Page 43 of Statler

Eliza stood by her back window, gazing outward at the pink, evening sky before looking at the clock again.

Six forty-nine.

Three minutes later than the last time she checked.

And why she was paying attention?

Gah!

Just because Statler had called her at seven o’clock on both Thursday and Friday nights, didn’t mean he’d be doing so tonight. He hadn’t contacted her yesterday, which meant it wasn’t exactly a regular thing.

So why should she even be thinking about him?

Six fifty-two.

What she really should be doing, was changing into her PJ’s and settling down with a good book. After all, she needed to take advantage of the small amount of time that was actually hers.

Tomorrow was the beginning of a new work week, and she’d be at her father’s beck and call for five full days, from seven in the morning until five in the afternoon. Then she’d go home, too exhausted and rung out from his constant barking to do anything other than eat a cold dinner and go to bed.

But if she were honest, Eliza knew that wasn’t the complete reason for her overwhelming exhaustion lately.

Sure, part of Eliza’s fatigue was because working for her autocratic old man sucked, but the other part was…depression.

She finally dared name the uneasiness and pervasive dread that was constantly weighing her down these days

Eliza wanted to give a wry laugh.

If she ever said those words aloud to her father, he’d rail up and down that there was no such thing as depression. That she was an ungrateful bitch, prone to hyperbole. He’d remind her that she’d been handed everything on a golden platter since the time she was young, and that she’d been given every advantage, even though it was the farthest thing from the truth.

He’d also scoff at the idea that her feelings of being adrift had anything to do with losing her husband and best friend. Although he couldn’t know that the Holden-hole in her life had happened well before he had died.

Eliza could almost hear her father’s acerbic tone now, telling her to move on and grow the fuck up.

Yeah. Grow up.

That was ironic. It was exactly what Eliza wanted to do.

At thirty-two years old, she felt like she’d never really lived. Even residing in her own home, it felt like she was still owned by her father. Which, in a way, she was.

The only solution was getting out of Liminal.

Soon, Eliza, soon.

Eliza and Granny had talked her situation over, endlessly. And even though Granny had said she’d miss Eliza terribly, she still encouraged her to leave.

When Eliza had suggested that Granny move with her, the older woman had been touched, but had gently let her down. She reminded Eliza that Liminal had been her home for too many years. That she’d married her husband here. She knew her neighbors, and provided food assistance for all who needed help. She felt as if she were a part of the fabric of Liminal.

Eliza got it. She’d once thought the same thing could be true for her.

But not anymore.

She consistently did her share of good works for the community. All her memories of Holden were here. And every single place she’d frequented with her mother when the woman had been alive, could never be duplicated someplace else.

But still she didn’t really belong. Because of her father.

Eliza was smart enough to see that her newly admitted depression wasn’t going to go away if she remained static. Her unhappiness was an offshoot of being stuck in a place that she’d once loved, which no longer, in any way, loved her back.

She needed to spread her wings; make her own choices in life.