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Sliding out of the booth, I stand and slip my handbag over my shoulder. “The saddest part about all this is that it shouldn’t surprise me. And yet I’m…” The words rising from deep within my chest get stuck. “Congratulations on your impending marriage. For future reference, keep me out of your plans.”
“Blue…” Athena calls after me as I walk away, no temptation to ever look back again. From here on out, I choose to focus on the present.
Chapter 12
At present… I can’t find the blue truck. Where the hell is the blue truck? Frantic, heart thumping a heavy beat, I search row upon row, my feet moving more and more quickly. And still, I don’t see the blue pickup. This shouldn’t be difficult. It’s pretty much the only pickup truck made in the 60s that’s still around. It’s dirty, old, and dented. Who the fuck would want to boost it?
Doubt creeps in. Did I lock it? I thought I locked it. Is Mona covered for theft? Can we afford another big expenditure right now? No. We can’t. And that truck may be a clunker, but it runs really well.
After an hour of being slow roasted, having taken a few laps around the parking lot, my frustration boils over. I sit on a bench and tears crowd my eyes. It’s all too much. I refuse to ugly cry, however, and bite my lip until the pain distracts me from the state of my life.
I dial Mona’s cell number and it goes straight to voicemail.
“Hi. It’s me––” A hiccup breaks free. I’m really not a crier. It’s that Athena has once again managed to reduce me to the lowest common denominator of myself.
“I think the pickup was stolen. I’m going to take an Uber back.” One that will cost me a fortune. “Just wanted to let you know I’ll be later than usual. You might have to feed dinner if I don’t get back in time. I’ll do night check.”
I hang up and glance around, accepting the utter disaster this day has turned into. Lunch was a total bust. I’m not even sure the damage can be fixed and now this. My phone blows-up. The ringtone is the Commodores’ Brick House which tells me Mona’s calling me back.
“Oh, sweetie. Don’t you worry about that old truck. I’m sending someone to pick you up so don’t get an Uber. Where are you?”
What would I do without Mona? Just hearing her voice makes the tears bubble up again. “Westfall Mall on a bench in front of Chico’s.”
Exactly forty minutes later, the rumble of a familiar car raises the fine hairs on the back of my neck and goosebumps cover my forearms. I glance up from the Mother Goose IG account––where I’ve spent the time being productive, answering DMs from patrons and followers––and see the Cobra slowly roll around the corner.
It’s like someone dumped a bucket of relief over my head. That’s the good part. The bad part is that seeing Shane knocks the legs out from under whatever was holding me together. Tears well up again.
He pulls up to the curb a few feet from where I’m sitting and looks at me, window down, eyes hidden behind his sunglasses. “Need a ride?”
A tear sneaks down my cheek and I quickly wipe it away with my finger, pretending I got something in my eye. By the set of his mouth, I can tell he doesn’t buy it.
“Get in, Blue.”
I do just that, gather my things and walk around the front of the car to the passenger side. Then I slip into the soft leather seat and tip my head back on the headrest, hoping it keeps the rest of the tears pooling on my lids from falling.
The car smells like Shane, a subtle blend of leather, sandalwood, and pine. It makes me think of my mother’s scent. I still have a hard time walking down the body care aisle at Whole Foods because of the scent of patchouli. She’s forever ruined that aisle, and that scent, for me.
“What happened?” He’s watching me, the car still in park when all I want to do is leave this place and never come back. I want to go back home and see my animals.
“Mona’s pickup was stolen.”
“Before that.”
Another tear falls and I wipe it away with the heel of my palm. “My mother happened. Can we get out of here, please?”
He puts the car in drive and pulls away from the curb. “I’m gonna stop at the police station first and file a report. That alright?”
A police report. Of course. I nod. “Thank you,” I manage to get out without full-tilt crying. “Thank you for coming to get me and…” I suck in a breath. “Thank you for helping me clean up this mess.”
“No need to thank me, shirina.”
