At the Stars(6)
I’m trying really hard to stay positive.
The carpet and the drapes of this room are another story. They are clearly from that magical time when eggplant and goldenrod ruled all, fathers actually came home to have dinner with their families (instead of say, disappearing the second they knocked a girl up like my dad), and mothers met the bus from school and asked about your day rather than screaming at you when they got home because you had done some random thing that jangled their nerves.
Or whatever. I used to watch a lot of sitcom reruns. It’s not like it’s the only thing that warped my brain. I own my issues.
“It sounds like it could be a lot of money to fix the car, Luce. I think it’s gonna take longer for me to get wherever I’m going than I planned. I found a bakery that needs help so I can earn cash, but for a little while I’m stuck in Suckville.”
Lucy used to cut my hair back home in Connor, Ohio. Over time we became pretty good friends. Problems with the guy renting her shop space forced her to move back home to West Virginia. I miss her every day.
“What about the money from your mom’s house?”
“I don’t have a lot left. I don’t want to spend that if it isn’t an emergency.”
Lucy huffs a laugh that echoes through the phone. “Not to get judgy, hon, but a broken car sounds like an emergency to me.”
The bed groans underneath me when I sit. One part of my brain considers her advice while another part mulls over the fact that my toenail polish is chipped beyond all reason. Do I care enough to go buy a new bottle of “I’m Not Really a Waitress?” It turns out when you’re throwing only the essentials in your car to start a new life, nail polish doesn’t exactly rate.
I decide in the face of a busted vehicle and being stuck in a speck-sized town I can’t even find on most maps, it still doesn’t. “I can’t spend that money,” I finally manage. “My mom died for that money.”
“Oh, sweetie.” Now I can hear pity in her voice. I swear it’s a sound worse than nails on a chalkboard.
“Don’t do that, Lucy.” Moisture dampens my cheeks. I brush it away and start flipping the handle of my guitar case back and forth with my toe. “I left Connor so I wouldn’t have to hear people sound that way when they talk to me.”
“I just don’t think your mother would want you to struggle.”
That familiar mix of guilt and anger bubbles up. “Then she shouldn’t have left me,” I whisper.
“I’m sure she tried not to.” Now she’s serious and so soft-spoken she’s practically whispering. I like the opinionated Lucy better.
On my good days, I’m sure Lucy’s right. Nights like tonight, all I can do is wonder why the things that happened to me were so hard for her to take.
Jake
Cassie comes into the shop on Wednesday afternoon looking like the very definition of a terrible idea. She’s got a cardboard tray of muffins and a fresh-faced smile that makes my body react before my brain gets any say in the matter. I’d been thinking since the weekend that I might have tried a little too hard to step up and help her out. Now I know I was right.
It’s not that she isn’t pretty. Honestly, that’s part of the problem. Her long, dusty-blond hair is up today. She’s got the waves piled in one of those messy knots that looks sexy without trying. It shows off her expressive face, her shoulders, and the tops of her breasts thanks to a humid day and a slipping button on her tank top. The opening expands and contracts with each breath as she huffs up to the counter and slides the baked goods across.
Hey. I may want to keep my distance, but I’m still a guy.
“I thought you and your buddies might be hungry.” She makes the announcement with a deep breath that strains her top some, and I force myself to look up at her eyes. They’re hazel or something, mostly brown but with a million different colors threaded through the center like a starburst.
“Cassie, you shouldn’t have bothered. I’m not gonna gouge you on your car. And Delia’s gonna make you pay for those.”
The lady who runs the coffee shop is plenty friendly, but boy she does not screw around. She’d spit tacks if she found out this girl was bringing freebies over.
Her face brightens up even more. “Hey,” she said. “You remembered my name.”
I try to think of a reason why this shouldn’t matter, but she’s already moving on. “Anyway, Delia did in fact make me pay for these. They’re a batch I screwed up. Swapped the cinnamon measurement for clove, which if you ask me tastes pretty good actually, but Delia didn’t approve.” She pushes the box forward. “There’s plenty. You sure you guys don’t want them?”