Title: Safe in Utah
Author: Autumn
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Whadda you *mean* I don't own them!? Of course I do!! Mine!! All mine!! Alright ... so I don't. They belong to Chris Carter, 20th Century Fox and 1013 Productions. No infringement intended.
Dedication: To Sharon and Bryan - of course.
Authors' Notes: This story is started on the 2nd of February 2002 at 11.08

Summary: A diary entry from a pregnant heroine

Journal Entry #95

It's nothing like my old apartment. Nothing at all. In my present home, all I own is a bed, a dresser, a closet (for the meager amount of clothes I actually own), a lamp and a old 1960s style radio. Sitting on my dresser are photographs from my old home. My mother and father, Bill and Charlie and finally Melissa and I. Next to that is a little silver tinklet my mother gave me when I moved to Washington in 1989.

In this small town, my business is my own. Which surprised me greatly. But it seems the residents acknowledge I have a past which is better left unraised. I've only had a few encounters - one with Marie-Jo, the town doctors' wife. She owns the small store next to the cafe. I went in yesterday morning for some bread and she smiled. "Good morning, dear." She said, pricing a can of beans and placing it next to its' neighbors. As I was paying for my bread, and smiled again. "I'm sure you are aware of how curious we all are about you." I frowned, blushing slightly. *Of course* everyone was going to be curious about me. Small redheaded women don't often just turn up in their small town and become a resident.

"Yes," I had replied, placing the coins on the counter. "But I would rather not answer any questions about my past." It seemed Marie-Jo took the hint - she didn't mention anything more this morning, merely offered me a good day, and went on stocking the vegetable rack.

The only other encounter I had, was with Kirsty, the teenage waitress at the cafe. She kindly offered to pick up the spilled contents of my purse yesterday, when I dropped it, looking for money. Her hand came upon the photograph I dared not put with my others. "Oh my goodness!" She gushed, putting her hand over her mouth, as though she was astonished. "He is *gorgeous* who is he?" she asked, her bright green eyes sparkling in awe.

"Ancient history," I replied, prying the photograph from her hands. Kirsty had been embarrassed and apologized this morning when I arrived for my tea. I brushed it off, telling her it was fine, and she blushed. I immediately felt bad for keeping secrets from all the lovely people in the town I now live in. But I cannot tell them about my past. I cannot tell them why I'm here.

Next week I start my new job. Marie-Jo asked her husband to employ me, and I insisted I'd do anything he needed. So I'm going to be running the antenatal classes twice a week. Ironic. Antenatal. Pregnant. Me. Pregnant and running. But Utah's not such a bad place. Everything is going to be alright. Soon.

Close Entry.


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