“I’ll go alone,” he retorted just as quietly. “With your track record? We’d get there after closing time. Probably three days after the wedding.”
I pushed my hair out of my face while Miles reached into his pocket. His driver’s license caught my eye when he set his open wallet down on the counter. Name: Miles Seth McCullough. Gender: Male. Eye color: Brown. Height: 6’0”. Weight: 190lbs. Address: 3529 Beach Boulevard West in Steele Falls.
“How long have you two been dating?” Sabina asked while she filled out more paperwork.
“Um. No,” I blurted.
“Not a snowball’s chance,” Miles replied. He glanced at me. “No offense, but if you were a weekday, you’d be Monday.”
I ground my teeth.
Sabina’s cheeks reddened to the shade of over-ripened tomatoes when she saw my face. “Sorry. I saw you two across the room and thought… you knew each other or—”
“No, thanks.” I snorted. “Been dodging him from the moment we met.”
Miles turned his attention toward the seamstress. “Dating is a war zone. Bloodshed. Carnage. Suffering. Not worth it.”
“Nice comparison,” I said, wondering if Sienna knew how he talked about her.
A telephone rang.
“Oh, oh. Hold tight,” Sabina said, hustling to the back room.
Sienna was a masochist to put up with him. I pushed the thoughts of their heated arguments out of my head. Not my business, but I aimed for one last jab. “No doubt you’re responsible for the combat leading to that suffering,” I muttered.
He shot daggers at me with his eyes. “Don’t talk about what you don’t know, Doc.”
“Okay, Miles.” I glimpsed his driver’s license.
“It’s Seth,” he sounded like a snake hissing through bared teeth. “How many times do I need to say it?”
“Funny. Your file at my office says Miles, and so does your license. Maybe you’re the one who needs that remedial phonics class you suggested.”
Sabina walked back into the room. “I snagged you an extra seven percent off, and she’s holding the dress until end of business tomorrow, Jade.” She winked at me. “Always happy to help a sweetheart.”
Miles didn’t hold back his curt reply, “Right.”
I breathed with relief and was equally annoyed. I didn’t want a handout from Bianca Taft, but I’d already paid a small fortune for the first hideous dress I’d never wear. Seven percent seemed like a slap in the face, yet I bit my tongue.
Sabina glanced at Miles with a blue ink pen pinned between her teeth. She’d always reminded me of my grandmother. So friendly. So happy. So welcoming. A constancy of laughter twinkled behind her eyes. “You seem familiar. Have you been in before?”
“Nope. Never stepped foot in a dress shop, and long ago, I vowed to only wear a tux to my funeral. Guess I’m breaking that rule.”
She analyzed his face before fumbling for the receipt book under the counter. “I’ll need your name, fifty percent down for the deposit, and a form of identification, please,” she said.
“You can write down ‘Seth.’” He hesitated before handing Sabina his ID.
My vengeful attitude took hold again. “Don’t confuse her. It’s ‘Miles.’ Remember? Says so right here.” I jabbed at the license with my index finger. “M-I-L-E-S.”
“Miles?” she asked. “You sure you haven’t been in before?”
“No,” he said quickly and avoided eye contact with her.
Sabina skimmed over the license and frowned, raising her head until her gaze locked onto him. “Wait. You’re. The McCullough boy?”
“Seth.” Miles ground his teeth, the muscles in his jaw firing. “Just Seth.”
“And you’re back…”
“It seems that way,” Miles mumbled.
Sabina went from happy and warm to stone-cold and emotionless. Without blinking, she gripped the plastic-wrapped tuxedo tight and slowly slid it back toward her side of the glass-topped counter. Her knuckles whitened. “I’m sorry, sir. We’re out of tuxedos.”
“But you fit me for the one in your hand five minutes ago. You said it was a blessing because—”
“I did,” she replied briskly. “However, it’s unavailable now.”
“Why?” Miles hiked his thumb over his shoulder. “I’m a paying customer. The sign on the door says fifty percent down and the rest is due on return for tux rentals as long as the credit card information is on file.”
“And the sign below it says we have the right to refuse service to anyone.” Sabina pursed her lips.
“But she… she just…” he squeaked.
“Jade isn’t your concern.” Sabina shook her head. “You have a lot to answer for in this town.”
Miles didn’t break eye contact with her as he let a lofty laugh out through his nose. “Guess you can’t outrun the tide.”
I glanced between the two of them, feeling like I watched a tennis match, awaiting the next hit. Neither budged. The only sound was the air conditioner methodically ticking in the background.
Miles snapped, “Fine. Where’s the next closest shop?”
“There isn’t another in Cannon Cove.” She wadded the paper and set it down.
His face soured. “Address?”
“Find a phone book,” she replied, turning her attention back to me.
But Miles wasn’t done yet. “Just like that? You’re dismissing me?”
Sabina closed her eyes and turned toward him. “Yes.”
Silence loomed while the seamstress stilled. She didn’t breathe. She didn’t blink. I didn’t know that side of her existed. Excited puppy fingers disappeared and she reminded me of a snarling dog who waited to attack.
Miles volleyed the same stoic expression; however, he withdrew first from their second stare down. “You know… forget it.” He shoved his ID and credit card back into his wallet.
“Sir, you need to leave,” Sabina said. “The precinct is right down the street. I can arrange a police escort, if needed.”
Um. This is escalating fast.
She turned toward me and puppy Sabina bounced back. “Now, let’s discuss how that seven percent savings works.” With a swift glance, she spoke formally, “Good day, Mr. McCullough.”
No response. Instead, he swiped the crumpled piece of paper off the counter with the other dress shop’s address in his grip and stormed through the doorway. The chiming bells announced Miles’s exit, and it spoke louder than any of his acidic words.
“What was that about?” I asked.
“Nothing to worry your pretty head over.” She reached across the counter and gave my hand a gentle pat. “Come on. Back to business.”
I looked over my shoulder and tried to wrap my mind around the conversation that’d played out.
“The dress complements your figure.” Sabina put on a pair of glasses. “A designer must’ve had you specifically in mind without knowing it.”
Sure. A colorblind designer.
She wrote up the details for outrageous dress number two while my head spun. What could make Miles storm out of a formalwear store after a harmless conversation with a woman who could pass as a granny?
“Dear?” Sabina glanced at me.
I flinched. “Huh?”
“I asked about your friend, Bo. How’s he doing?”
“Crap! Bo!” I clamped a hand over my mouth.
Sabina cautiously replied, “Yes?”
Regret set in when I saw the time. Almost five o’clock. Late. Really late.
“He’s uhh… good,” I said, snagging the paperwork from Sabina’s hand. “Thanks again for your help.”
“You’re welcome.” Her face puckered in confusion at my sudden departure. “Don’t you need to know—”
B
ut I didn’t let her respond. The door slammed behind me as I sprinted across the street. With disregard to the care Sabina provided to the papers, I creased the carbon-copy stack into uneven thirds and tossed the packet to the rear of the Jeep.
Every second mattered.
I hopped into the driver’s seat and glanced at my cell. Three missed calls displayed on the screen; I forgot I’d turned the ringer off at Seamless. Two came from my mom and another from Bo. Ugh. Mama Nash could wait. Bo couldn’t.
I burned rubber, speeding into traffic and across town to the recurring appointment I vowed to never miss. Fortunately, the Cannon Cove PD must’ve been too busy at the donut shop to camp out at their usual speed traps because I pushed my luck with the needle hovering at fifteen miles over the limit.
At 5:43 p.m., I pulled up outside the physical therapy office and had a rough time finding an open space. “Come on.” I whined while circling the block. Eventually, I gave up and parked at the bottom of a giant hill, knowing I’d have to hoof it fast. I yanked the keys from the ignition and sprinted the steep incline on my toes, calves burning. Why did I let my gym membership lapse? I darted around a few people conversing on the sidewalk, their hands wrapped around cups from the coffee stand across the street. “Excuse me.” I pushed my way through another group and grabbed for the front door.
The medical plaza was the newest structure in town, and people still stopped to stare or take pictures. For an entire week, it’d been the biggest talk in The Chronicle. That was months ago. The ribbon-cutting ceremony even made the pages on two separate occasions. Real excitement in our town remained that insignificant. The entryway smelled like fresh paint, new carpeting, and high hopes. Only a few months prior, Bo had to drive to Ocean Shores for therapy. I’d purposely avoided scheduling afternoon massage appointments on the days he had PT.
Sliding glass doors effortlessly parted left and right to allow me through, and I made an immediate right turn, sprinting to suite twelve. Two doctors conversing in the hallway stopped mid-conversation as I darted by.
“Is everything okay?” one of them asked loudly with concern.
“All’s good!” I said with an overhead wave, not turning back.
I burst through the doorway and into an empty waiting room, which was probably for the best considering my loud arrival. The handle of the door banged the wall with a forceful thunk, and I winced at the unseen damage left behind.
The receptionist startled. “Oh, it’s you, Jade. I wondered if you were coming.”
“Sorry, Hazel.” I fought to catch my breath, bracing my forearm on the rounded lip of the counter. “Late. Busy. Day.”
Behind her, a sea of tropical fish darted about behind the blue-tinted glass of the aquarium. An angelfish slowed down and gawked at me. Either my appearance concerned it or I had more seaweed in my hair.
“What’s important is you got here.” Hazel pointed at the clock. “Still seven minutes left.”
“Perfect!”
“Room three! Last door on the right!” she yelled after me as I turned away. “Not sure why I’m telling you where to go. You know this place like the back of your hand.”
I ran to the third door at the end of the hall with a wooden number three next to the clipboard holder. After skidding to a stop, I knocked on the partially open door with two raps.
“Come on in.
“Hey, Dr. Collins.” I turned the knob and entered, gently pushing the pine paneling until it clicked shut behind me. For my finale, I plopped down on the chair in the corner and turned to Bo. “Sorry I’m late.”
“No biggie. Just called to make sure you were okay.” Bo’s legs were being passively stretched on a table in the middle of the space.
I folded my hands, pinned them between my knees, and reflexively asked the same question I brought up every week, “How’s he doing?” Reality hadn’t changed; Bo had a zero percent chance of a miracle. Yet, I hoped Dr. Collins would shock the world and say my best friend made a surprise recovery. Every week— disappointment stung.
“Trooper, as always.” Dr. Collins tapped his clipboard twice with the top of his pencil.
Dr. Fredrick Collins had practiced PT for nearly forty years. If his prognosis dictated Bo wouldn’t walk again, I believed him. The man won countless awards and spoke at conferences worldwide. I’d even attended one of his Seattle symposiums as an honored guest. Hands down, Bo got the best treatment possible.
I glanced over at Dr. Collins. If Sabina reminded me of a grandmother, Dr. Collins could play the counterpart grandfather. His hair reminded me of salt and pepper, always cropped neat with a gleaming bald spot on top. He wore rectangular-shaped bifocals, a white button-up shirt, slacks, and loafers. An outrageous-colored tie completed his outfit. Always. That day, it showcased a shade of forest green with cartoon limes doing the limbo.
I thought back to the legit lime dress at Sabina’s. Stop it, Jade.
“Be doin’ cartwheels by tomorrow,” Bo said with an air of confidence and a wide grin.
Dr. Collins shot him a serious look. “Let’s not get carried away, Mambo.”
I struggled to focus on the end of Bo’s appointment. During the last few minutes, Dr. Collins assigned Bo’s homework, homework I would ensure he’d complete. Most times, I had a pen and paper in-hand, ready to make my list, but earlier events disrupted routine. That day, my notebook sat in the back of the Jeep along with the dress paperwork. My mind swam against the current, back to Sabina’s shop again.
“Ready for dinner?” Bo asked.
I blinked back to reality and noticed Dr. Collins already left the room. Bo sat in his chair, watching me inquisitively.
“Huh? Dinner,” I said. “Sure.”
Tradition. Every Wednesday, I went to Bo’s appointment. And every Wednesday, we went to dinner across the street. His parents used to meet up with us at the restaurant, but their presence fizzled and faded over time. I refused to do the same thing. Bo needed a rock in his life. It was non-negotiable.
We headed toward the reception space where Hazel fed the fish. Tiny gaping mouths hovered near the water’s surface. Fortunately for me, flakes of squid meal excited the creepy angelfish more than I did. The blinds were closed, nighttime lights on, the open sign unplugged.
When I shoved the side exit door that fed directly into the parking lot, warmth greeted us from the earlier sun, the sprinkle of rain forgotten. A slight breeze blew in from the ocean, and I drew a deep breath of salty air.
“Race to the ugly ass planter on the corner?” Bo took off before I could answer.
I yelled and ran after him. “Hey!”
My best friend maneuvered his wheelchair across the parking lot quickly. His legs may not have functioned like they used to, but Bo’s arms were jacked. Total beefcake. No doubt I’d lose against him in an arm-wrestling match.
Like always, he won our competition to cross the sleepy street. Whether or not I let him, I’d never tell. But I did allow him to gloat. All throughout dinner. Another ritual.
As I caught up to him, I slowed to a walk at the purple planter with flecks of orange reflective glass. “You win.”
He held a hand up to his ear. “Sorry. Didn’t catch that. Say a little louder?”
I acquiesced with fallen shoulders— another “like always.” “You win.”
“That’s right,” he said with his broad smile and a wink. “Making sure you know it.”
“Oh, I know.” I glanced at the full parking lot of The Kraken, the most popular seafood and steakhouse in Cannon Cove. Even the metered spaces on the street were jam-packed. My stomach rumbled, and I realized I hadn’t eaten all day. My phone read six on the dot. Prime dining time.
“Is that Paige’s car?” I squinted across the busy street.
“Paranoid much?” Bo shrugged. “I don’t think so. Do you real
ly wanna discuss Glow Job when you get to hang out with me?”
I laughed.
Bo and I had a few favorite nicknames for Paige, which we reserved for times when she wasn’t in earshot. At a friend’s birthday party, news on the street? She gave two dudes a BJ in the closet, barely taking a breather between swallows. If she were smart, she’d have wiped the remaining trail of jizz off her face and neck before standing under the black light at the DJ booth. Glow Job and Baby Batter Necklace were born. My other favorite was Nip Slip. A water balloon full of vanilla pudding popped out of Paige’s V-neck sweater at the homecoming football game during senior year, exploding on the track in the middle of her cheerleading dismount. That happened before she got her Franken-tits installed.
Bo and I walked through the doorway of the restaurant. All the benches were occupied. Standing room only. It didn’t stop Shelley, the hostess, from offering us a quick smile and a nod. We awkwardly made our way past the other customers on the waiting list, all giving us the stink eye.
“This way.” She grabbed two menus and flipped locks of red hair over her shoulder. “I held your favorite table.”
Another tradition. That night, I took note of how many “usuals” my life entailed. It felt comfortable. Safe. Predictable. Secure. Spontaneous Jade had been put to rest, and I preferred it that way.
A few minutes later, a waitress walked over with two glasses of water and two dark-colored drinks. Without tasting it, I knew Bo’s cola was spiked with a double shot of Jack. Mine remained virgin. “Gonna be the norm for dinner, guys?” she asked.
For a fraction of a second, I thought about ordering something off-key or asking about the daily special. Instead, I made the same worn request as every other week. “You got it, Karmin. Chicken strips and fries.”
“I’ll have the steak—”
Our waitress finished for him, “Medium rare. Baked potato with everything except green onions, and broccoli with extra butter?”
“I need to change up my game,” Bo joked.
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