It was near 4 pm on December 24th when Kathleen Leary pulled her car into the parking lot of Harrison Hall, one of the larger dormitories on the campus of Burling College. It was easy finding a spot. Most of the students had already gone home for the holidays. So Kathleen pulled into the nearest open spot and exited the vehicle. It was a cold winter and the campus of the small college, idyllic though it might look, had gotten a bit of snow. The 44 year old woman jumped down from the driver's side.
"Want me to come with?" This was the voice from the passenger seat. It was her husband Roy who, despite the offer, didn't look up from the Blackberry he was furiously typing into. Roy looked like he'd never really settled on whether he wanted to look like the record-store clerk he was when the two had met 22 years ago or the middle-aged divorce lawyer that he'd become. His greying hair was still somewhat unruly and he still had his black-rimmed glasses and Kathleen knew that there was probably some old, awful concert T-shirt underneath his suit. Kathleen smiled warmly at her goofy dork of a husband as she straightened her coat and checked her make-up in the side mirror.
"No dear," Kathleen shivered as the cold ran through her. "Vanessa said she'd be waiting in the lobby ready to go so hopefully I'll be in and out."
"One of the Leary women on time to go when she says she will be?" Roy asked with a wry smile, despite not averting his attention from his messaging for a second. "You did pack emergency supplies in the glove box, right?"
"Such a shame," Kathleen said sweetly as she looked back into the car "That they make you men handsome or funny. Never both."
That remark did make Roy look up for a second.
"So, wait, am I not funny but I'm handsome or was that funny and I'm ugly?"
"Something to think about while you wait, I suppose" Kathleen laughed as she closed the door on him, watching as snow fell from the door frame onto the paved lot. Kathleen bundled her coat to her as she quickly made her way into the large dormitory and, upon discovering that her daughter wasn't actually waiting for her, approached the reception desk. There was a young man behind the sparsely decorated counter, leafing through a comic book.
"Hi, Kathleen Leary" She said to the shaggy looking receptionist.
"Sorry, we don't have a Kathleen Leary here. You could try Davis Hall, cross-campus" the young man put down his buck and smiled at her warmly. Kathleen could see that his eyes were quite red, and the unmistakable smell of freshly smoked pot hit her. Kathleen would have shook her head in disapproval but, well, she'd married someone vaguely like this young man. Still she wasn't entirely pleased that her daughter's safety was partly in the hands of a guy who would be working while high.
"No, I am Kathleen Leary. I'm here for Vanessa Leary. She's in 7C." Kathleen explained slowly to the stoned gentleman. He nodded his understanding and reached over to a nearby microphone. He pressed a button and Kathleen heard his voice come on over the intercom.
"Cool. Cool. I'm Jean-Sebastien Duchamps. Most people just call me French though. Cause of the name, I suspect. Or because my folks are French. Or a mix of both, maybe? Vanessa doesn't though, she's cool." The young man rambled for a while before realizing what he was doing. "Anyways. I'll call 'Nessa down for you though and you can wait for her in the lounge."
Kathleen removed her hat and coat as she walked from the desk, sighing as she realized she was going to be waiting for her Daughter after all. Not the time, exactly, so much as it meant that Roy had been right. Kathleen was a striking woman, though, so she didn't mind making Roy occasionally wait for her. She had long blonde hair and a figure that remained curved and toned in all of the places she wanted it to. Dressed in a fairly tight sweater and jeans, Kathleen took some delight in noticing a head or two turn among the handful of male students still milling about the lounge area.
She sat on a couch opposite two boys in jackets that indicated they played some sort of sport at the school and gave them a small smile. She reached into her purse for her own phone when the crackling of the intercom rang out
"Vanessa Leary in 7C" Came French's unmistakble drawl "I think, like, your sister is here to pick you up."
Kathleen smiled broadly to herself. Sister. He'd assumed she was Vanessa's sister. She knew she shouldn't care and that it was horribly vain and that she looked good for any age but...
"Fuck me, Vanessa Leary?" Exclaimed one of the young men sitting opposite her. Kathleen looked up.
"Dude, I know, she's so fucking smoking." The other one replied
"She's totally fucking cold though. Shot me down, like, a million times."
Kathleen smiled a little at that news.
"Yeah, I think she's got someone back home. Shot down everyone as far as I know."
Kathleen smiled more
"Still, you have no idea how many times I've thought about grabbing two handfuls of those huge...."
"Guys!" Kathleen finally spoke up, not having any interest in hearing the end of that sentence. The two guys looked up and to her, one of them looking a little sheepish.
Kathleen leaned towards them.
"Here's the thing boys." Kathleen looked at them cold and hard, "That's my baby girl you're talking about."
Now they both looked embarrassed.
"Jeez, sorry Ma'am."
"Don't be sorry." Kathleen continued "Just know something simple. If either you ever, ever say anything or even think anything disrespectful about my daughter again, you should know that my father was a Marine sharpshooter. And I was a Daddy's girl. And I'm so good with his old M40A1 that I could take your little pricks off without you even hearing the shot."
Kathleen stood up and excused herself from the lounge and the two terrified boys but not before adding the cap to her threat.
"And I know where you both live."
Kathleen returned to the reception desk and waited, looking up at the bank of elevators in the hope that any of them were on 7 or descending. One was coming down from the 16th floor.
"Any idea when she'll be down?" the impatient Mother asked the receptionist
