“We need furniture and some household supplies,” she explained as we drove to Hank’s Furniture Emporium off Main by the park.
She chose a dull couch and chair for the living room, but I talked her into an adorable set of wrought iron chairs and a table with a glass top for the kitchen.
“Is it generic enough?” she asked, caressing the wrought iron’s curves.
“Maggie, generic doesn’t mean boring. I think it is perfect, especially the size. That’s a small area. Anything else would be overpowering.” I looked at our spy. “What do you think, Jenny?” She shrugged. Definitely one of Booker’s cronies. I was the enemy and you don’t fraternize with the enemy.
We went back to the trailer. Booker was there, finishing up the moldings in the main bedroom. Maggie pulled some sandwiches from the fridge and we sat on the new carpet and ate.
“I had so much fun today. I can see why you like decorating,” she said, pouring me a glass of ice water.
“I love it. It’s even more fun when you don’t have to buy boring stuff,” I said, taking the glass from her.
“Did you see that crimson couch on display in the window?” she asked. “I really liked it.”
“Me too. With some cute pillows to balance out the red.”
“Dark blue,” she said. “They’d be perfect.”
“Have you thought about going into interior design, Maggie? You have good taste.”
“Actually, since we started doing the trailer, it’s all I think about. You’ve taught me a lot.” She passed me a bag of corn chips and a napkin.
“I hear you. I’ve always wanted to start my own interior design company. To me, that’s heaven.”
“We should start our own. I’d be an apprentice until I’m done with school, but wouldn’t that be fun,” she said.
“That would be. I’d want to do home interiors. I don’t care for office design.” I leaned back on my elbows, forgetting all about the troubles that haunted me for the past several days and enjoyed the fantasy of having a design business. “What should we call it?” I asked Maggie.
“Lilah and Maggie’s Design, maybe.” She thought for a minute. “Maybe not. How about Innovative Design?”
I sat up. “How about Innovative Interiors?”
“I like it. I’ll Google it and make sure no one else is using it,” she said, pulling out her phone. “What do you think of a loft bed in the second bedroom? It’s so small, and a loft bed would be functional.”
“Great idea.” I lay back on the carpet.
“What was the name I’m supposed to Google again?” she asked.
“Name for what?” Booker walked into the living room carrying a scrap of molding.
“Nothing. We’re just goofing around,” I assured him.
“No, we’re not. At least I’m not. I think it would be fun. Don’t you?” she asked sincerely.
“Name for what?” Booker repeated.
“Lilah and I are going to start an interior design company and we’re brainstorming a name.” she told him
“Not happening, Magpie,” he said bluntly.
“Booker, I don’t want to fight about this again,” she said, gritting her teeth.
“I’m just stating the obvious. Once we catch her father, she’s leaving. There’s nothing left for her here.”
“Except for, geez, I don’t know, Cole maybe?” Maggie pointed out.
“Nope. I talked to him yesterday. There’s no need for her to stay.” He walked out of the trailer. I followed, as did Maggie.
“What did Cole say?” I asked, preparing for the worst.
“I asked him what was going on between you two and his words were, ‘I’m done talking about her.’” Booker turned to me. “Like I said, there’s no reason to stay.”
“I see.” The bottom to my world dropped out. He had it right; there was no reason to stay now. I wanted to get into my car and drive off the face of the earth. “Maggie, I’m going to call it a day since we can’t do anything else until the furniture comes.” I rushed to my car.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she called after me.
I got in and took off down the street, shaking so badly I could hardly drive. I circled Port Fare twice, before my sorrow twisted into anger. Anger at my father for the mess he’d made of my life. Anger at myself for not standing up to him. And anger at Booker for hovering around, robbing me of privacy.
I glared in the rearview mirror at the blue sedan following me. My anger, and the poor judgment that seemed more often than not to be anger’s companion kicked in. Booker clearly underestimated that fact that he dealt with a Dreser by having only one car tail me. I floored the gas pedal and sped onto the freeway. I had to give whoever followed me credit, they did a pretty good job staying on my tail.
Until we hit traffic.
I grew up in Phoenix, Arizona, population three-and-a-quarter million people. I knew how to drive aggressively. I got off and on the freeway several times, even backtracking at one point. It took me all of five minutes to lose my shadow.
I turned south and headed for the Finger Lakes area about an hour from Port Fare. Maybe I’d get lucky and drown.
I strolled the sandy beach of Canandaigua Lake, barefoot in the beautiful blue water. I found some pretty river rocks and slipped a couple into my purse. I spent the afternoon not being followed or harassed. For the first time in days I felt free.
As the skies clouded over, the beaches were soon deserted, which only made it better. I settled onto the sand, watching the water lap the shore, completely alone. Not even the annoying birds were around thanks to the wind.
I needed to leave Port Fare. There was no reason to stay now. It would be the perfect time. No one knew where I was. I could get back in my car and drive. Except for one small detail. Booker and his henchmen could track me through my credit card purchases. When I left three years ago, I took money from my dad’s safe. I didn’t have that option this time.
Anger and frustration welled up inside me. Trapped. The story of my life.
When my cell phone rang, interrupting my peace, it took more control than I thought I had not to hurl it into the lake. The voice of reason told me that if I did, Booker would twist the meaning of my action into some stupid ploy to help my father. The guy had paranoia down to a science.
The caller ID read Maggie. I didn’t answer. Several moments later, it rang again. Restricted. Daddy. I intended to let it go to voicemail when my anger took over.
“Why are you calling?” I snapped, shooting to my feet.
“Don’t use that tone with me.” He sounded terrible. He was panting as if he’d run a race.
“Daddy, you need to listen to me. This is wrong. You’ve made a mistake. Please, please let this go.”
“Did you get Gatto’s security code yet, or have you failed me once again?” Daddy asked, ignoring my request. I kicked the sand in frustration.
“I’ve got the code.” I’d have to make up random numbers, but he wouldn’t know that until he got here. “It wasn’t easy. Gatto’s a pompous, arrogant idiot.” I smiled, knowing Booker monitored my calls. Ha!
“Good girl, princess.” He coughed for several seconds before continuing. “Give it to me.”
“Daddy, why do you sound so bad? Do you have a cold?”
“The treatments aren’t working. I think I’ll be coming to Port Fare sooner than planned. Now give me the code.”
“I don’t have all the info you need yet. I have to have more time.” I paced as I spoke. Booker said I needed to keep Daddy on the line as long as possible if they hoped to trace the call at all.
“I didn’t say I’m coming yet, Delilah. They switched my treatment to a new experimental regime. It’s my last hope.” He coughed before demanding, “Give me the code.”
“Okay, don’t get yourself all worked up. It’s in my purse, hold on.” I pretended to rummage through my purse, snapping and unsnapping my wallet.
“Delilah, what’s taking so long?” he yelled.
>
I looked at my watch. Two minutes. That was enough time. “I can’t find it. I’m really sorry. I must have left it in my apartment. Listen, we don’t need it, Daddy.” I was going to tell him I’d get a job and take care of him, but I didn’t get the chance.
“You’re a spoiled child,” he exploded. “You’re a disappointment to me, do you understand? I blame this all on that stupid Birdie. I should have gotten rid of her years ago!” Fits of coughing interspersed his screams. “You find that number, and I mean fast. Do I make myself clear?”
Anger, shame, and guilt welled up inside me. I was sick of lies, sick of pressure, sick of feeling guilty. I hung up the phone as he screamed about justice. I’d pay for that, but I didn’t really care.
Raindrops began to fall and I walked slowly to the car, dreading having to go back. I settled inside as lightening cut the air and the downpour began.
“Time to continue my miserable life.” I started my car and turned for Port Fare, chuckling as I imagined Booker going insane searching for me.
The rain came down in sheets, so heavy I had to slow to see the road. I turned left on Main Street, only to discover it wasn’t Main, but the road two blocks before. It led to the local spaghetti sauce factory. I had to wait for four diesels heading into the factory to pass before I could make a U-turn. I almost ran my car off the road in the process, though I did manage to nail a huge pot hole in the road. “Geez.” Seconds later, a loud thud-thud-thud left no doubt in my mind. I had a flat. Why everything at once, God? Why not spread the misery a little?
I pulled over to the side, as far off the road as possible, parking alongside a small grove of trees. Hopefully, they’d block the rain that beat down mercilessly on my poor bug.
I grabbed the umbrella I kept in my backseat and climbed out. The spare tire, tucked tightly in the trunk, took forever to free. Men! If women designed cars, tiny nooks and crannies for huge things like tires would be outlawed.
I finally gave up and let the wind have my umbrella it so desperately wanted and embraced the rain. Like it mattered anyway.
The jack was tucked into an even smaller cranny. After several hard tugs it broke away from its tiny prison, propelling me backwards with its unexpected freedom. I landed on my butt…in a puddle of mud. I reached up for the tree, which hadn’t done a thing to block the rain, and grabbed a low-lying branch to pull myself up, only to slip in the mud and crash back down into the same puddle. The tree branch broke my fall…as it snagged the rear pocket of my new capris, ripping it off. I now had a gaping hole in my pants. “Well, at least I have clean underwear on, mom. Thanks for the advice,” I shouted to the heavens.
I fiddled with the jack, trying to remember exactly where to put it, and wishing I’d paid better attention to Ms. Voigt in driver’s ed back in high school. After what seemed like forever, I found the spot, hopefully, and wedged it into place, pumping rapidly on the black handle. Slowly, very slowly, the car rose up off the ground. I had to stop several times to brush back the dripping hair from my face as the rain and wind tossed it about. When the tire cleared the asphalt, I distinctly heard Ms. Voigt say, “You must loosen the lug nuts before jacking up the car or your tires will spin, and the nuts will not.”
Frustrated, and with a loud rush of air from my damp lungs, I lowered the car back down and grabbed the tiny star wrench from the trunk.
I strained to free the lug nuts, no easy task, jerking and tugging for several minutes before remembering the secret formula for freeing a nut. “Lefty loosey, righty tighty.” I’d been trying to loosen the nut by turning right. I readjusted my position, and with a hearty tug left finally freed the first nut, and then quickly unscrewed all but one, slipping the greasy suckers into my pocket to keep from losing them. My pants were a complete waste, what did a little grease matter at this point? I tugged and pushed and even sat on the jack’s handle, but the last nut would not break free. I even tossed the wrench at it in desperation, but nothing.
Completely exasperated now, I again heard the instructor’s voice in my head. “Remember, only loosen them, don’t remove them or you will put pressure on the other nuts and they will not come off.”
I dropped onto the bumper, and considered crying as I watched another two diesels drive past me on their way to the spaghetti sauce factory, never stopping to help a damsel in distress. Was chivalry completely dead?
Resigned, I dragged my muddy butt off the bumper and replaced the lug nuts, loosely this time and pumped the car back up.
With the car now back in the air, I removed the stupid nuts completely, again. I wiggled and tugged on the tire before it broke free of …whatever you call the stupid stems I’d unscrewed the lug nuts from, and the tire dropped to the ground … slipping halfway under the car, wedging under the axel. It was stuck. I now had to raise the car several more inches so I could pull the tire out. My energy and my anger towards my father were completely gone. My clothes were soaked clear through and my hair hung in long twisted ropes around my face. I slid down onto the front bumper, buried my face in my hands, and this time, I cried.
I debated whether to call a tow truck as my tears mixed with rain, but my internal debate was brought to a screeching halt by a deep male voice. A deep, all too familiar, male voice.
“Of all the rains storms, in all the towns, in all the world, you break down in mine.”
“Go away, Booker. I don’t need your help.” I didn’t bother looking up.
“One should never look a gift horse in the mouth,” he chastised.
“More like a horse’s—” My insult was cut off by a passing diesel as it hit its obnoxious air break.
The next thing I knew, an umbrella was thrust into my hands. Booker finished changing the tire in less than two minutes. Grrrr. He put the jack and damaged tire in the trunk before holding my car door open for me as I slid in. I handed him the umbrella.
“You disappear like that again,” he said, his tone menacing, “I’ll throw you in jail where you can rot until your precious Daddy shows up.”
I shrugged, thinking to ask him on what grounds, but decided I didn’t care. I just didn’t care.
He turned and jogged back to his POC Mobile and drove off. I didn’t understand that man. I pulled away from the curb and cranked up the radio, full blast. Christina Aguilera and Blake Shelton were belting out a powerful duet about being fools.
The story of my life anymore.
Chapter 26
Cole
I went to my bedroom and sank onto my too-small bed as thoughts of Lilah flooded my brain. Never in a million years would I have thought it possible to love someone so fiercely, which made her lies that much more painful. I reached down to the floor and turned on the small clock radio, frowning as my feet dropped off the end of the twin bed. “Why can’t they make beds longer? Would it really cost that much more to add a few inches to the length?” I grumbled as I cranked up the volume to hear above the rain beating on my roof.
Soon I was lost in a duet song by. . . I have no idea who, but they certainly nailed my mood.
Keep it coming ‘til I don't remember at all
How bad it hurts when you're gone
Turn the music up a little bit louder
Just gotta get past the midnight hour
Maybe tomorrow it
Won't
Be
This
Hard
But who am I kidding
I know what I'm missing.
“Isn’t that the truth,” I grumbled to the ceiling. Lilah’s betrayal hurt me to the point of physical pain. Regardless of that, I knew I’d forgive her. I’d passed the point of no return. No way could I live without her. I turned on my side, almost rolling off the small mattress, and punched the pillow against the pain constricting my chest. My head hurt again. It was the third headache I’d had since my blowup with Lilah.
“Man, I miss her.” Her laugh, her exuberance, her . . . everything. What’s not to miss? “Enough!” I slammed my hand down on the
radio, silencing the singing as the girl belted out about being a fool.
Yup, that’s me. Just a stupid fool. I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the ache wrapping around my head. I could only take so much pain in one day.
**
“Where is it?” I closed the last cardboard box in my living room and shoved it into the corner. I couldn’t find my Shakespeare book given to me by my grandfather. I remembered seeing it when Lilah redid my office, only I’d already looked there.
Lilah was front and center in my mind yet again. I lectured myself a million times, saying if I wasn’t careful, I’d lose her. The pain still ate at me.
Giving up on finding the book, I went and took a shower. Ten minutes later I stood in front of the half-fogged mirror shaving and grumbling to my reflection. “Maybe it’s more than the lies that bother you, Opie?” I’d toyed with that idea ever since walking out of her apartment. I tossed the towel into the sink, frustrated.
Dressed in my scrubs . . . again, I padded barefoot into the kitchen in search of something edible.
“Sour milk and moldy cheese.” I shoved the fridge door shut and pulled out a glass from the cupboard. I’d have to settle for water. Warm water. The thought made me even angrier.
Through the kitchen window I watched Maggie turn into my driveway. I downed the disgusting lukewarm water and set the glass in the sink as she came in through the side door, arms loaded down.
“Let me help you with that, Maggie,” I said, stepping toward her as she screamed.
“Cole!” She scurried against the door. “You scared me. I thought you were at work today.” She set my scrubs on the counter.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I was doing some cleaning and found a few sets of scrubs at the house. They’ve been washed.” She nodded toward the stack and grinned. “Didn’t want you running around the ER naked.”
“Follow me,” I said soberly.
We went into my bedroom and I showed her my closet. There hung at least fifteen pair of blue scrubs, very neatly, on hangers. The only other pieces of clothing were a pair of jeans from high school and two t-shirts, also from my high school days.