Page 71 of Liquids

“I wish I was half a century younger,” Agnes sighs.

“He’s a big man,” June says, sliding her eyes toward me.

I smile. “He is.”

“One of you go and knock on the door of room 63. Jake’s in there,” Rig shouts from the bathroom.

They all decide to go and talk to Jake while we get ready, and I realize I need to find out what Marni’s doing, so I call her number. As I chat with her about driving back and where we’re going to meet and at what time, I can hear Konstantin rumbling behind her. She starts arguing with him, and he says something that sounds like “Bitches, Jesus Christ.” Suddenly, I’ve got Konstantin on the other end of the line.

“She’s staying with me another night,” he growls in his thick Russian accent.

Marni’s voice rises in the background saying, “You can’t just do that; we’ve got old ladies to take home.”

Then Konstantin says in my ear, “You can take them back. No problem, yeah?”

Rig’s out of the bathroom now, and he takes the phone out of my hand and tells Konstantin that he and Jake can fit us all in, and Marni can drive my old heap home tomorrow. Honestly, I am having words with him and Konstantin about taking over when we were arranging things just fine. When I say that, Rig laughs.

“Sure, babe, but Konstantin and I did it in five minutes, not twenty minutes of making sure everyone’s feelings were taken care of.”

So I tell him I like my way better, which gets me a head shake and a smirk.

After I’ve showered, we head off for breakfast at the IHOP, and June moans with delight with every mouthful. And I have to admit, pancakes with maple syrup are the real deal, and I make a mental note to make some one morning for Rig, and then instantly worry that I’m just assuming that he’ll come back and stay with me in my terrible apartment. Rig manages to force some soft pancakes down, chewing carefully.

When we leave, Jake insists on taking the old ladies back home in his car, and we have a bit of a standoff where I get snippy about taking care of them, and Rig narrows his eyes and tells me I’m traveling with him. Eventually, June says I should go with Rig and that no one is going to die on the road. We all head back to the motel, load up all our stuff, and then it’s Rig and me alone, thrumming down the interstate in his beaten-up old truck, just like our first night together.

“Will this thing get us home?” I say.

“Betty may not look pretty but she’s solid mechanically. Not spending money I could use for other things on a better truck.”

“Betty? Your car has a name? That’s cute.”

He eyes me sideways. “Don’t all cars have names?”

I laugh. “Only if you’re a big old softie.” And he rolls his eyes at me.

“Not sure about the idea of bringing three old ladies along to a mafia-run fight in Chicago, babe.” He looks at me sideways. “A little bird told me that Marge disarmed one of the heavies.” A smile is curling over his lips.

I hold up my hands, laughing. “She did! And as for coming along, there was no stopping them. They were planning to come on the bus. Seriously, it was the only way I could think of to keep them safe.”

He chuckles. “They’re batshit crazy.”

I grin out the window. “I know.” I look back at him. “Maybe at that age you don’t care anymore. I mean, what have you got to lose?”

“Not a lot, I guess.”

I scan his face and all his bandages. “What are you going to do now?”

“Fucking recover. Never felt so bad after a fight. You might have to take over the driving.”

“I can do that. Did the doctor check you over for anything besides the visible injuries?”

“Yeah, babe, she did. I’m all okay.”

“Where are you staying tonight?”

He eyes me again. “Is that an invite?”

Oh God, maybe it was.