Truck Stop Tempest

by Daniels, Krissy

  Unfazed, Erik pulled his wallet out of his pocket, tossed a roll of bills on the table, and sauntered past me toward the door, but not before pausing to straighten his tie and say, “Don’t know what game you’re playing, but Tuuli is not your girl. She was mine before she was born.”

  Had we not been surrounded by clueless diners, I would’ve taken a swing, for shits and giggles. Instead, I hid my fisted hands in the pocket of my sweatshirt and watched the guy exit the building and stroll to his Mercedes SUV. He glanced my way before disappearing behind the tinted glass.

  His vehicle was not the first clue that something wasn’t kosher with the guy. It was the most glaring, though. Why the hell was a douche his age driving a Mercedes G-class modified with bulletproof glass?

  I walked outside and watched the vehicle blend into the dark night, pissed that I hadn’t caught his plate numbers.

  “Thanks,” Tuuli’s soft voice cut through the hard vibes rattling my nerves.

  I didn’t turn around. I didn’t move because if I moved, I would’ve gone to her, and if I’d gone to her, I would’ve touched. Touching meant dirtying, and I didn’t want to be the man that dirtied the sweet, churchgoing angel.

  I didn’t turn around. “You need a ride home?”

  “Um. I have to finish my shift.”

  She didn’t answer my question.

  Walk away, dumbfuck. Walk away.

  “After your shift, do you need a ride home?” I asked again, unable to hide the agitation in my voice.

  “No, Tito,” she huffed, mirroring my ire. “I don’t need a ride home, but thank you, again. For everything.”

  The cowbell rattled. She’d fled back inside. The sky darkened around me. I trekked up the hill, parked my ass at the kitchen table, and fired up my computer, dead set on finding a reason to take that Erik fucker down. Instead, I pictured Tuuli standing alone at the bus stop, or worse, sitting in the metal petri dish on wheels next to a drunk perv.

  I grabbed my keys and drove back down to the diner.

  Then I waited for Tuuli’s goddamn shift to end.

  Yeah. I was fucked.

  “NICE TO SEE YOU again,” the woman next to me said, her voice soft and melodic.

  “Good morning.” I offered my hand.

  “I’m Joyce.” Sliding her warm palm against mine, she shook my arm with vigor.

  I stared down at our joined hands, fascinated by the stark contrast of my ivory palm encased in her ebony fingers. “I’m Tuuli.” I lifted my gaze to meet a pair of exotic green eyes.

  Joyce was beautiful. I guessed in her late sixties. Dark, flawless skin. Hair cut short, tight to her scalp, enhancing her features. She wore a plum-colored suit with a paisley blouse underneath the blazer. Red tainted lips spread into an inviting smile. “It’s about time we introduced ourselves.”

  “Yes, it is. Thank you for saying hello.”

  Joyce and I occupied the same pew almost every Sunday. Over the past few weeks, we had exchanged glances and smiles, but I’d never reached out.

  “I figured it was time, seeing as we both seem to prefer the back row.” She leaned closer, her exotic, green eyes playful and comforting. “I need to stay close to the ladies’ room if you know what I mean.”

  I preferred to stay close to the exit, but Joyce didn’t need to know that silly detail.

  My new friend moved her handbag from between us, set it on the other side of her lap, and inched her hip closer to mine. “Tuuli is a beautiful name.”

  “Thank you.” Shame coiled through me, sinister and cold. If she knew the truth, my name would sicken her.

  The band started to play. Joyce jumped to her feet and bounced on her toes for a few beats, then turned and gestured for me to stand. She clapped in rhythm, and when the lyrics kicked in, she sang along, loud and proud.

  I rose, eyes glued to the woman next to me, enthralled with her infectious joy.

  Without taking her eyes off the stage, she leaned into me. “That handsome boy behind the drum set is my grandson.”

  I nodded but didn’t speak. I couldn’t form a syllable through the lump in my throat.

  Joyce raised her hands in praise. I stared at my palms. Palms that had touched the enemy and remained unscathed.

  Guilt weighed heavy on my shoulders, crushing my spirit. My eyes filled with tears, and two bars into “Glorious Day,” I was a blubbering mess.

  I braved a glance at Joyce who seemed lost in the lyrics. So free, so full of the Holy Spirit, I wanted to hug her tight and soak up her positive energy.

  There was no way the woman next to me was bad. She wasn’t dirty. I didn’t feel damned or disgusted for having touched or spoken to her. She’d made me feel…loved. She didn’t know me, but I sensed that she wanted to, and I wanted to know her better. I wanted to know all the people surrounding me.

  My tears fell harder with each beat of the drum. I couldn’t stay. Not with the lyrics or the anticipation of Pastor Davies’ sermon. I couldn’t stop the flood of emotion leaking down my face. I could not open my heart to the word of God when I was so full of self-hate.

  I snatched my purse off the pew and bee-lined for the exit, heading left toward the lake, instead of right toward the bus stop. No way was I about to get on public transit in my emotional state. Everyone would stare and see me for what I was, weak and pathetic. So, despite the cold wind whipping through the tree branches and biting through the thin fabric of my cardigan, I headed toward work, on foot, again.

  Halfway down Sunnyview Boulevard, where the houses tripled in size and the lake came into view, my tears dried, and I’d crammed the guilt back into the dark hole in my gut. I would go back to church next week, head held high. Maybe I would get there early enough to have coffee and talk with some of the people. I hoped Joyce would be there, and still wanted to sit next to me.

  When a dark figure at the bottom of the hill caught my attention, an odd flutter rose in my chest, halting my brisk pace.

  Even from a distance, Tito was recognizable. Larger than life. Focused. Inspiring.

  His strides didn’t falter, motions didn’t slow, even with the steep incline.

  Heat flooded my veins. My insides buzzed with anticipation, cosmic and utterly ridiculous.

  The wind picked up as if challenged by his drive. Tito only put his head down and plowed through the gusts, rising higher, and closer to me. Me, who hadn’t budged since laying eyes on him. Me, who stood shaking under the cold force of the wind—or maybe because of the sheer force of his raw, frightening beauty.

  Feet planted firmly on the cracked cement, I waited, silent, nervous, anxious. Would he see me? Would he stop?

  My fingers tingled, imagining the feel of his sweaty skin.

  One block away. My cheeks heated.

  Head down, he came closer. Closer.

  See me.

  A large gust blew hair across my face, temporarily blinding me, stinging my eyes, sticking to my lips.

  I freed my face from one obstacle, only to be blindsided by the dark eyes that greeted me an arm’s-length away.

  “What’s wrong?” Tito asked, foregoing pleasantries like, Hello, or Hey, or What’s up, Tuuli?

  Breathless and acutely aware that I should not have been the winded one, I mumbled, “Um. Nothing. Why?”

  Tito pulled up the sleeve of his shirt and looked at his watch. “You’re out early.”

  “Early? I don’t understand.”

  “Church,” he snapped. “It doesn’t end for another thirty minutes.”

  His clipped tone made my head spin. I couldn’t grasp what he was getting at, so I said, “Oh.” I’d intended to elaborate, but he didn’t give me a chance.

  “You okay? Did something happen?”

  “I’m fine. Why?”

  Tito invaded my personal space, not touching, but enveloping me in his body heat nonetheless. “You’ve been crying.”

  “Oh. That.” I waved my hand back and forth, the international gesture for, oh, it was nothing. “Girlie stu
ff. That’s all.”

  An exhausted breath escaped his lips. His shoulders dropped along with his chin, and he stepped back, shaking his head as if disgusted with himself.

  “Are you okay?” Drawn to him, I inched closer. Somewhere between you’re out early and girlie stuff, it dawned on me that he knew when church ended. Meaning he’d paid attention. Meaning he’d maybe, possibly, although I couldn’t understand why, timed his run so that he would bump into me again after the service ended.

  “Me?” He smirked. “Yeah. Fine. Fine.” Hands shoved deep inside the front pocket of his pullover, legs set at a wide stance, head cocked slightly to the side, he asked, “Why aren’t you taking the bus today?”

  The heat of his gaze burrowed straight through me, striking body parts unfamiliar with that level of burn. I trembled, my nerves under rapid fire.

  Above his head, a squirrel ran across the telephone wire, giving me an excellent excuse to avoid the weight of his stare. “I needed to walk.”

  “With no coat, again,” he said, looking over his shoulder, no doubt to see what had caught my attention.

  “Oh, yeah. Forgot to grab it this morning.”

  “I’ll walk with you.” Tito turned and nudged me with his elbow. “I’m not much in the mood for a run today.”

  That small, thoughtless gesture, that tiny nudge made ridiculous things happen to my insides. Everything encased inside my skin started to buzz like I had been a house with no electricity, sitting in the dark, cold and quiet, and my power had just been restored.

  Tito flipped the switch.

  Even though he scared me, I didn’t fear for my safety. He scared me because Tito seemed the type of person that would challenge me, rile me to the core, and I would either shrivel and die under the pressure, or grow wings and soar. He terrified me because, for some odd reason, Tito felt like a test.

  A life lesson I didn’t want to fail.

  I’d failed miserably.

  The prior evening, and again that morning, I’d convinced myself to stay away from Tuuli. Talked myself out of running the route that led past the church or timing my strides to happen by as she headed to the bus stop.

  Somewhere along the line, however, my head and feet suffered a major miscommunication, and my legs led me straight to where I knew she would be.

  Hell wasn’t hot enough for bastards like me.

  “Are you cold?” I asked, lifting the bottom hem of my sweatshirt, preparing to offer the tiny girl a shield against the biting wind.

  “No. I’m good. Thanks, though.” She grabbed my wrist and stopped me from undressing.

  Fuck. Those cold, small fingers seared my skin.

  “Why’d you leave early?”

  “Hmm…Truth?” She turned her palms face up and studied the pink skin.

  “Yeah. Truth.”

  Tuuli stopped and faced me, arms dropped to her sides. “Sometimes, I don’t feel worthy of being in church. Sometimes, I feel like bad things are squeezing my heart so tight it’s going to implode, create a black hole, and suck everybody in.”

  Her confession struck me hard, a lightning bolt searing my insides from head to heart to gut. I related, too well.

  “That’s dark.” I had nothing more to offer, other than truths that would scare her.

  She started to walk again, her usual bouncy sway missing from her strides. “My turn for a question.”

  “That’s fair, I suppose.”

  “Were you coming to meet me?”

  Her bold inquiry caught me off guard. Before thinking, before taking a breath to come up with a convincing lie, I confessed, “Yes.”

  “Why?” she asked, gaze to the ground, windblown hair hiding her features.

  “That’s two questions. It’s my turn.”

  “Fine,” she laughed. “If that’s how you wanna play it.”

  I didn’t want to play at all. She was a child. That simple fact should’ve stopped me from asking, “That guy from the other night. He your boyfriend?”

  “Umm.” She opened her mouth to speak, shook her head, then mumbled, “It’s complicated.”

  “It’s not a complicated question. The answer is either yes or no.”

  “No.”

  Good. “But he used to be?”

  “That’s two questions. It’s my turn.”

  I expected her to ask again why I’d come to meet her. She didn’t.

  “How’d you get the scar?” She raised a finger and tapped on her temple.

  My hand lifted, a defense mechanism, and I tugged the hood of my sweatshirt further over my face. “House fire.”

  “You were inside the house?”

  I wasn’t going there. Ever. Not with Tuuli, not with anybody. “That’s two questions. My turn.”

  We continued with the back and forth, keeping it light with surface level probes. Worked for me. I sensed her secrets were locked as tight as mine.

  Two blocks away from The Stop, Tuuli threw me for a loop when she asked, “Why no girlfriend?” And then added, “Someone as hot as you should have girls lined up for miles.”

  She thought I was hot. Fuck. I was fucked.

  “It’s complicated.” Knowing that answer wasn’t sufficient to warn her off, I further explained, “I’m complicated. Don’t do relationships.”

  “Oh.” She dropped her gaze back to the ground, where it stayed until we entered the diner.

  Tuuli beelined for the back room, but not before mumbling over her shoulder, “Thanks for walking me to work, Grim.”

  Grim? I shook off the weird vibes plucking my nerves and headed for home, dead set on a shower, where I definitely would not be jerking off to the mental image of Tuuli, the forbidden fruit.

  I cussed under my breath. Who was I kidding? I wouldn’t be able to think straight until I jerked off thinking about Tuuli.

  Tomorrow was another day.

  Tomorrow, I would stay away from her.

  Today? Epic failure.

  I’d failed miserably at hiding my blush when Tito came to the diner for his evening meal. Fortunately, he hadn’t looked at me once, not even to recite his dinner order. Unfortunately, his lack of common courtesy had my guts twisted in knots.

  Since our morning game of twenty questions, I’d battled unease, my heart thumping two beats behind pace. He had come to meet me at church, on purpose, but then he’d warned me away. I didn’t understand. The man was so confusing. Brooding and closed-off one minute, over-concerned and protective the next.

  The burn of bleach stung my eyes as I wiped down the table next to Tito. I sucked up my insecurities and spoke first, asking why he hadn’t touched his club sandwich.

  His gaze sliced to mine, features set hard. “Not feeling it today, kiddo.”

  Kiddo. Ouch. You didn’t call someone you were attracted to kiddo. How stupid I’d been. Wishful thinking was a fool’s luxury. I hated being a girl sometimes.

  The cowbell jingled, announcing new customers. I knew the voices without having to look. The group of college boys came in for breakfast once a week, usually on Monday mornings, and always hungover. Judging by the volume of their speech and the obscenities they spewed, tomorrow would be no exception.

  I did my best to encourage them to the far corner of the diner, where they wouldn’t disturb our other guests, but they insisted on sitting in my section, therefore, taking the table next to Tito.

  I took their drink orders, ignoring the lewd remarks about my blonde hair and perfect tits, and managed to evade a wandering hand aimed for my butt.

  My cheeks burned. Partly because of my crude admirers, but mostly because Tito had to bear witness. He still hadn’t looked at me. I knew because I checked every five seconds.

  I brought their drinks, and with a fake smile, patiently took their orders in-between blatant advances. Wasn’t the first time I’d dealt with assholes, inebriated or otherwise. Wouldn’t be the last.

  I scribbled the last order and headed to the kitchen, for a breather, and a minute to gather my wits.<
br />
  “Toodaloo!” Charlie shouted over his shoulder. “How’s it goin’ out there?

  “Good, Charlie. Except for the frat boys at table three.”

  He dropped the fry basket into the oil, then turned to face me. “Want me to take that table?”

  Charlie, bless his heart, never failed to step in when a customer made any of us feel uncomfortable.

  “No. I’ve got it under control.” I’d dealt with worse, much worse. Erik, for example.

  Charlie gawked through the service window. His whole body jiggled with his chuckle. “Looks to me like Moretti has it handled.”

  “What?” I screeched, sidling up to the chef and rising on my tiptoes to see over the ledge.

  Sure enough, Tito, still hooded, sat next to the guy with the wandering hand. His two buddies shifted nervously in their seats, faces pale. They started to scoot from the table. Tito halted their escape by slapping a hand on one of their wrists. Both pulled a wad of cash out of their pockets, dropped it on the table, and scurried out of the diner, leaving their friend behind.

  Charlie grabbed their order and tore it into pieces, huffed, then mumbled, “That’s my boy,” before heading back to the fryer.

  Tito scooted from the table, waited for the third drunk to slide free, patted him on the shoulder, and waited for the guy to make his exit. Then, as if nothing had happened, he returned to his seat, picked up his sandwich, and started to eat.

  I didn’t know if ovaries could explode, but I was pretty sure mine had detonated.

  When I loosened my grip on the counter, dropped my heels to the ground, and turned around, Slade stood behind me, arms folded, her electric smile lighting the room.

  “Whatcha looking at?” she asked, fully aware of who I’d been spying on.

  “Oh. Um. Sorry. I was just taking a quick break.” I tried to scoot around her, but she stepped to the left, blocking my direct path to the door.

  My face heated a thousand degrees, and I resisted the urge to flee.

  “I have a feeling those jerks won’t be back. As in…ever.”

  She’d seen the whole thing.

  Charlie laughed. “Tito probably scared them straight out of town.”