I threw my overnight bag in the passenger seat and drove off the lot, wishing I could peel out and really express my anger in a satisfyingly loud and obnoxious way. But I quickly learned that a Smart Car doesn’t know how to peel out; it’s not equipped to do much with its lawn-mower sized engine. It just knows how to deliver me from Point A to Point B on a very small amount of gas with almost zero elbow room. I felt like a clown buzzing around in her little circus car. The only things missing were a little face paint and some floppy shoes. At first I thought I was also missing one of those brass honky-horns that clowns carry around, but then I pressed on the steering wheel and found out differently. Yes, it’s true. The Smart Car comes equipped with a clown honky-horn.
I arrived in Baker City, Oregon a little over two hours later and checked into my hotel room. Sitting on the bed in the tired old room, I stared at the ugly wallpaper. The folder sitting next to me on the nightstand was full of information I could use to help me find the mysterious Gavin MacKenzie. Now I just had to build up the nerve to use it. Then I could take off, ask a few questions of some strangers, track him down with their clues, and have that conversation with him. The one where I ask him if he remembers sleeping with me and then possibly marrying me too. My stomach was in knots.
Chapter Sixteen
MY FIRST STOP WAS THE local diner. Baker City’s a smallish town, so I figured it would be like all the small towns I’d seen in the movies. Everyone goes to the diner for a coffee and pie right?
I sat at the counter and ordered a decaf, getting the lay of the land before making my first move. I skipped the pie because I didn’t trust my stomach right now; it was way too full of a large contingent of very anxious butterflies. My phone buzzed in my bag, but I ignored it. Bradley or whoever it was would just have to wait until I got some direction.
My first goal was to work up enough nerve to ask some of the most ridiculous questions I’d ever asked in my life. Here’s how I pictured that conversation going:
Me: Do you know Gavin MacKenzie?
Country person: Who’s askin’?
Me: His wife.
Country person: — vacant look—crickets—
There was no way I was going to be able to track him down without a story. I needed a good story that wouldn’t humiliate both of us. A nice fat lie. I picked up a sugar packet and emptied it into my cup as I thought about my options. I’ll say I’m a lawyer and I’m tracking him down for an inheritance. I frowned at my coffee cup, picking up the teaspoon to stir in the sugar. No, that won’t work. They’ll want to know relatives’ names and I don’t have anything like that with me. I stirred and stirred and stirred. I’ll say he’s won some money in a contest. No, that’s stupid. What am I … Publisher’s Clearing House? I shook my head, grabbing more sugar. I ripped the packet open sloppily, spraying small white crystals all over the counter. I’ll say that I’m a relative from another city and I’m tracing my genealogy.
“How’re you doing over here?” asked a woman’s voice. My waitress was staring at me from behind the counter, waiting for my response.
The words came flying out before I could stop them. “I’m looking for Gavin MacKenzie, do you know him?” Oh, shit. Did she say how are you doing or what are you doing? My skin flamed up a burning crimson, and I had to restrain myself from fanning my face with the napkin. I could not believe I just blurted that out. What happened to my kickass plan to play it cool? Argh, I totally hate myself sometimes.
“Of course I know Mack. Everyone knows Mack. But no one calls him Gavin except his mother and his grandmother.” She smiled, the happy emotion not quite making it to her doe-brown eyes. Her name tag said Hannah. She was cute, even though her blonde hair was a little too brassy and her skin a little too heavily made-up. I guessed her to be a couple inches taller than me and about the same age, maybe a couple years older. The only thing keeping her from being a totally cliché diner waitress was bubblegum-smacking. She reminded me of a country version of Candice. My heart pulled uncomfortably at the thought of my friend. It had been way too long since we’d spoken. I blamed it on work, but Ruby blamed that Bradley.
“Can you tell me where to find…Mack?” I asked.
“Who are you, and what do you want to find him for?” She stood there with the coffee pot in her hand, her hip cocked, fully prepared to remain there until I confessed.
My ears burned with the shame of the coming deception. “I’m …uh… Andie. And I’m looking for him so I can put together my genealogy chart.”