Anne heard her phone buzz inside her bag, but didn't pick it up until she was parked in front of the Liquor Plus. Liquor plus what? Who could say. She took her phone out, checked the lock screen to see who it was from, then stuck it back in her bag. She grabbed the strap of her messenger bag and opened her door, pushing it through the sepia-toned man who had been staring through her window the whole drive from the diner. She stepped out of her car and slung the bag over her shoulder, then walked up to the liquor store.
A bell rang as she walked in, that same little chime all cheap liquor stores seem to have on their door. She moved to look through the small selection of wine kept on the shelf at the back away from the sunlight filtering through the glass front door, taking out her phone again and unlocking it.
To: Oliver (Not the Cat)
>does red or white wine say "sorry for not telling you i was coming home and then sleeping in my car for two days" better
>do you think theyll let me shower before the questions start or should i drive my car through the community pool on the way there
To: Unsaint Jude
>kinda similar, mine had a stretch limo and complementary caviar
>perks of being a cop kid i guess
In truth, Anne has been absolutely petrified when the officers had approached to take her in for questioning. She wasn't entirely sure how to explain that to anyone, though; not without hinting at something dark and deeply buried. Another thing to play pretend about, joy of joys.
She grabbed a random bottle of the shelf, realizing she'd been standing back there texting for almost five minutes. "Insomnia," the label read. Wasn't alcohol supposed to make people sleepy? Why would someone name their wine the exact opposite of what it actually did? She also somehow doubted this wine would be any good. Oh well. Maybe her late-working parents would appreciate the irony. Did they still work nights? They both had been before she left, but to be honest she wasn't entirely sure if they still had the same professions. Well, her dad was clearly still in law enforcement, considering his cop buddies had ratted her out, but she hadn't heard anything about what her mother was up to.
She purchased her dubious wine and left the store, taking a moment outside the driver's side door to thumb through her phone again. She'd seen a lot of old faces at the funeral, and it had only just occured to her that she didn't have any of their numbers. It didn't matter, not really, she hadn't spoken to any of them since high school, but... maybe it was simple nostalgia, but she felt she should at least say hi. For old time's sake, for...
She took a deep breath and leaned against her car, the bottle wrapped in a brown paper back hanging by the neck from two of her fingers. So Hannah was dead. The reality of it didn't so much hit her as settle heavily over her shoulders, like the fog which visited the town on early spring mornings. She found it difficult to recall their last conversation, or even what Hannah looked like outside the framed picture that had been resting on her casket. Had they ever really been close? Close enough for her to drive halfway across the country, close enough to take a full month off work, apparently, close enough to bring all those different faces back home, but she couldn't really recall why, or how. It made her feel guilty.
To: Unsaint Jude, Oliver (Not the Cat), Drunkpants the Sexually Misaligned
Actually, that name wasn't doing it for her anymore. she made a quick edit in the contact info.
To: Unsaint Jude, Oliver (Not the Cat), James from Team Rocket
feeling nostalgic, dont suppose you could set me up with everyones new phone numbers
With that, she opened her car door and got in the seat, setting the bottle down on the passenger-side floor. Time to head home! Yay.