hollywood+Way,+Burbank,+CA+91505!3b1!8m2!3d34.1750025!4d-118.3493484!16s%2Fg%2F11f37_3lq8!3m5!1s0x80c2951cedbf4d39:0xe8ff9fd5872e66e9!8m2!3d34.1755176!4d-118.349!16s%2Fg%2F11mw7nr4fx?entry=ttu
It's pretty clear to me what's going on here. Keyme has hired some SEO creeps and/or paid off Google, flooding the zone with listings for its machines. Meanwhile, Golden State, being merely good at locksmithing, has lost the SEO wars. Perhaps Golden State could shift some of its emphasis from being good at locksmithing in order to get better at SEO, but this is a race that will always be won by the firm that puts the most into SEO, which will always be the firm that puts the least into quality.
Whenever I write about this stuff, people inevitably ask me which search engine they should use, if not Google?
And there's the rub.
Google used predatory pricing and anticompetitive mergers to acquire a 90% search market-share. The company spends more than $26b/year buying default position in every place where you might possibly encounter a new search engine. This created the "kill zone" – the VC's term of art for businesses that no one will invest in, because Google makes sure that no one will ever find out it exists:
https://www.theverge.com/23802382/search-engine-google-neeva-android
That's why the only serious competitor to Google is Bing, another Big Tech company (Bing is also the primary source of results on Duckduckgo, which is why DDG sometimes makes exceptions for Microsoft's privacy-invading tracking):
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/DuckDuckGo#Controversies
Google tells us that the quid-pro-quo of search monopolization is search excellence. The hundreds of billions it makes every year through monopoly control gives it the resources it needs to fight spammers and maintain search result quality. Anyone who's paid attention recently knows that this is bullshit: Google search quality is in free-fall, across all its products:
https://downloads.webis.de/publications/papers/bevendorff_2024a.pdf
But Google doesn't seem to think it has a problem. Rather than devoting all its available resources to fighting botshit, spam and scams, the company set $80 billion dollars alight last year with a stock buyback that was swiftly followed with 12,000 layoffs, followed by multiple subsequent rounds of layoffs:
https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/21/im-feeling-unlucky/#not-up-to-the-task
The scams that slip through Google's cracks are sometimes nefarious, but just as often they're decidedly amateurish, the kind of thing that Google could fix by throwing money at the problem, say, to validate that new ads for confirmed Google merchants come from the merchant's registered email addresses and go to the merchant's registered website:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/24/passive-income/#swiss-cheese-security
Search is a capital intensive business, and there are real returns to scale, as the UK Competition and Market Authority's excellent 2020 study describes:
https://assets.publishing.service.gov.uk/media/5fe4957c8fa8f56aeff87c12/Appendix_I_-_search_quality_v.3_WEB_.pdf
But Google doesn't seem to think that its search needs that $80 billion to fight the spamwars. That's the thing about monopolists, they get complacent. As Lily Tomlin's "Ernestine the AT&T operator" used to say, "We don't care, we don't have to, we're the phone company."
That's why I'm so excited about the DOJ Antitrust Division monopolization case against Google. Trusting one company to "organize the world's information and make it universally accessible and useful," was a failure:
https://www.justice.gov/opa/pr/justice-department-sues-google-monopolizing-digital-advertising-technologies
I understand why people want to know which search engine they should use instead of Google, and I get why, "There aren't any good search engines" is such an unsatisfactory answer. I understand why each fresh round of printer-company fuckery prompts people to ask "which printer should I get?" and I understand why "There are only six major printer companies and they're all suffering from end-stage enshittification" isn't what anyone wants to hear.
We want to be able to vote with our wallets, because it's so much faster and more convenient than voting with our ballots. But the vote-with-your-wallet election is rigged for the people with the thickest wallets. Try as hard as you'd like, you just can't shop your way out of a monopoly – that's like trying to recycle your way out of the climate emergency. Systemic problems need systemic solutions – not individual ones.
That's why the new antitrust matters so much. The answer to monopolies is to break up companies, block and unwind mergers, ban deceptive and unfair conduct. "Caveat emptor" is the scammer's motto. You shouldn't have to be an expert on lead gen scams to hire a locksmith without getting ripped off.
There are good products and services out there. Earlier this year, we decided to install a (non-networked) programmable pushbutton lock. I asked Deviant Ollam – whom I know from Defcon's Lockpicking Village – for a recommendation and he suggested the Schlage FE595:
https://www.schlage.com/en/home/products/FE595PLYFFFFLA.html
I liked it so much I bought another one for my office door. Eric from Golden State Lock and Safe installed it while I wrote this blog-post. It's great. I recommend both of 'em – 10/10, would do business again.
Name your price for 18 of my DRM-free ebooks and support the Electronic Frontier Foundation with the Humble Cory Doctorow Bundle.
If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/05/the-map-is-not-the-territory/#vapor-locksmith
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Permanence // Luke Patterson
Summary: On the run for most of her life the reader had been accustomed to being a lone wolf in world with eyes everywhere. Living in the age of technology and life online makes it hard for a girl stuck in a permanent state at nineteen physically. All things change when the reader moves next door to a healing teenager and her ghostly band.
Warning: Swearing, loss of death, talk of injuries/hospital, angst, and fluff
Words: 5.1k (yikes)
A/N: Loosely based on the film Age of Adaline. Also includes a scene using the BBC show Call the Midwife as well. I’ve been MIA due to this fic. I love it.
TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX PLEASE!
Masterlist
The love tingled in your lips as the taxi pulled away from the curb leaving behind the white-haired woman. Your hand raised to wave as the woman turned into a speck in the review mirror but never far from your heart and thoughts.
“Going on a trip?” The taxi driver questioned taking a right turn with a jarring sensation. His brown eyes speedily meeting yours, “Does your mom grandma live in San Francisco?”
A mournful smile appeared on the wrinkle-free complexion, “Something like that.”
The reply didn’t faze the driver in a big city he had chosen to make his living with for his family, he had heard worse. The airport reared its head with the big heavily populated by tourists and loud machinery of transport.
The royal blue wool jacket concealed the black blouse tucked into the grey, and black tartan fitted trousers. Paired with the black velvet kitten heels that had been in your possession for a very long time. Hair left down in the soft waves and makeup natural for the plane right.
The flight was over quickly for the young woman with her carry on, and purse collected you immediately headed to baggage claim. The suitcase was easy found and lifted off the conveyor belt with little trouble. Your expressive eyes finding the taxi, some may call you old fashioned for not ‘ubering’, but it was a nostalgic action.
“Where to?” The taxi driver asked with pretty blue eyes shadowed by the crows’ feet at the corner’s of her eyes. Swiftly you listed off the address to the house you had bought with your vast savings, “Half hour ride.”
You settled back into the leather seat as the city passed by with the memories staunchly kept in a locked box escaping. Los Angeles had been the location of the only family trip you had had in your late teens.
Los Angeles, 1936
“Darling! This Samuel, he owns the restaurant up the beach.” Theodore’s bright white smile gleamed as he returned to your side, “He’s personally invited us to celebrate the first night of our life together.
The pleated cark charcoal pants held up with black suspenders snuggle atop the button-down shirt of denim blue colour. The shirt left with the top two buttons undone revealing the white undershirt. Shiny polished black shoes on Theodore’s feet he was dressed as perfect as the day he caught your runaway hat.
“Oh, thank you.” You told the shy man as he led you up to the well-known restaurant with the gorgeous view of the water.
Samuel went further by providing his best table in the house, leaving the host annoyed at the interruption. The dinner was spent with Theodore listing off the itinerary for the week in the city. From visiting the museums to watching a film at the Los Angeles Theatre recommended by Theodore’s connection from work.
“You like to share a dessert Darling?” Theodore asked tenderly holding your soft hand in his smooth one. His smile never faded as you declined his offer satisfied with the large meal from the five-course dinner.
“I’d much prefer the comfort of our hotel room.” Your lips ended the words with a smile that paired well with the glittering eyes. Theodore’s heart expanded as his wife’s smile, he had fallen in love with first.
“The hotel placed a nice bottle of champagne in our room,” Theodore spoke once the bill was taken care of. He pulled your chair out to help you slip on the navy blue wool jacket on from the back of your chair, “You are absolutely beautiful.”
“Still as charming as ever.” You whispered gazing up at him with such love.
You had loved Theodore from the first chaperoned date at sixteen with the handsome eighteen-year-old that had saved your hat. The wind that day had been unbearable as you walked the beach of San Francisco with your mother. At seventeen, you wed; a mere few days previous. Theodore came from a well-off family but worked as an engineer for the city.
“We’re here.” The taxi driver spoke as the car pulled to a stop at a pretty house painted a blue with white accents.
Mumbling a thank you the driver took off once your belongings found ground on the sidewalk and the fare paid. The house door unlocked with a click revealing the furnishing you had sent and hired a company to build. The boxes of personal belongings had arrived in boxes the previous day and awaited unpacking.
The first order of business on your to-do list was changing the locks as well as testing the safety alarm. The next few hours you unpacked your kitchen and clothing as the locksmith took his time finishing up previous appointments.
Your hand hovered over the oval golden framed photo of your wedding day with Theodore with a smile on both your faces. You didn’t look a day older than the day you married Theodore even if it had been so long. The familiar clench at the sight of the man happened every time you saw the photo.
“You’d be so proud of Rosie.” Your index finger caressed the elegant picture of your first love with a mournful emotion.
Pulled from the sad memories as the doorbell rang signalling the arrival of the locksmith. The appointment was swift before you finished unpacking the living room from the bookcase to the picture frames. As the minute handle circled the clock face, you settled in for the simple meal.
“Tea on the porch.” You sighed curling into the cherry red Adirondack chair in the front porch watching as children went inside their houses.
It wasn’t how you had anticipated your life dreaming of a life with a family in a lovely home. You never expected to live in fear for your life, and your child’s as the second World War reared its ugly head. You never envisioned having to move every few years to keep safe. Lastly, you had never foreseen watching Rosie’s hair turn white before your own. You thought you’d be buried beside your husband after a long life. So far, it had been too long at this point with your childhood friends all dead.
“Hi.” The voice of a teenage girl spoke. Your gaze left your lukewarm tea for the girl at the bottom of your porch.
Strands of her curly textured hair pulled away from her face it revealed her clear tawney complexion. The most expressive brown eyes framed with thick lashes that took your breath away with the kindness in them.
“You just moved in right?” The girl asked as you climbed down the steps to the younger teenager, “I’m Julie Molina, I live next door.”
“Hello Julie, I’m Y/N Y/L/N.” You spoke, shaking the extended hand of the young girl inspecting her.
Her fashion was obviously of the current time whereas your own style was a mixture of different eras. The style fits in but touches to bring in the past decades you had lived through.
“Where are your parents?” Julie asked with a furrowed brow.
“I live alone.” You replied sighing as the confusion flashed in the younger teen’s eyes before you elaborated, “I’m nineteen. I bought the house, my parents live in my home state.”
They weren’t living, but they were buried in the cemetery with the other family members that had since passed. Unless a freak accident happened, your plot near your husband wouldn’t be filled. The only person who knew the truth was Rosie, she was your daughter.
“Wow! That’s cool.” Julie beamed glancing over her shoulder as her phantom friends poofed in behind her.
The sudden appearance startled you and while it was confusing you had become well acquainted with weird. You hadn’t aged a day since a stormy night on the country roads in 1938 heading to pick up Rosie. You barely flinched at the appearance.
“Oh damn, Julie’s neighbour is hot.” The leather jacket one spoke scanning the newcomer with an awed expression.
The boy with the sleeveless top sharing the same awed expression. Whereas the blonde in pink’s breath released in an exasperated sigh. Only a corner of your lips twitched up at realization this must happen quite a bit.
“I should head back inside. I have a few more boxes to unpack. It was lovely to meet you, Julie.” Your eloquent words taking the boys by surprise from the lack of modern language and slang. You didn’t use any of the terms that Julie and Flynn spoke in.
Luke followed Julie with glances over his shoulder to the back of the mysterious girl closing her front door. It wasn’t often Luke was intrigued by anything other than his music. Still, something about you was the most interesting thing. Not even touring some of his favourite bands’ personal homes was as interesting.
“C’mon Luke!” Reggie called out to the lingering teenage ghost. Unbeknownst to the retreating guitarist, your curtain had been pulled away as you peeked at him.
Over the next few weeks, you had become acquainted with Julie, even admitting to seeing the boys. It was a mess of Reggie blushing at your revelation of hearing his comments on your beauty. It wasn’t earth-shattering, but it was a friend group.
Two months later, over the course of a week, you withdrew from the group for the comfort of your living room. A garbage bin for used tissues as it sank in once more that the anniversary of Theodore’s death rolled around. 82 years since he was tragically killed.
You looked a mess and barely reacted when the four friends to it upon themselves to enter your home. Your hazy mind barely caught onto the arrival as Julie ushered your saddened form to the bathroom.
As Julie helped dress you, taking it from the extensive closet, the boys cleaned up the living room, and Alex poofed out. He returned with a pizza he began cooking coming to a stop at Luke’s gaping gaze at the mantel above the fireplace.
“What’s wrong?” Alex demanded rushing to the guitarist side equally shocked. Perfect timing as you came back into the living room with Julie.
“That’s Theodore.” The words came out gravely from the lack of use for the past few days. Your feet brought you to the side of the three boys, “It was raining the day. The sky broke when we left the church.”
“That’s you?” Reggie inquired frantically glancing between the old photo and your exact replica of the picture.
Julie gasped at the sight picking out the scar on the edge of your forehead barely seen in the photo but the matching appearance remarkable. The soft smile appeared as your hand came to grab the frame remembering the lovely day—the beautiful ceremony and the small reception before heading out for the honeymoon.
“Theodore Prescott was eighteen when I first saw him on the beach in San Francisco. Mother and I chose a windy for a walk; my hat blew away. Straight into the trousers of a young man that I would fall in love with instantly.” Your smile grew as your form settled back on the couch, having traded the frame for an old album. The four people were quiet.
“We married a year later in 1937, I was seventeen years old. Theodore whisked me off to Los Angeles for our honeymoon. We dined at fancy establishments, caught a film at the Los Angeles Theatre.” Your smile faded, leading Julie’s heart to clench as she knew that expression from seeing it in the mirror, “He was an engineer.”
“What happened?” Julie questioned grasping your soft hand in her own hand, focusing her eyes on your face. Your face remembering one of the most challenging times.
“Theodore was an engineer for the construction of the Golden Gate Bridge. A section of the bridge collapsed taking three men down. Theodore was one of them.” A lone tear travelled down your cheek, “It was difficult grieving my husband and caring for our daughter.”
Luke’s gasp was audible, “Are you a ghost?”
“No.” You told the seventeen-year-old guitarist, “I’ve been nineteen for the last 83 years.”
“Eighty-three years?!” Reggie exclaimed completely taken aback blinking fast to take it in, “Did you find a fountain of youth? Some special French creams?”
“Reg, shut up.” Alex elbowed the raven-haired teenager in the side with an apologetic smile, “I’d apologize and say he isn’t normally like this…but you know us too well.”
“It’s alright Alex,” You told the drummer fiddling with his ring as you returned back to Reggie, “It was storming in 1938, but I had promised to meet my parents and Rosie at the cabin. Visibility got worse, and I fishtailed right off the road into the ravine. I’m not sure the science but I know I died, and then I woke up.”
“This so weird,” Luke mumbled listening intently to the story with wide eyes that quickly matched his friends.
“Believe it’s shocking when your daughter graduates from college with her mother looking younger than her.” The bitter chuckle couldn’t be held back, remembering it as the first time you were retitled as Rosie’s sister.
“I just got used to being a ghost.” Alex sighed, settling into the armchair to the left of the couch. Luke sat on the couch next to you while Reggie took the armchair across from Alex.
As the sun rose higher and began to set, you enthralled the teenagers with stories of your long life. Luke was the most interested in the music you have seen evolve over the course of time, and the musicians you had met. In telling them stories, it allowed you to step out of the dark abyss of your mind.
“Freddie Mercury?” Luke asked from the other cherry red Adirondack chair turned to see you in the matching one.
“I had coffee with him in a little hole in the wall coffee shop in New York. He loved whip cream, but he didn’t like the dairy they used. The shop is now a Starbucks.”
The giggle escaped at Luke’s look of absolute awe, “That’s so rad.”
“Rad. Haven’t heard that in a long time.” The sparkle for sure would have sent Luke’s heart thudding like Alex’s drumming in Now or Never; if it still beat that is.
“…so do you think people can fall in love more than once?” Luke had been very undecided in asking the question. Everyone around could tell he felt something for you so unlike any other relationship.
You kissed your teeth, thinking about how to properly articulate your thoughts on such a heavy subject. It was clear that you felt something for the teenage ghost even if you had lived far longer than Luke had.
“I think it’s possible. Luke, I’ve lived a long time and while I’ll love Theodore for as long as I live that doesn’t mean I have been alone.” You revealed to the ghostly guitarist stepping back in a part of your history buried incredibly deep.
“The way you were torn up made me think-“
“I’ll always mourn Theodore, I had a year, and that was never enough. I worked as a midwife in England in the late 1960s.”
Poplar, London, England circa 1960s
The blonde-haired bombshell marched her way through the crowded Poplar district in London scanning the late-night Christmas shoppers. Beatrix, Trixie to her friends, had a young mother a mere street away. The only available midwife to help her happened to be off duty shopping for gifts.
Trixie was thankful for the American accent that distinguished the midwife from the crowd, pointing her towards a store window. Your eyes dragged away from the lovely young mother giving her thanks for delivering her baby a few months prior.
“Trixie!” You beamed, revealing a white smile that lit up your pretty eye colour. Trixie’s anxious expression dropped the smile, however, “Is something wrong?”
“Jenny Turner is in labour. Tom is with her right now, but I need help. Everyone is further away.”
In seconds you had pulled the charcoal cape secured by the bands crisscrossing your shoulders to properly rest. The cloak had armholes with material covering the holes, no sleeves seen. The cape covered the plain light blue nurse uniform with the white-collar and the maroon red cardigan.
Trixie led you to the small apartment housing twenty-one-year-old, Jenny, with Reverend Tom Hereward waiting. This would be Jenny’s second child with her husband Roger leaving the midwife’s nervous after her first pregnancy.
“Hello, Jenny.” You spoke stepping closer to the woman, “Trixie said you requested my presence.”
“You delivered my first baby. I want you here, Roger a county away for work.” Jenny heavily spoke as a contraction ended, “I’m not due for two weeks.”
“Baby Turner is too excited to meet their big brother.” You soothed settling beside the young mother, “You’re in great hands with Trixie. You are close to the hospital and the clinic if you’d prefer to move.”
“No. I want to stay.” Jenny was sure of that, at least. Her hand left yours to clench the white bedsheets as a contraction clenched her midsection.
“Then I’ll be right here with you.”
It was a promise you kept as Trixie delivered a healthy baby girl appreciating your help when you cleaned the baby. Trixie helped Jenny deliver the afterbirth and clean up the room just in time for Jenny’s mother to enter the room.
“I came as soon as I could.”
“Thank you, Y/N,” Jenny spoke with a small tired smile. The smile that made the job worth watching babies being born, of family’s growing.
Tom was waiting outside in the living room as you exited the bathroom. Your heart fluttered at the sight of the Reverend Hereward waiting for you with his patient smile and a tender look in his blue gaze.
“How is Jenny?” Tom asked, holding the door to the street open.
“Tired after delivering Cynthia. Cynthia is an eight-pound baby with no complications. Thank you for praying Tom.”
“Trixie informed me of Jenny’s first pregnancy, and I felt like I was needed. Do you happen to be free tomorrow night?” Tom asked, linking his fingers in yours with a smile that almost looked nervous.
“I am.” You responded as Tom walked you to Nonnatus House where the unmarried midwives resided. You stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek, “Good night Tom.”
“I’ll meet you at the park,” Tom responded, waiting patiently as you entered the building before he turned on his heel to head to his residence. Unknown to him, you peered down from your bedroom window as he pulled something out of his pocket.
A small box housing a ring he would propose with the very next night. A ring that broke your heart. A ring that you’d never see up close as you handed in your resignation and left England as quickly as possible.
Luke’s invested gaze shuttered as you revealed you had run away before Tom could propose because it could never happen.
“He was going to propose, and you didn’t say goodbye?”
“I don’t know if I could have said no when he asked. I wish I knew what I would have said, but it was unfair. How could Tom, as a Reverend, accept that his fiancée or wife would never grow old? It went against everything he believed in.” You countered with a raised eyebrow, “He married the midwife that was hired a year after I left. Barbara Gilbert. Trixie sent me the letter.”
Luke’s perceptive eyes caught the tinge of sadness in your gaze recalling the second man you had loved. You loved with your whole heart and with that came a lot of heartbreak.
“Do you keep in contact with them?”
“I send a letter to Trixie every once in a while, to check up on her. She married a few years after I left and had a few children. I believe she had a step-daughter.”
Luke’s mouth went to open before a flash of light, and a slight gasp was heard from the blonde drummer. His eyebrows raised as the close proximity between his best friend and his new friend. He shook it off as he turned to face Luke fully.
“Did you forget? We have a gig.” Alex spoke amused as Luke’s eyes widened theatrically vividly recalling the excitement in Julie’s eyes.
You waved the duo off to disappear in a ball of light to the gig they had for the night while you entered your home. You didn’t hear Alex make a comment that Luke couldn’t deny.
“You’ve fallen for her,” Alex spoke just outside the coffee shop that housed the record execs with the power to change their afterlife. The quirk of a smile sealed Alex’s opinion of the girl.
Content to spend your time in the house you retreated to the kitchen. Your hand slipped into your pocket for the phone that had few contacts such as Rosie and Julie’s along with the number of Rosie’s doctor. Mostly pictures of Rosie and landscapes but never your face, not after the 1953 incident.
Living next door to the Molina’s you often shared recipes with Ray, he had taken you under his wing. He felt empathetic with the young neighbour he saw you as a daughter almost, unaware that it would the other way around. You had years on the widowed father.
The wooden spoon stirred the sizzling stir-fry that had been a fixture in raising a rambunctious little girl interested in skinny her knees. The stir-fry was the quickest meal while Rosie played outside or in the little play corner with her dolls. It seemed like the world knew when your phone rang.
“Hello, darling.” You spoke securing the phone between your neck and shoulder, “Did you teach Gladys poker?”
The silence was stifling, “Is this Y/N Y/L/N?”
A cold sweat broke out as the unfamiliar voice came from Rosie’s cell phone roused the deep-seated fear of loss. The wooden spoon in your hand clattered on the tile flooring of the modest-sized kitchen.
“Your grandmother Rosemary Prescott tripped over a cane. You’re her emergency contact.”
“Has she been admitted to the hospital? How extensive are her injuries? Let me get a pen and grab the address.” You rambled frantically scouring the kitchen for the notepad, “Was she alone?”
“She’s still being seen by the doctor, and I’m unable to reveal the details over the phone. Her friend Gladys was there, and she hasn’t left your grandma’s side.” The person responded in an even tone with the failed intention of soothing you.
“What’s the address?”
“I’m a nurse at Zuckerberg San Francisco General Hospital and Trauma Center.” The nurse prattled off, providing the address and visiting hours.
As soon as the call ended, you had quickly grabbed a quick bite from the meal before packaging it up. Next, you dug out the small suitcase to pack the essentials with the mental capacity of a zombie. The bag was stowed in the backseat of the car while you kept your purse on your shoulder.
You barely comprehended knocking on the Molina door or Ray opening it, “Hello Y/N.”
“Ray. Tonight, I made stir-fry, I’ll be out of town for a few days.” You told the man catching sight of both Carlos and Julie in the background.
“Are you okay?” Ray questioned taking the container from your shaking hands, “Do you need us to do anything?”
“Could I have a h-hug?” You stuttered feeling a smidge better than the older man tugged you in for a hug. Two pairs of arms joined with the Molina kids ambushing you.
“You’re coming back, right?” The question came from the concerned hazel-eyed guitarist watching the interaction with a particular look. A look he knew came from not being able to comfort you.
“I’ll be back once I know Rosie is okay.” You replied, locking eyes with Luke over Ray’s shoulder earning a tender smile from the male.
“I’ll pray for your Grandma,” Ray spoke, stepping back to let both Julie and Carlos say their goodbyes to their neighbour. Everyone but Carlos and Ray half-heartedly smirking at Ray’s belief that Rosie was older than you.
Unlike typical times you didn’t linger in the Molina home with the distracted thoughts of Rosie injured with her mother with her. Rosie is the only thing you would drop anything for, the love of a mother and her child. So distracted by your thoughts you didn’t notice Luke had appeared right beside you.
“Are you driving?” Luke asked, tapping his shoe on the porch step, bringing your sad eyes to meet his, “Or are you taking a plane?”
“A plane. It’s a five-hour drive to San Francisco from here not taking in traffic time. I bought a last-minute ticket.” You replied, heading straight for the car with Luke hot on your heels to the vintage car.
Half of you wanted to refuse his evident intention to join you, but a part of you yearned for the comfort. A stroke of luck had a plane seat beside yours empty, time didn’t exist, but it dragged on at the same time. So lost in thoughts you never noticed the brush on a pinkie on your skin.
While you stared off in the distance, Luke’s jaw was dropped at the silky feel of your skin. Words bubbled up his throat just before he knew it wasn’t the right time to bring it up. Instead, he chose different words to regale you with stories of his childhood.
“I begged for a dog when I was eight years old. Reggie had this golden retriever his family had before he was born. My dad was allergic in the end, so I was content with Reggie’s dog.” Luke spoke, “That didn’t mean I didn’t sneak in this stray one night. We kept him in the garage while we found him a forever home.”
“What was his name?”
“Fender.” Luke sheepishly spoke, catching the tweak of your smile as the clouds in your eyes cleared for a few minutes. Luke loved being able to ease your mind through the flight, not holding back on the embarrassing stories either.
“Thank you.” You told the easy natured teenager with a familiar flutter in your chest that terrified you.
You could name only one other time you had felt that flutter when everything was easy. 1936 with a man you thought would be your one and only. Feeling something that strong for a ghost was incredibly scary.
“Do you want me to come in with you?” Luke asked just outside the closed hospital door, separating you from your daughter. Your lips parted to deny his question but you couldn’t so you simply shook your head.
“Come in!” The voice was prompt after knocking on the door. Opening the door, you found Rosie’s grinning in her bed with Gladys at her side, scolding her.
“I’ll get out of your hair,” Gladys spoke shuffling by you out of the door with a quick hug. The second Gladys closed the door, your eyebrows furrowed.
“Rosemary Elspath Prescott. What were you thinking?” You crossed your arms walking closer to Rosie, “You know your ankle hasn’t been the same-“
“-since I shattered during a cheer comp in college. Mama, I know. It was an accident.” Rosie softly spoke just before her gaze met Luke’s with fear planted squaring in her blue gaze. Luke’s lips parted, “He knows?”
“Oh.” Luke blinked at the sudden new change in his afterlife with Rosie actually seeing him, “I’m Luke.”
“This is going to sound craz-“
“Mama, you’ve been nineteen for over eight decades. I think we’ve hit the crazy already, tell me. Before I get a bad heart.” Rosie joked with that twinkle you saw countless times over the years.
The first time you saw it was when you found her on the counter at age two when she learned how to climb. Other times included her sneaking out to a senior party with her friends and the teasing she started when she got her first grey hair.
“You better have taken our discussion about your salt intake serious young lady.” You pointed at her mere seconds before your shoulders dropped. You leaned down to kiss the crown of her head, “Luke’s a ghost.”
Rosie’s lips parted, staring down the boy before whispering very softly in your ear, “Well. At least he doesn’t age. You look happy with him Mama, I’m not getting any younger, and he’s really cute.”
“Don’t talk like that.” The low response came out broken at the horrible future where you would bury Rosie.
A cold hand landed on your waist as you stretched to place an ornament on the tree you chose with Luke. The wire hugged the branch a ghost of a kiss pressed against your cheek, a moment of quiet in the loud house. Reggie and Alex had been baking cookies with Rosie for the last two hours. Julie was finishing her family dinner at her home before she would come over.
“Merry Christmas,” Luke murmured tugging you in his chest. A flutter of butterflies moving in your tummy.
Once Rosie had been discharged from the hospital, she had been convinced to temporarily move to Los Angeles. For the first time since Rosie’s senior year in high school, you got to live with her. Subtlety had never been her strong suit with nagging you and Luke about getting together.
“Merry Christmas.” You replied, stretching to peck his lips once before cuddling into his chest with the thick sweater.
“Would you like a cookie…Dad.” Rosie teased, bringing a tray into the living room with the gooey chocolate chips.
Another revelation other than being able to touch the boys was that once Julie saved them from Caleb, they could eat small quantities. They couldn’t eat a lot, and they didn’t need it, but it was a comfort to the group.
“That’s so weird.” Alex chortled, taking in the shocked and uncomfortable expression Luke had. Reggie beamed with a mouthful of cookie. This was the first Christmas the boys had surrounded by only acceptance, love, and untainted happiness.
“How about we stick to Luke?” Rosie chuckled just as weirded out by the odd age gap and the forever youth the couple displayed.
While Rosie interacted with the arrival of both Flynn and Julie, you curled into Luke’s embrace taking in the room. Julie and Flynn listened to the rebellious stories Rosie carried. Alex had retreated to the kitchen with a guy with shoulder-length brunette hair. Reggie was involved in a conversation with Ray; another unexplained phenomenon after the Orpheum.
Your eyes found the mantle with the picture of Theodore and you. Right beside it a lovely photo with Luke dipping you in a kiss and besides that picture was the very last picture of Luke with his parents. How lucky you had been in the years you had lived to end up with a chosen family.
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