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She wasn’t going to bother asking. It wasn’t her business.
The truck bumped along the country roads, kicking up dust until they reached the two-lane highway that, as far as she could tell, cut right through the center of town.
“You can drop me off at the grocery store and come back for me,” she offered, thinking of it as a kind of olive branch. Gretta may have forced them out the door together, but she couldn’t force them to remain that way.
“That’s exactly what I planned on doin’.”
“Oh really?” There was a touch of irritation in her voice that Vivian didn’t bother trying to hide. He was just one step ahead of her, and it killed her inside to admit that whether he liked her or not mattered.
“Why do I detect anger from you?” Nash asked, throwing attitude right back. “First, you don’t wanna be around me, and now you’re complaining because I agree to keep my distance?” He shook his head. “I can’t figure you women out.”
He began muttering something Vivian couldn’t make out, so instead of arguing with him, she turned her gaze toward the scenery outside her window. It was all valleys and plains, as far as the eye could see. Town was still a mile away, meaning she was stuck with the jerk for at least ten more minutes, which would feel like an eternity.
Thinking back to when she was a kid, she decided to play I-spy with herself like she used to do whenever she had to go to one of those boring business functions her parents made her endure. She hated those but much less than she hated this car ride with the prickly cowboy.
Her first spy was, predictably, a pasture filled with cows grazing. Her second spy was more cows and a couple of sable horses. Her third, roadkill, which she guessed might have been a possum—opossum?—but she couldn’t be sure. Her fourth, however, made her sit at attention.
“Look, a crow! I love crows,” she divulged. They’d always been a source of comfort for her whenever things were going wrong in her life. Nordic belief dictated that a crow was a sign from Odin, which was good. While some chose to view crows as a bad omen, she chose to see them in an optimistic light. Whenever they made an appearance, good things tended to follow.
Since Vivian had been having a hell of a time lately, she was thrilled to see the beautiful bird.
Of course, Nash had to go and burst her bubble. “That’s a vulture, darlin’, not a crow.”
Vivian’s lip curled up, and she squinted to see the crow better as they cruised by. “Are you sure?” Even as she asked the question, she realized he may be right. The bird was bigger than the crows she was familiar with, and it had a weird looking head, all bumpy like it was diseased. Not at all sleek and shiny like her favorite bird.
“I’ve seen them all my life. I’m sure.”
The wind went out of her sails like air from a balloon. “Are they….like…vulturevultures?”
“If by that you mean do they eat dead things? Yep.”
She peered down the road through the truck’s side mirror. Despite the small print claiming objects were closer than they appeared, the vulture was long gone from view. “Gross.”
“But necessary,” he drawled. “They’re the sharks of land animals. Eating up all the waste the living leave behind.”
He was right, of course. It was clear that, while Nash might talk slow, he wasn’t stupid.
The rest of the ride was met in silence. By the time they pulled into the grocery store’s gravel lot, Vivian’s mood had only marginally improved. One crow, that’s all she asked, but it seemed God wasn’t listening today.
“I’ll be back ‘round an hour,” Nash informed her as she climbed out of the truck.
Vivian nodded. “I’ll be waiting.”
He passed her a skeptical look before driving off. What, did he think she would take forever just because she was a woman? Put her in a Nordstrom’s, and yeah, she could be there for hours. At a place that could fit inside her former apartment? She would be in and out in half an hour, tops.
With a deep sigh, Vivian headed inside to fulfill Gretta’s list.
***
Shopping in the countryside might sound like a leisurely, uneventful stroll, but Vivian now knew better. Nearly two hours had passed since she walked through the glass door, and she was just now reaching that same door—not without a great deal of trouble.
Each foot she placed in front of her was met with another question, another smile, another invitation, and a promise from her to try to make it.
The food was getting warm, and Vivian could clearly see Nash standing beside the truck outside, smirking each time he glanced up from his phone and caught her pleading eyes. He simply refused to help her.
“…And then there’s the barbeque cook-off next month. You can’t miss that. Betsy Jean makesthebest spare ribs in the county,” a woman named Maryanne said. They’d met about ten minutes into her shopping trip, between the bread and the Twinkies. Vivian now knew there was a multitude of ways to turn a simple Twinkie into a gourmet dessert, as well as five different ways to prepare “the perfect potato salad.”
“Oh, and we’re throwing a pool party this weekend for Bobby Michael’s birthday. It’s his seventh. I don’t know where the time goes!” she laugh/shouted, waving her hand in the air as if it were the funniest thing. “You are more than welcome. I hope you come. Everyone’s been talkin’ about the new girl, and it would be the perfect time to meet everyone officially. I’ll make my famous Twinkie pie!”
