Part Eighteen - Warmest Regards

The afternoon sun cast long shadows over the front yard as Patty wiped her hands on her apron, peering through the window at the sight of Lucy Calloway stepping up the garden path, "Hello dears! It's Patty!" Patty’s breath caught slightly, "Must be serious if she is gracing my door." She turned to face her audience, "Lucy had been gone for weeks, and now here she is, looking thinner but composed, dressed in her usual crisp, no-nonsense attire." Patty frowned, "But there is something different. A softness beneath the usual sharp edges. Perhaps therapy has been a blessing?" She smirked at the camera, "For us all!"

Patty hurried to open the door before Lucy could knock, "Lucy!" she said, a smile forming on her lips. "You’re back!"

“Well, of course, I wouldn’t be standing here now, if not,” Lucy nodded firmly, stepping inside as if she’d never been away. "I come with news—or rather, concerns.” Patty shut the door behind her, watching as Lucy set down her handbag with meticulous care. Lucy took a deep breath and folded her arms. "I just came from visiting, Myra."

Patty’s stomach tightened. "Oh? You've seen her situation."

"Yes, Patty, " Lucy said, her lips pressed into a line, her expression somewhere between exasperation and genuine worry. “A heads up would have been appreciated.”

“I didn’t want to trouble you,” Patty said, not wanting to let her know she had totally forgotten about her. There was a lot going on.

"Well, anyway! I knocked. She answered the door—in nothing but her apron. Flour all over her arms, a streak of butter on her cheek—looked like a woman possessed."

Patty blinked, "She was baking?"

"Scones," Lucy confirmed. "I practically had to force her into a dress. But that’s not the concerning part."

Patty gestured for Lucy to follow her into the kitchen, where a fresh pot of tea was already steeping.

Lucy sat down with a sigh, but her fingers tapped restlessly on the tabletop, "I went snooping," she admitted, glancing at Patty as if expecting disapproval.

Patty merely raised an eyebrow, "Of course, you did."

"Well, I had reason. Jack’s clothes are gone. All of them. His shoes, his razor, even his blasted pipe. It’s as if he was never there at all."

Patty stilled, pouring the tea carefully, "You think he has finally caved to the demands of the other woman?”

Lucy lifted the teacup but didn't drink, “Yes, which has why she has lost all modicums of decency. I shall not get her winkled backside out of my mind for some time.”

Patty sighed, rubbing her forehead, “Oh Lucy! It’s not just Jack. She is taking these diet pills which are sending her a little loopy.”

“That explains that wild look in her eyes,” Lucy finally took a sip, then set the cup down. "I saw it all the time while I was away.”

Silence stretched between them for a moment before Lucy finally sat back with a sigh. Patty took the chance to really look at her, at the woman who had left town weeks ago, brittle and burning under the weight of her own expectations.

Lucy caught her staring and rolled her eyes, "Oh, go on then. Ask."

Patty smirked. "Alright. How was the sanatorium?"

"Better than jail," Lucy clicked her tongue. "Overcrowded. Smelled like bleach. Full of people either rocking in corners or convinced they were Mary Magdalene."

Patty’s lips twitched, "And where did you fit in?"

Lucy snorted. "Nowhere. I wasn’t like them. I wasn’t insane, I was just… angry. And a little disillusioned. But now, I suppose, I’m not as angry and much more practical in my ideals." Her fingers drummed the tabletop, her voice quieter now. "I’ve learned… to let go of a few things. To adjust my expectations. But I’m still opinionated, and I’ll gladly tell people when they’re being idiots."

Patty grinned, "I’d be worried if you didn’t."

The moment of levity passed, and Lucy’s gaze hardened again, "So," she said, straightening her posture, "what are we going to do about Myra?"

Patty exhaled, staring down into her tea. That was the question, wasn’t it?

Because Myra was slipping away, piece by piece, hiding it all behind flour-dusted hands and manic laughter. And Patty wasn’t ready to lose her.

*********

The phone rang shrilly, cutting through the quiet of the afternoon. Patty wiped her hands on her apron, tucking a loose curl behind her ear as she lifted the receiver.

“Hello. Patty speaking.”

A familiar, dramatic sigh filled the line. “Oh, darling, I have seen things.”

Patty grinned, shifting the receiver to her shoulder as she leaned against the kitchen counter. “Diana. Where are you now?”

“Singapore,” Diana replied breezily. “Only briefly. Off to Paris again soon, thank heavens. If I have to sit through one more dinner with sweaty British expats complaining about the heat, I might expire on the spot.”

Patty chuckled, adjusting the dial on the radio. “Paris again, is it? You do live the life, Diana.”

“Someone has to,” Diana teased. “And what about you? How’s the land of freshly baked scones and small-town scandal?”

Patty rolled her eyes. “Oh, you know. The usual. Neighborhood drama, book club debates, my children conducting illegal science experiments in the backyard.”

Diana gasped theatrically. “Tell me everything.”

Patty laughed, launching into the tale of Lizzy’s latest science project gone awry, the dyed Easter bunnies, and Teddy’s ongoing journey of self-discovery. Diana listened, occasionally interjecting with inappropriate giggles or mock horror.

Then Patty added, almost hesitantly, “Oh, and I’ve enrolled in a correspondence course.”

Diana paused, then let out a sharp laugh. “I’m sorry, what? Have I called the right sister?”

Patty smirked. “Yes, yes, very funny. I’ve decided to study political science and social studies.”

Diana’s voice was full of genuine curiosity now. “Well, I’ll be damned. What brought this on?”

Patty exhaled, twirling the phone cord around her fingers. “I suppose I just got tired of not knowing why the world is the way it is. Why women like us get boxed in, why men make all the rules, why—” She stopped, then chuckled softly. “I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to understand it all better.”

Diana hummed in thought. “And? Have you discovered the grand secret to our oppression yet?”

Patty snorted. “No, but I have learned that most of history was written by men who thought women should only be seen when they’re serving supper.”

Diana laughed. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

Patty leaned against the counter, feeling lighter than she had in weeks. “It’s making me think, Di. About everything. The choices we have, the ones we don’t have, the things we’re told to accept because that’s just the way things are.”

Diana was quiet for a moment, then said, gently, “I like this version of you, Patty.”

Patty blinked, surprised by the warmth in her sister’s voice. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Diana continued, “I’ve always thought you were smarter than you let on. Maybe you’re finally realizing it too.”

Patty swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat, smiling. “Maybe I am.”

There was a comfortable silence before Diana cleared her throat dramatically. “Well! Look at us! One sister changing the world through education, the other revolutionizing the Can-Can in Paris.”

Patty barked out a laugh. “Oh, God, don’t tell me—”

“Oh, darling, I was marvelous,” Diana said with a sigh. “Stockings, frills, the whole thing. I may have scandalized a duke.”

“I don’t know whether to be horrified or proud.”

“Both,” Diana said smugly. “But mostly proud.”

Patty shook her head, still grinning. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re a scholar now. Who would’ve thought?”

Patty chuckled, warmth settling deep in her chest. “Not me.”

Diana’s voice softened. “I’m proud of you, Patty. Truly.”

Patty pressed a hand to her heart, feeling unexpectedly emotional. “I miss you, you know.”

“I miss you too.”

They lingered for a moment in companionable silence, the kind only sisters could share.

Then Diana exhaled. “Well, I must dash—I have a very pressing engagement with a bottle of champagne.”

“Of course you do.”

“Love you, Patty.”

Patty smiled softly. “Love you too.”

And with that, the line clicked, leaving Patty standing in her warm kitchen, the smell of baking bread in the air, feeling a little less alone in the world.

*********

The book club ladies gathered in Patty’s living room but today was different. Instead of the usual chatter about novels and town gossip, Myra stood before them, dressed in her brightest floral dress, her hair pinned just so, her eyes gleaming with excitement.

Lucy had sucked in her pride and returned for this gathering. Myra had pressured her to do so. This was the first time she had returned to book club since Patty and her had words. Ruby was struck down with the flu which made the situation easier. Lucy was hoping that all of them could give Myra a shake up about her behaviour but Myra had other plans for the morning.

“Right. Here we go!" She seemed to be summoning her nerve, "I have something to share! It appears Jack has found someone new. They want to be together,” she declared, clapping her hands together. “Apparently she is a size two with a less chaotic personality.” The others just stared dumfounded, “So, we’re getting a divorce. It is such a relief. I don’t have to diet anymore." She looked far from devastated, "But the good news is that my daughter has asked me to come live with her. So today, might be my last time here with you all so I wanted us to go on one last adventure together."

Flo raised an eyebrow, “An adventure?”

“Yes,” Myra said with a grin too wide, too determined. “A tour, if you will, of the places that made us who we are. Please humour me.”

Lucy, freshly released from her stay at the asylum for the day, gave Myra a long, tired look, “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Probably,” Myra said cheerfully. “Oh! Come on! This is important to me.”

Lucy sighed heavily but stood all the same, “Fine. Let’s get it over with. Apparently, my doctor is recommending breaking old habits. And this would certainly fall into that category.”

Patty felt something stir in her chest—a sense of unease, of knowing—but she smiled anyway, “Alright, Myra. Lead the way.”

And so, they followed her out the door. They all piled into her car and were off.

The town library stood as it always had, its brick façade worn from the years, the scent of paper and dust greeting them as they stepped inside. Myra walked with purpose, heading straight to the romance section, where she turned on her heel and grinned at Cindy, “You remember, don’t you?”

Cindy frowned, “Remember what?”

“The joke,” Myra said, her voice full of mischief. “The one about the priest and the piano teacher. I nearly got kicked out for laughing too loud.” She took her arm, "I was so lost...so very lost...not just in finding the latest Mills and Boon." She smiled warmly, "You must have noticed because you told me that joke to make me feel better...and then proceeding to direct me away from Mills and Boon to Jane Austen."

“Oh, God, I remember that. They thought we were possessed.” Cindy smiled softly, running a hand along the spines of the books, “We were always laughing, weren’t we?”

Myra reached into her straw handbag, pulling out a worn copy of Pride and Prejudice and pressed it into Cindy’s hands, “You always said Lizzy Bennet was ahead of her time,” Myra said. “So were you. So single and free. And loving it.” She pointed at the book, "I want you to have my copy for a keepsake." She leant in close, "You know I like to doodle sometimes...it helps me to reflect on what I've read."

Cindy held the book tightly, blinking rapidly, “Damn it, Myra." She opened the book at a random point and noticed the squiggles in the margins. There were questions and thoughts all uniquely Myra, "Don't leave!”

“Oh! Stop spoiling it,” Myra said, swinging her bag over her shoulder. “We have more places to go. Come along ladies.”

Flo’s salon was as vibrant as ever, the scent of hairspray and lilac perfume filling the air. Myra made a beeline for the counter, where she produced a small glass bottle of red nail polish and placed it in front of Flo.

Flo laughed, holding it up, “The red nail polish. The one I convinced you to wear once, and you spent the whole day feeling like a vixen.”

Myra smiled wistfully, “I know you expected me to change after that day…but I was so use to this me…the new me just didn’t stick. Promise me to always wear it for me.”

Flo sniffed, dabbing her eyes with a silk handkerchief, “If this woman makes me cry one more time…”

And Myra just grinned, winking at her.

The scent of freshly baked bread and warm vanilla wrapped around them as they stepped inside the bakery. Myra turned to Patty with a knowing smile. “You remember, don’t you?”

Patty did. She saw it clear as day—Myra, years ago, standing at the counter, fretting over whether or not to buy a vanilla slice, whispering about calories and indulgence. Jack was unemployed again. Patty, in a moment of exasperation at this woman's conflict, had bought two and shoved one into her hand, "There is always time for a Vanilla slice and a cuppa. Care to join me? My treat."

"I didn't have that many friends," Myra stepped forward now and placed a cake box into Patty’s hands. Patty swallowed hard, “And my girl just started school. I was feeling blue,” Myra admitted, “if it weren’t for you...I wouldn't have survived that day.”

Patty opened the box to find a vanilla slice for each of them. She gripped the box tightly, feeling her throat close.

“Alright,” Myra said, her voice a little softer now, “only one more stop.”

The lake sparkled in the afternoon light, and the old wooden bench sat waiting. Myra took a deep breath, spreading her arms as if soaking it all in.

Lucy gave her a wary glance, “Why are we here?”

'This is my favourite spot in the whole town. I would come here and just sit especially when times were tough," Myra smiled, "I always felt...at peace here...but even this spot isn't helping these days." Myra reached into her bag and pulled out a small antique locket, placing it in Lucy’s palm. “I remember you always like this locket. It belonged to my grandmother. I want you to have it and maybe think of me a little."

"I can't accept it!"

"You must! I know it was you who left those baskets of food on my porch when we had no money. Jack had lost his job again...and I was such a bother to him. I know you never wanted thanks but I’m giving it anyway.”

Lucy’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes fixed on the locket, “You’re a ridiculous woman.”

Myra grinned. “And you’re an insufferable, opinionated windbag. But I love you anyway.”

Lucy huffed, turning the locket over in her fingers, “I suppose I’ll keep it. For now. Until you get settled with your daughter.”

The group settled onto the bench, Myra sitting in the middle, as if this was exactly where she had always belonged.

Flo sighed, running a hand through her hair, “So, what now?”

Myra smiled, a little too bright, “Now,” she said, “we eat.”

Flo rolled her eyes but took one of the vanilla slices from Patty's box. The others did the same. Patty watched Myra carefully, noticing how the light hit her face, how her hands shook just slightly when she reached for her own slice.

And so, they ate. They laughed. And they were together. Once more. The original book club.

*********

The afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Lizzy stood proudly in the backyard, her latest experiment set up on a makeshift launchpad—an old wooden crate reinforced with bricks. She adjusted her goggles, scribbled a few notes in her science journal, and gave the contraption a satisfied nod.

Teddy, Syd, and Angelo stood a safe distance away, watching with cautious skepticism.

“I don’t like this,” Teddy muttered.

“You say that every time,” Syd whispered.

Angelo folded his arms. “And every time for good reason. She blows something up.”

Lizzy rolled her eyes. “You lot have no faith in progress.” She gestured to the two-liter soda bottle now filled with a carefully measured concoction of vinegar, baking soda, and a few other secret ingredients. “This isn’t just any bottle rocket. It’s an advanced home-based propulsion system.”

Teddy arched a brow. “It’s a Coke bottle with chemicals in it.”

Lizzy huffed, adjusting the makeshift nozzle attached to a bicycle pump. “You mock me now, but when I present this at the science competition, I’ll be revolutionizing low-cost space travel.”

Angelo muttered, “Or making headlines as the girl who burned down her home rendering her family homeless.”

Lizzy ignored him. “Alright, countdown begins. T-minus ten seconds.”

Teddy, Syd, and Angelo took another step back.

Lizzy crouched, gripping the pump. “Five… four…”

A sudden hissing sound came from the bottle. Lizzy’s eyes widened slightly. “Three…”

The hissing grew louder. Teddy shifted uneasily. “Uh, Lizzy?”

“Two…”

The bottle began vibrating violently. Syd grabbed Angelo’s arm. “We should run.”

“One—”

BOOM!

Instead of a smooth, controlled launch, the rocket veered wildly off-course, shooting sideways like a possessed torpedo straight toward the cubby house.

“NOOOO!” Lizzy shrieked, diving forward as if she could somehow catch it midair.

The bottle smashed through the cubby’s open window, and for a heartbeat, everything went still. Then—KABOOM!

A mini explosion of foam and gas erupted inside, and a second later, one of the cubby house walls buckled outward, teetering dangerously.

Teddy, Syd, and Angelo stared in horrified fascination as the entire structure shuddered, creaked… and began to collapse.

Lizzy scrambled to her feet, flinging her goggles off. “No, no, no, no—”

CRASH.

The cubby caved in on itself, sending up a cloud of dust, broken wood, and what looked like the tattered remains of Teddy’s old Phantom comic collection.

A beat of silence. Then— From the kitchen doorway, Patty’s calm, level voice rang out, “Elizabeth Love!”

Lizzy froze mid-step, covered in vinegar and baking soda foam, her glasses hanging off one ear. Slowly, mechanically, she turned to face her mother.

Patty stood on the back steps, arms crossed, her expression completely unreadable.

“…Yes, Mum?” Lizzy squeaked.

Patty surveyed the wreckage—the smoldering cubby house, the three stunned boys, and her daughter standing in the middle of it all like a mad scientist caught mid-crime.

She took a deep breath. Then, with a terrifying amount of restraint, she asked, “Would you care to explain?”

Lizzy licked her lips. “So… funny story… I may have slightly miscalculated the trajectory of my rocket propulsion experiment.”

Patty arched a brow.

Lizzy forced a grin, holding up her notepad like it could somehow save her. “But! I think I finally figured out the right fuel ratio! This could be huge for my competition—”

Patty held up a single finger. Lizzy snapped her mouth shut. Teddy leaned toward Angelo, whispering, “Think she’s dead?”

Angelo shrugged, “Not until your mother gets the broom.”

Patty sighed, pressing her fingers to her temple before looking back at the ruins of the cubby house.

Lizzy, ever the optimist, cleared her throat. “Sooo… permission to build a new one?”

Patty’s eyelid twitched.

Then— A loud creak echoed from the remains of the cubby. Everyone stilled, turning back toward the wreckage. For a long moment, nothing happened. Then, from somewhere inside the collapsed pile of wood, there was a soft, menacing rustle.

And then—A pair of glowing eyes blinked out from the debris. A low, guttural growl rumbled.

Lizzy went pale. “Uh. What was that?”

Before anyone could answer— A horrifying, screeching ball of fur launched itself from the rubble, sending everyone screaming and diving for cover. As the rabid possum from hell bolted across the backyard. Someone was reporting back.

*********

The yard was still a disaster. The remnants of the cubby house lay scattered across the lawn, its wooden beams splintered, the roof caved in, and the once-cozy hideout reduced to rubble thanks to Lizzy’s ambitious—and catastrophically explosive—rocket experiment.

The Love family had spent the better part of the morning rescuing half-burnt planks and clearing away debris. Now, exhausted, Patty slumped into a chair at the kitchen table, grateful for a moment of peace when she noticed Teddy hunched over the kitchen table, sketchbook open, tongue poking out in concentration, “What are you working on, love?”

Teddy barely looked up, his pencil flying across the page in quick, deliberate strokes, “My comic book,” he murmured. “I’m nearly done with the first issue.”

Patty’s brows lifted in delight, “What is about?”

Now, Teddy looked up, grinning excitedly, flipping the sketchbook around for her to see. Patty’s eyes widened as she took in the detailed drawings of three masked figures, leaping from rooftops, fists raised, capes billowing.

“The Three Masked Bandits,” Teddy announced with pride.

Patty sat down beside him, flipping through the pages carefully. The artwork was full of movement, the panels bursting with action—fistfights, rooftop chases, dramatic showdowns in dark alleyways.

She smiled, noticing the details—the way one of the bandits had a lean, angular frame, another with broad shoulders and messy hair, and the third, just a little shorter, his stance always strong, steady.

“These boys look familiar,” she mused, tilting the book toward him.

Teddy’s ears turned pink. “Maaaybe.”

Patty smirked. “Syd, Angelo, and you?”

Teddy nodded, eyes bright with excitement, “We each have a power,” he explained, flipping to a page where the three heroes stood back-to-back, facing a gang of criminals. “Syd has the Shadow Step—he can move without making a sound, slipping into places no one else can.”

Patty chuckled, thinking of how Syd always managed to appear out of nowhere, “Seems fitting.”

“Angelo has Thunder Fist,” Teddy continued, pointing to a panel where the character punched a villain so hard he went flying. “His strength is his biggest weapon. He might not be the fastest, but when he hits, it counts.”

Patty grinned. “Sounds like Angelo.”

“And me?” Teddy tapped his chest proudly. “I have Mind’s Eye—I see patterns, weak spots, the moves my enemies will make before they even know they’ll make them. I don’t need to be the strongest or the sneakiest, because I always know what’s coming.”

Patty studied his face, taking in the way his eyes glowed with passion, the way his fingers danced across the page as he explained each detail.

“But the best part?” Teddy leaned closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Separately, we’re strong. But together—when we combine our powers—it creates one unstoppable force.”

Patty smiled, running her fingers over the page. “So this is a story about friendship.”

Teddy beamed. “It’s about being mates. Standing by each other. Using what makes us different to make each other stronger.”

Patty’s heart swelled. She reached out, gently tousling his hair. “I think that’s the best kind of story.”

Teddy grinned, nudging her with his elbow. “You want to read it when I’m done?”

Patty chuckled. “Are you kidding? I’ll be your biggest fan.”

Teddy beamed and turned back to his sketchbook, pencil scratching furiously across the page once more.

Patty stood, watching him for a moment, feeling an overwhelming sense of pride. Her boy. Her clever, creative, brilliant boy. And he wasn’t just telling a story—he was telling his story.

A story of friendship, of loyalty, of standing together when the world tried to tear you apart. And Patty knew, deep in her heart, that The Three Masked Bandits would be a story worth telling.

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