Lying In Bed
Part 1
By Missy

SERIES: Lying In Bed
PART: 1 of 4
RATING: PG-13 (Adult thematic material)
PAIRING(s): LDF/LK; SF/RC
DISTRIBUTION: To LW, Kai, Myself and FG so far; any other archives are welcome to ask, but disclaimers must be included, my email left intact. send a URL, and provide full disclaimers as well as credit me fully. Please inform me if you are going to submit my work to any sort of search engine. Please do not submit my work to a search engine that picks out random sets of words and uses them as key words, such as "Google"

Please contact me in order for this story to be placed on an archive, or if you want know of a friend who would enjoy my works, please email me their address and I will mail them the stories, expressly for the purpose of link trading. MiSTiers are welcomed! Please do inform me that you'd like to do the MiSTing, however, and send me a copy of the finished product. I'd also love to archive any MiSTings that are made of my work!
CATEGORY: Drama, Romance
FEEDBACK: PLEASE?!
SETTING IN TIMELINE: Non-Canon; Post The Fics "Sins Of The Father" By Shotzette and "I Never Promised You a Pepsi Tree" By Me.
SPOILLER/SUMMARY: The Cunningham children spend the winter with Lenny and Laverne while their mother tries to regain herself in therapy.
NOTES: Sequels of sequels. This one's a follow up to stuff by both Shotzette and me; please read both before getting to this...

****

On the day Davey Cunningham and his siblings returned to Milwaukee, there was a snowstorm. From that day forward, his Aunt Laverne would always associate the boy with snowstorms. He had been born in one. She had seen him last after a twelve-footer on Christmas Eve two years before.

And, in a memory that chilled her, she recalled that he had been conceived in one.

That conception held the reason why the six little Cunninghams were coming to Milwaukee in the first place. She had deliberately thrown away every newspaper in the house, not that the news from California made that big of a splash in Milwaukee. They tended to edit down the world's tragedies to a sobbing byline, making room for local death and madness.

Her friend was one of those far-away tragedies now, the worst thing that had ever happened to her compressed into a two-paragraph story on page 6-A of Tuesday's Milwaukee Times.

Laverne could still hear Shirley's frantic cries in her mind, as though they were coming over the line and into her ear presently. Though their social calls had been getting further apart, the alarm in her best friend's voice that night sent Laverne instantly rocketing back to the horrible night of Davey's conception. In gasping inhalations, the truth came.

Shirley's rapist had been captured in California on outstanding warrants: for parking illegally, of all things. By some fortuitous miracle, the precinct had been examining the case of a serial rapist that day; the man who had victimized Shirley had left his prints all over crime scenes connected to the rapes of two local women. There were no fingerprints on the women, however, making it all seem somewhat circumstantial.

Then the others began to come forward.

Two in California, one more in Milwaukee, all of them describing the same sort of offense and attaching it to the captured attacker. Still, holes remained in the case; the women were all of a lower class, all with something, perhaps, to prove. They needed one more voice, one strong, respected voice...

And that voice could not speak.

Richie had begged Shirley to go to the police and tell them of her assault. The statue of limitations had not run out on her rape; she had seen his face. She was of a higher echelon of society and, apparently, more believable. But Shirley couldn't make herself face her assault, and the suggestion only resulted in a vicious argument between the already strained marrieds. Richie was a breath away from leaving his family, or so Laverne understood from Shirley's hysterical midnight phone calls. A week before this day, Shirley had called with better news; in a desperate attempt to save her marriage, she had agreed to counciling. She and Richie were both at a retreat, undergoing psychotherapy. They had needed someone to watch the children; it couldn't be her mother; the rapist's trial was all over the news, and she didn't want her children to know any more than the might have accidentally heard. And it wasn't fair for her to burden poor Mrs. Cunningham, and Joanie Arcola was pregnant and bedridden on doctor's orders.

This saddened Laverne. She was her best friend's last-ditch baby-sitter, and the third choice at that.

After talking it over with Lenny and agreeing to board the Cunninghams, her mind became rappidly preoccupied with Davey's well being. She and Lenny had always been doubly considerate to the boy, mostly because Shirley seemed to unconsciously strike out at him emotionally. She understood from Shirley that the situation had improved marginally, they had finally begun to get closer in the weeks before Shirley's rapist's arrest. But for Davey to be ripped from his mother at such a delicate time couldn't be positive for either of them.

Well, Laverne also knew that she worried too much. Everything would be fine. It would be just like a sleepover! The girls were in a frenzy of excitement to see Beth, and they were thrilled by the idea of teasing the boys that weren't in their grade school classes. All of them being roughly a year younger than each of the Cunningham siblings helped. She only hoped there wouldn't be too many messes, fist fights and doll decapitations...

"Lenny!" she yelped, as a bit of snow cascaded down the back of her neck.

"What? Is it cold?" He deliberately removed his gloves over her head, all the while radiating innocence.

"Ha ha!" She dodged another droplet. "Cut it out! I just ScotchGuarded this chair!"

"So?"

"I want us to be real good for the kids, Len. That means no teachin' the kids to fingerpaint on the walls," she added sarcastically.

"Aww geez Laverne, you mean we can't eat in front of the TV?"

"It's a bad habit. We don't want the girls to get too used to it..." In reality, Laverne enjoyed grouping the girls in front of their set; they ended up talking instead of watching Flipper or Sally Field. For all the emotional good it did them, Laverne found herself transforming into her Pop and worrying about their digestive tracks and postures.

"Awww!" Lenny's voice squeaked; she felt his hot breath whisper over the back of her neck and her body responded involuntarily. "You need something to take your mind off of Davey?"

Laverne felt her skin heating. "Yeah. But not THAT..."

Lenny shrugged. "Mrs. C is supposed to be here at two, right?"

"Yeah, she said that she has to be at Joanie's by three. Gee, it's nice of her to look after the younger ones while we work."

He kissed the top of her head. "After they come here, we pick up the girls and go out to a movie. My treat."

"You're a prince."

"I got paid today," Lenny shrugged. "The girls're driving everyone crazy. They might as well be climbin' up the walls 'cause of all of this snow..."

"But you don't have to offer, and you did. I love you for that."

Lenny kissed her forehead. "Laverne?"

"Yeah?"

"I lied. When I was shovlin', I saw Mrs. Cunningham up the street, at the light."

Laverne broke the kiss, jumping to her feet. "Why didn't you say? How's the house look?!"

"Cause I knew you'd do that! Fine and fine, Vernie. Just sit and relax."

Laverne shook her head. "Everything's gotta be extra-good for Davey. That kid's been through enough."

"He's a kid, Laverne. Kids are tough."

"Our kids are tough."

"No, are kids are punks." He finished that daunting sentence with a kiss to her forehead. She warmed and melted, reaching up toward him. A crisp knock at the door disturbed their romantic inclinations.

She snickered against his attempt, turning their passion into parody. "Len?"

"Mmm?"

"Get the door."


TBC



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