Sometime in the future:

---

Previously:

“Hi, I’m Billie Penn. Irene said to give these to you. You’re Beth, right?” She said sheepishly with a smile. To say that Billie “cleaned up well” would be an understatement. A month of therapy and support, coupled with a new wardrobe, had done wonders for her self-esteem. She still had a very long way to go in recovery, but the start out of the blocks was, as they say, explosive!

“Yes, I’m Beth. We met at the picnic last month. I’m glad to be getting some help.” Beth stood up and walked to the doorway. She held her hand out to accept the papers. As they brushed hands Billie got a chill and shrugged her shoulders. And Beth just got a chill.

---

“Are you okay?” Cathilynn asked the woman sitting across from her as she shuffled some papers on her desk.

“Well, I guess I am.” Ronnie looked out the window into the parking lot beyond, as if to find some strength.

“Running a therapy group for relapse prevention or thinking errors is one thing. A survivor group is something else entirely.

Ronnie Sexton was visiting the Home while on an extended leave from the substance abuse program she ran in Sacramento; she was taking some time to recharge. Cathilynn was an old friend from “before,” and now they both were fairly settled into their respective fields.

“Tell me why it is you want me to run this group in particular?” Ronnie asked. Nancy Kane was visiting her daughter in South Dakota along with her son-in-law and new grand-daughter. So Ronnie was available, but why this group? Both of them were aware of Ronnie’s history. She, like many others, had a history of abuse as a child. Ronnie had overcome many of her demons, but again, like many others, was always in recovery mode.

“I think you bring a nice perspective to the process. Your personality, for one. Your humor is a life-giver to everybody who knows you, dear.” Cathilynn smiled warmly at Ronnie. She reached into the fridge on her credenza and grabbed two diet Raspberry Snapples.

“Hey, how many transsexuals does it take to change a light bulb?” Ronnie smiled and Cathilynn winced, fearing the answer.

“Only one, but she needs a note from two doctors.” Ronnie laughed and shook her head.

“Oh, I’ve got one for you.” Cathilynn smiled again, feeling confident. ‘What were DeForrest Kelley’s last words?”

“I’m dead, Jim.” Ronnie laughed and added, “Cathi, I told you that joke last time I was here.”

“Some things never change….at least most things," Ronnie thought as Cathilynn handed her the Snapple.

---

“Karen, would you come here for a moment?” Steve Garber had just sat down at his desk and discovered a note addressed to him. A moment later, Karen walked into his office.

“What’s up?” He pointed to the note.

“I found that under the door this morning. I don’t know what it means.” She shrugged her shoulders.

“Can you get me Janet? This looks like her handwriting.” A few moments later, Drea stood at Steve’s door.

“Janet didn’t write the note, Steve, I did.” Drea took a bite out of a pear and threw the core in the trash. She walked over and sat down. Steve seemed taken aback and leaned forward in his chair.

“Who do you think you are? You had no right to interfere.” He pointed to the note. Dina Chang had decided not to have her surgery, and had taken a last-minute flight to Chicago.

“I should have been told. I’m her doctor,” he said angrily. Drea smiled and looked at the note as if she hadn’t seen it.

“Steve, relax. She’s just having last minute jitters. She’ll probably change her mind sometime soon and return.” Drea leaned back and reached into her sweater pocket and pulled out a diet Pepsi. Popping the tab, she took a sip and smiled again at Steve.

“See, that’s why you should have told me. I could have talked her out of it.” He shrugged his shoulders. “But thanks to you, it’s too late.”

“Too late for what, Steve? For the surgery? Hell, she’s only twenty-seven. It’s not like it can’t wait a few weeks.” She smiled again.

“In a few weeks she might not want the surgery at all. You know she’s talked about going back to boy-mode. If I had time to talk to her…” Drea cut him off.

“Steve? Are you even listening to yourself? That’s the whole point. If she’s this uncertain about the surgery and even about transitioning, then she’s not ready for surgery to begin with.” She said this with a smile once again, but she was beginning to get annoyed, more out of her own problems of the day.

“I’m her doctor; I should be the one to decide that,” he said, but he didn’t look convinced of his own words.

“You are one of four doctors, as I remember. Nancy Kane is her Psychiatrist. Dr. Flores in town is her GP, and she’s got an endocrinologist that she sees as well. “

“Well I should have been consulted. You should have called me! I have a right to know.” Steve was more disappointed and frustrated than angry at that point. Drea shook her head.

“She called me from the airport. She was just about to board, and she didn’t want us to worry. She only talked to Nancy, and no one else.”

“Well Nancy should have called me right away.”

“Steve…she told Nancy not to tell you until after she had left. She didn’t want to talk to you because she was afraid you’d try to talk her out of her decision.” Steve got a pained, sad look on his face as Drea continued.

“From what I gather, this has been going on for weeks. She told Nancy that she was having second thoughts because her family has threatened to disown her. I can’t imagine being in that situation, but it has to be excruciating.” Drea recalled her family’s acceptance of her own decision and felt for the girl.

“Doesn’t she see that’s caving into their demands?” Steve asked. He wanted the best for her, but in this case Drea disagreed with his approach.

“Of course she does. But she has to make a choice based on what she can bear, not what we think is best. This sucks, but that’s what she’s faced with. Is she going to fulfill whom she feels she is, or is she going to hold onto her family. Either way she’s fucked…you know that, don’t you?” Drea rarely swore…at least in conversation, but she wanted Steve to know just how desperate the girl was.

“Should she be able to have both? Of course, but then we wouldn’t need the Home then, would we?” Drea’s eyes began to mist.

“The kid has two sisters that she misses terribly. She probably will change her mind a few times between now and when she finally is forced to choose. I hate that she has to choose, but that’s her life, and the life of a lot of the girls here.”

“You’re right…I just hate to see her dreams go…the life she could be living.” He wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

“Her mom is a lot more open than her dad, but right now, it’s one or the other; surgery or family. You don’t have any family to speak of right now and mine accepts who I am. For almost everybody else who walks through the doors here…including the people who work here…it’s not that way. They have to literally walk away from people they love in order to be whom they feel they were meant to be. I sure as hell wouldn’t be able to make that choice…Fuck; I did with my first marriage, and years of denying myself with my second marriage. Only at the end did I realize Annie had accepted what I was…even before I did. We all have to keep that in mind with everyone here; it’s their dream, not ours. “ She paused and wiped her face with her sleeve.

“Working here isn’t a duty or obligation; it’s a privilege and a blessing. Steve…It’s okay to want to succeed. But ultimately we’re not the Doctor here; we’re the instruments, right?” Steve nodded but he didn’t seem convinced.

“Two things come to mind that may help ease our disappointment." Drea made a point to emphasize "our," to show Steve he wasn't alone.

“Last week Annika Lindstrom died. And I wasn’t there.” Drea’s eyes began to mist; she still struggled with the guilt she felt even as she told the story.

“My medications have been giving me fits lately. The day she died I sat with her and her mom for about three hours. About five o’clock that afternoon, I started to get sick. I excused myself and went to the restroom. I didn’t expect I’d be that sick, but I was gone for about fifteen minutes.” Drea hadn’t told anybody, but her medication wasn’t the problem; it was that it wasn’t working any longer.

“Anyway…” Tears began to stream from her eyes as she recalled the moment. “When I came back….she was gone…I was only away for a few minutes and I felt like I had let her down.” Drea shook her head, trying hard not to cry. She swallowed and continued.

“Her mother came up to me and hugged me. ‘Thank you for this precious child,’ she said to me.” Steve looked at her and picked up where she had stopped.

“I remember…Janet said that Candace had been doing her homework and remembered she left her Calculus book in the hospice. She came in and noticed Annika and her mom.”

“Yep…not just a coincidence, from where I sit. She spent the next ten minutes holding Annika’s hand and talking about Stockholm. How she always wanted to visit Sweden. Then she talked about how she’d heard how pretty Sweden is in the summer. Annika died with Candace singing a nice song about wildflowers. She died knowing that people cared. I wasn’t there, but Candace was…it didn’t matter to Annika who held her hand; only that someone did.”

Candace’s act did little to comfort Drea. She still felt guilty over missing Annika's “departure.” And her own mortality was staring her in the face as well.

“And do you remember what Stacy said when she came out of recovery? You told me yourself, right?” She smiled and shrugged he shoulders.

“Dr. Steve…” His voice began to falter and the tears began to flow. Steve Garber was no less or no more proud than any other; his emotion wasn’t from pride, but from belonging.

“Dr. Steve,” he began again. “You saved my life.” He bit his lip and shook his head. Drea nodded in agreement.

“We get to be involved; like I felt when I got to ride along with my Dad on Saturdays when I was a kid, when he’d go fix someone’s sink or bathtub. I felt like I was part of a team…like how I feel now…like I belong. We get to be a part of what goes on here.”

“Yeah,” Steve said…"I see what you mean…a privilege and a blessing...I belong."

"And Steve, not to worry...Dina's staying with friends in Chicago. I expect she'll be back here sometime soon, okay?"

---

Beth was sitting on the couch in her apartment, wondering what was going on inside her. She still had feelings for Simon. But something new was stirring; something altogether foreign in a way, but harkening back to a time when Beth didn’t even exist; at least in name. She scratched Pablo’s ears and a loud purr erupted from the kitten’s throat. Newly adopted from the shelter, the kitten was almost a kindred spirit; no one to claim him. Beth’s parents had died a while back and her brother was always busy with his own pursuits. She had started to zone out from the warmth of her comforter and the soothing sound of the kitten when the phone rang, waking her up.

“Hello…Oh…Hi, Simon.” She perked up even more at the sound of his voice.

“Dinner Tuesday? That would be great.” She smiled and looked at the kitten in her lap as if to say, “Things are picking up.” He climbed onto her shoulder and nuzzled her neck before settling on the cushion behind her head.

“Schiavelli’s? Sure…meet you there. Okay…bye.” In her joy over the call, she had completely forgotten any other concern she had.

“I guess we’re reconnecting, huh kitty?” She smiled at the kitten; who by now had started playing with the yarn to the new sweater she was knitting.

She hadn’t meant to get gushy at all, but she picked up the notebook that held her knitting designs. She turned to the back cover, which was filled with writing. Looking it over, she smiled, determining to add to the collection she had begun. Picking up the sharpie, she began to write.

“Beth Woodward….Elizabeth Woodward….Beth Davidson Woodward….and finally, Mrs. Simon Woodward.” She went to write another name, but hesitated. She looked at Pablo once again, who had dug his claws into her knee and was reaching to swat her pen as she wrote.

“I know...here’s one….Pablo Davidson Woodward.” She scratched the kitten’s ears once again. Fifteen minutes later, Beth lay on her side, covered by the down comforter. Lying on her on the comforter, Pablo treaded on Beth’s shoulder, alternating paws while digging sharply into her arm with his claws. Beth fell asleep, but it wasn't Simon's face she saw as she faded...she saw someone else and she was at peace, and she almost seemed to purr as well.

"Elizabeth...." Pablo nuzzled her neck as she fell asleep uttering a single word softly....

"Penn."

---

Drea had just put her purse on the hall table when two arms enveloped her in a soft hug.

“How’s my girl today?” Bella said as she squeezed Drea from behind.

“Tired…We have nobody in the hospice right now, which is a blessing. Don’t get me wrong. This kind of idleness I can live with. But I’m tired and I could hardly get going today. Any word? I didn’t check my messages before I left.” Drea sat down on the couch and put her head up against a pillow leaning on the wing.

“Lynn called from Dr. Jensen’s office. The results are in, and she wants us to come in tomorrow afternoon. Lynn sounded upbeat so I guess we can breathe a sigh of relief?” Bella smiled and kissed Drea on the cheek. She put her head on Drea’s shoulder. Drea turned her head slightly and blinked out some tears. Lynn had indeed sounded upbeat, but only because she had talked briefly with Drea that afternoon. Her mood then was entirely different; Lynn struggled with hiding her feelings, and her concern had come through in her voice.

“Do me a favor,” Drea had asked. “Call Bella at home and tell her that the results are in and give her a day for the appointment. Don’t tell her we talked, okay?” Drea had pled. Lynn did remarkably well at sounding upbeat. She would never share results over the phone, but her tone told Drea everything she needed to hear. No sense in spoiling the evening.

“Drea honey…Drea?” Bella said loudly, interrupting Drea’s train of thought.

“Oh, sorry, honey…I must have dozed off…What is it?” Drea said softly.

“Connie and Paulette will be here in about an hour. Janet and Candace will probably arrive at the same time. Candace has her debate team practice until 5:30 or so and then they’ll come straight here. Why don’t you go lie down for a nap, okay?” Bella kissed Drea once more before getting up.

“Mostaccioli and meatballs okay?” Bella asked. Drea had already fallen asleep, more worn out over the news she already suspected that the doctor would give them than the events of the day.

---

Billie sat down at the desk in her room and looked for a pen. She pulled out her diary and began to write.

“Dear Diary: today was such a painful day. Beth keeps avoiding me and I don’t know why. Maybe she doesn’t like me like that. I guess that’s okay. I don’t even know what to think anymore. When Danny hit me, I started thinking about what’s important. I think last night’s group helped.”

Billie put down the diary and hopped onto her bed. She put her head down on the pillow, but her mind was racing, and a nap wouldn’t happen; at least not for a while. She thought of the group and how things seemed more in focus after she talked to the moderator after the session.

---

“I’m glad I met you all. Cathilynn tells me that Nancy won’t be back until Friday. First grandchildren always seem to get a lot of attention. So you’re stuck with me for at least another meeting. Pretty cool meeting you all. I’ll see you Thursday, okay?”

Ronnie breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn’t planned on talking about her own experience, but it seemed to be the thing to do. Her candor opened up the group enough that Beth actually talked about her Dad for the first time ever; a major victory due in no small part to openness that came from Ronnie’s willingness to be vulnerable. As she picked up her purse, Billie came up to her.

“Excuse me, Ronnie? You got a few minutes to talk?” Billie put her head down, almost expecting a refusal.

“Sure, what can I do for you?” Nearly seventy, she was still the picture of health, and looked as if she could have done three more groups and a family session.”

“I was wondering…how do you know…” Billie started to ask, but Ronnie cut her off.

“Whether you should be with a guy or a girl?” It almost seemed clairvoyant until she followed up with, “Relax, kid…I’m not a mind reader. You talked about your boyfriend and you kept looking at that other girl…Beth? All during the session. And no…nobody else saw you.

“Oh gosh…was I that obvious?” Billie’s face, normally a very pale pink, began turning darker.

“Relax. I sat across from you and most everybody else was either crying or laughing hysterically at my jokes...or was it crying hysterically at my jokes,” she quipped. “Nobody else saw. You’re just coming out of a shitty relationship and you’ve got the hots for a co-worker. So what else is new? Let me clue you in. There’s no ‘should’ or ‘shouldn’t’ when it comes to TG relationships…non-TG for that matter. You love who you love.“

“Gosh,” Billie said softly as she shook her head. She opened her mouth to speak, but Ronnie cut her off again, “And you want to know if you’re TG, because you got molested, right?” Once again, Ronnie’s insight seemed uncanny.

“The answer is…I don’t know…but I’d be willing to bet you do.” She smiled.

“Let’s take for example…Pam is hurt by her Uncle Joey when she’s six and when she’s nine she feels like she doesn’t fit in…like she would feel more comfortable going to Mary’s house to play dress up than to Davy’s to play Nintendo. Suzie is molested by her Cousin Louie when she’s nine. She remembers wanting to be just like mom when she’s seven. Almost seems like cause and effect, right?“ She smiled and Billie put her head down, shaking it from side to side, confused.

“Kid…the two sometimes are connected but a lot of times...most times actually, one doesn’t necessarily follow the other. The best thing is this…do you have a good counselor you talk to?” Billie nodded but then shook her head.

“I talk to Drea once and a while, but she says I need to talk with someone who deals with ….I forgot what she said…post something.”

“Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.” Ronnie nodded. “Something war vets and abuse survivors have a lot in common. They're affected by past stuff as if it was still happening. You have any memories?” Billie looked down and her eyes quickly filled with tears, telling Ronnie all she needed to know.

“You sit down with Drea and with Nancy, and see if you can find a good counselor; somebody who hopefully who deals with gender issues as well as PTSD, you know? Someone who can walk you through that?“ Billie put her head down and her shoulders began to shake.

“But….” Billie started to cry.

“You don’t have to put your life on hold, kid. Talking helps, but you still have to live your life.” Ronnie pulled the girl in for a tentative hug.

“You’re going to find out the who’s and what’s and where’s and why’s and how’s, kid. And the people here will help you do that. And Billie?”

"Yes?" She almost cringed.

"I think you're a very sweet girl, and whoever you end up with will be one blessed girl...a person...you know what I mean." Billie smiled, blinking back some tears.

"One last question, Billie, maybe the most important thing I'll ask you all evening."

"Yes," Billie did cringe this time, evoking big smile and laugh from Ronnie.

"Are there any good Pizza joints around here...I haven't eaten since yesterday!"

---

Billie put down her diary and climbed in her bed. She brushed her face with her hand; the physical pain of Danny’s punch was long gone, but the memory and emotion of the moment lingered. She closed her eyes slowly, fearing that she would see his cruel face. Instead, the warm smile of a pretty coworker filled her vision. She wanted to know for sure what to do. She had feelings for Beth, and this invasion of her vision was unsettling and comforting at the same time. She turned over, buried her face in her pillow and cried herself to sleep.

Finally: Home Sweet Home

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See Here, She Said
Words and Music by Kate Wolf
As performed by Kate Wolf
1942 - 1986