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back in time and tell his
younger self a thing or two about girls.
And flirting.And love.
The entire drive to Melissa’s house, I do my best to talk myself down from the ledge.I promised her I wouldn’t call her parents or the police…but Ireallywant to call her parents and the police.
Mostly, the police.
Alternatively, I want to track down the man who dared put his hands on her and beat the absolute, ever-loving shit out of him.I want to pummel him until he realizes exactly what it feels like for someone bigger and stronger to take away his free will with violence.Then I want to dump his bruised body at the police station with a note pinned to his chest telling them to check the airport surveillance footage for evidence of what a sad sack of shit he is.
Seeing Melissa snatched off the sidewalk and tossed in a van so fast no one leaving the airport seemed to notice, shook me.
I tell myself it’s because it underlined how vulnerable the women I care about truly are.I tell myself it’s because I can’t help imagining it was my sister, Nora, or one of my best female friends being assaulted by a stranger and whisked away to be sex trafficked or worse.
But it isn’t my sister I’m thinking of right now.
It’s the woman on the other side of the truck, the one I want to pull into my arms and promise I won’t let anyone hurt her again.But Melissa wouldn’t appreciate a hug from the jerk who teased her in high school and that isn’t a promise I can keep.I’m only in Bad Dog for the weekend, to take care of Gram while Nora’s putting out a fire at work or…whatever Nora is doing.
I intend to find out more aboutthatas soon as I have cell service again.
As I turn into Melissa’s subdivision on the other side of Harmony Creek, I glance down at my cell in the cupholder, but there’s still not a bar in sight.
“Do you usually get service out here?”I ask, earning a sigh from Melissa.
“Usually, but I’m not getting a signal, either.My text to my mom just bounced.The storm must have damaged one of the towers or something.”She leans forward, peering through the driving rain as we cross the bridge.“And I’m betting this bridge will be underwater by tomorrow morning.”She shifts her focus my way.“You should just drop me off and head to your grandmother’s house.You don’t want to get trapped out here.”
“I won’t get trapped,” I assure her.“That’s why I rented a truck with tires as tall as I am.I wanted to be prepared for high water.”
She grunts.“Here I thought you were just a monster truck fan.”
“Not even a little bit.”
She sits back in her seat, her arms crossed.“Well, even monster trucks can get into trouble if the flooding gets bad enough.I still think you should leave.I don’t need protection.I’m perfectly capable of protecting myself.”
“I know you said you wouldn’t feed me, but would it be okay if I made a sandwich or something?”I ask, refusing to engage with her on the subject of me leaving her alone.It’s not going to happen, no matter what she says.Gram didn’t raise me to leave a woman who’s just been attacked alone at her house all night while the man who attacked her is still at large.I won’t feel good about leaving her tomorrow morning, either, but hopefully in the light of day, she’ll see that calling the police is a good idea.“The plane food was disgusting.”
“No, you can’t make a sandwich,” she says, motioning to the road ahead.“There, the house with the caboose mailbox.”
“That’s cool,” I say as I turn in.
“Chase loves trains,” she says, a sadness in her voice that wasn’t there before.But she’s back to withering disdain again when she adds, “I have smoked duck that I need to use before it goes bad.I’ll make crispy smoked duck tortillas and a side salad.If you’re still hungry after, I have popcorn and chips in the pantry.We’re not a sandwich kind of house.Lunch meat kills.”
“Lunch meat kills,” I echo as I pull into the empty space in front of her closed garage door “Really?”
“You think something with that much sodium and additive crap is good for you?”She huffs.“You might as well give butt cancer a hand-written, engraved invitation.”
I shut off the engine with a smile.“I’m touched that you’re worried about my butt.”
“You wish.You and your butt can eat pure MSG for all I care, you’re just not going to find it at my house.”She reaches for the door handle.“Give me a second and I’ll open the garage, so your shit doesn’t get wet.”
She darts out into the rain, hurrying over to a keypad beside the garage and tapping in a few numbers.A beat later, the garage door begins to slide up.Deciding not to draw attention to the fact that she’s proving to be a very sweet and thoughtful host, I grab my travel bag from the back seat and swing out after her, climbing the concrete steps into her home a few feet behind her.
“It’s a mess in here,” she says, lingering at the top of the steps with the door halfway open.“I’m not apologizing, I’m just letting you know not to expect much.I wasn’t planning on having company, and I haven’t had time to clean up since Chase left for Thanksgiving with his dad.”
“I’m not here to judge.”I kick off my shoes at the overflowing shoe rack inside and drop my bag beside it.“You should see my apartment.It’s a wreck most of the time, and I don’t even have a kid to use as an excuse.”
“He’s not an excuse,” she says over her shoulder, flicking on lights as she moves down the hall.“Toddlers are like tiny tornadoes, leaving wreckage in their wake wherever they go.I could spend the entire day cleaning up after him and there would still be toys on the floor when I put him to bed.”
