by Kira Blakely
I already have the safety pins Mattie gave me in my purse and some tape in case I need to do any temporary fixes.
I’m not taking any chances.
I head over to the convenience store. Moments later, I come out.
Now, I’m ready.
I cross the street and start walking. The art gallery isn’t far away and I still have — I glance at my watch — thirty-three minutes. Enough time to look at some paintings while waiting for my date.
Excited, but trying to keep myself calm, I put one foot in front of the other, “The Greatest” by Sia playing in my head.
Suddenly, the music screeches to a stop and so do I, a familiar sight coming into view across the street.
A pickup truck parked in front of a café.
Not just any pickup truck.
Rusty red. A faded bumper sticker saying Born To Be Wild above the dent.
A dent caused by the fence one stormy night.
The fence on the farm back home.
Yup, I know that truck. There’s only one of its kind in the world.
My brother’s truck.
The question is: What is it doing here in New York City?
I cross the street to investigate, peeking inside the café, my eyes growing wide as I recognize the couple sitting near the counter. The woman is in her mid-50s with graying hair and glasses, the man in his early 60s, his hair bald and his mustache white, his worn brown leather jacket the same one he’s been wearing for the past twenty years.
Alice and Charlie Willis, my parents.
What are they doing here?
They haven’t noticed me. They’re busy talking to someone. A man in his forties with black hair.
I’ve never seen him before.
Well, at least, my dad is talking. My mom’s quiet as usual. She always looks so small and timid beside my stocky, loud father.
She seems more timid than usual, though, her shoulders slumped as if she’s trying to make herself disappear, as if she doesn’t really want to be there.
She seems nervous, too, her hands twisting the hem of her shirt.
But why?
Who are they talking to? Why are they here? Why didn’t they tell me they’d be here?
They usually call when they come to town.
Unless… they don’t want to see me? Why wouldn’t they? I’m the only child they have left — the only family they have left, in fact. And the last time we spoke on the phone, everything was fine.
There shouldn’t be a reason why they don’t want to see me.
There’s one more thing bothering me.
Why did they drive my brother’s pickup truck? My Dad hates driving that thing. And he hasn’t touched it — no one has — since Jack died.
Something isn’t right. And I have to find out what.
I enter the café, and as soon as my mother’s eyes meet mine, hers wide and full of anxiety, my suspicion is confirmed.
Something’s wrong.
“What’s going on here?” I ask as I approach the table.
Mom stands up and gives me a hug. “Oh, sweetheart, what a surprise.”
“What are you doing here?” my father asks grumpily.
He’s only grumpy when the Yankees lose. Or he’s hiding something.
“I live here, Dad,” I tell him, eyeing the envelope in his hand. “Have you forgotten?”
“Shouldn’t you be at work?” he asks.
Shouldn’t you be in Rumney? I want to ask.
“We were gonna call you, but we didn’t want to disturb you,” my mother says, stroking my cheek. “Oh, you look so beautiful.”
She’s trying to butter me up, which means Dad’s done something I don’t like.
And I already have a feeling what it is.
“Dad, why is Jack’s pickup truck in front?”
“What pickup truck?”
“You know very well what I’m talking about. Rusty Red. With a dent.”
“Oh, that dent can be fixed easily,” the stranger at the table says. “After that, all it needs is a new coat of paint and it will be as good as new.”
I look at him. “I’m sorry. I’m Samantha Willis, their daughter. You are?”
“George Harding.” He shakes my hand. “I contacted your father a few days ago about a pickup truck he was selling, and I asked him to bring it here so I could buy it. It looks better than I thought.”
I freeze. So, it’s true. I had a feeling that was it.
“Dad?” I look at my father, my voice trembling. “You sold Jack’s truck?”
“I’m sorry,” George says. “But who’s Jack?”
“My older brother,” I answer. “He died a few years ago.”
“Oh.” George looks sorry he asked.
“That’s right,” my father says. “He died. So, he’s not gonna need that truck anymore, is he?”
I can’t speak. I can’t breathe, tears pooling in my eyes. How dare he say that? How dare he raise his voice at me in a public place when he hasn’t done it since I was five?
“Sam…” I feel my mother’s hands on my shoulders.
They’re not comforting. They’re restraining, knowing I’m about to burst.
“And you know I can’t drive that thing,” my father goes on. “And neither can you.”
“Things have been tough on the farm, Sam,” my mother adds softly. “We still haven’t recovered from that storm last year, and then the pigs got a respiratory infection a few months ago. We need the money.”
“You could have at least told me,” I say. “You know I would have done anything just so we wouldn’t have to sell Jack’s truck.”
“That’s why we didn’t tell you.” My mother rubs my arms. “We didn’t want to bother you.”
“I would rather you bothered me instead of hurting me like this.” Tears trickle down my cheeks. “How could you think of selling Jack’s truck without letting me know, knowing that I’d be devastated?”
“That’s exactly why we didn’t tell you, damn it.” My father raises his voice, causing a few heads to turn. “I knew you were gonna cry and put up a fuss. You’re not a little girl anymore. Grow up.”
Mom moves behind him. “Charlie…”
Dad looks at me. “Jack’s dead. There’s nothing you can do about it. So just fucking move on, all right?”
For a moment, I don’t move. I can’t. I’m so shocked by my father’s behavior, I can barely breathe.
When the shock fades, the pain sets in. Then the anger.
“I don’t expect you to understand, Dad. After all, you’re not his little sister. Yes, he was your son, but he’s been long dead to you, hasn’t he? Ever since he decided to live his life as his own and not how you wanted him to.”
My mother comes over to me. “Sam…”
I shrug off her hand, my gaze, blurred with tears, still on my dad.
“It may just be a truck to you, but for me, it stands for so much, for everything he loved. And that can’t be measured in money. And you know what else can’t be measured in money, Dad? The love and respect of your daughter. And now, you’ve lost it, too.”
I turn on my heel, leaving. I ignore my Mom calling after me, knowing she wants to come after me but can’t because she has to stay by my father’s side. And I ignore the people in the café whose stares are stabbing my back like daggers.
I don’t care. I don’t care anymore.
Chapter 6
Captured
I only start caring again an hour later.
By then, it’s dark inside my apartment, the only illumination provided by the glow of the streetlamp slipping in through the cracks in the blinds.
I’m hungry.
And I’ve missed my date.
Nathan called me three times, but I didn’t answer any of them. He sent me a bunch of messages, too, mostly Where are you? and Are you okay? The last one was sent sixteen minutes ago.
He probably already gave up. Of course, he did.
I’ve lost my chance with him,
just another item added to the list of things I’ve lost.
“Meow.” Siberia rubs my leg then looks up at me with glowing brown eyes.
Probably, she’s been watching me the whole time, waiting for the right chance to approach me.
I pet her. “Sorry for all the drama.”
I turn on the lights, head to the bathroom and look at the mirror.
Well, so much for getting all dolled up. Now, my hair’s a mess, my eyes red and swollen, my makeup ruined.
Nothing I can do about that or about my missed date. I can, however, do something about my grumbling stomach.
Besides, food always makes you feel better.
I fix myself up as best as I can, put a sweater over my black dress, which is stained with tears by now, then head out. Maybe I should have changed, but I’m too tired right now. I’ll do it later after I’ve had my meal and before another shower.
As I walk, my hands tucked into the pockets of my sweater, I think of Jack.
He was my older brother, my only brother. Older by four years.
He always wanted to be a vet. He loved animals and told me all about them while we were growing up.
My dad wanted him to stay on the farm, to look after our animals. But he didn’t want to. Jack volunteered to be part of a mission to take care of endangered animals in Africa. Five years ago, he died there of malaria. We got the news through the mail then his ashes were shipped to us like some parcel.
I never got to say goodbye.
I am deep in my thoughts, because I don’t notice a car approaching until it’s right beside me, the door opening to let out its six-foot tall passenger in a gray coat.
“Nathan?”
I must be dreaming. Am I?
He grasps my arm. “I was worried about you. You didn’t answer my calls or messages.”
It is him, and I suddenly feel like throwing myself into his arms. I manage to hold myself back, though.
“How did you find me?”
“I asked around, found out where you lived, so I was on my way there when I saw you walking…” He pauses, lifting my chin. “Is something wrong?”
I look into his eyes. “I just… I’m sorry. Something… just came up and I—”
“It’s okay.” He grabs my hand. “You can tell me all about it over dinner. We should still have our reservations. How does that sound?”
I nod. “It sounds perfect.”
***
“So, you were on your way to the gallery when you saw your parents here in town, and you found out they were selling your brother’s old pickup truck?” Nathan asks after I finish telling him the story.
“In a nutshell, that’s it.” I pop a morsel of grilled shrimp inside my mouth.
The food in the restaurant is exquisite just like the ambience, the music of violins in the air and the old-fashioned lanterns with warm white bulbs on the wall and every table.
“Wow.” He picks up his glass of wine. “That’s a cruel trick of fate.”
“I know, right? I mean, of all the places to find a buyer, they had to find one here in New York City. And I happen to stumble across the very café they’re making the sale in just as they’re doing it. What are the chances?”
His gaze hovers over me as he takes a sip. “Well, fate works in mysterious ways.”
Why do I feel like he’s talking about something else?
I have to agree, though, after what happened today — first, that squabble with my parents and then Nathan finding me.
I still can’t believe he found me. I guess he’s really interested in me. My heart does a somersault, warmth swelling in my chest and coating my cheeks. Consciously, I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear as I reach for my own glass.
“I was just so upset. I couldn’t believe they’d do that. And they were even trying to do it behind my back.”
Thankfully, he’s gone back to eating. “If no one knows, no one can protest. It’s smart, actually.”
I’ve forgotten I’m talking to a businessman. For sure, he didn’t get this successful by playing nice.
“It hurts,” I tell him in a no-nonsense tone. “I feel so betrayed.”
He nods, his eyes shining with empathy. “I can imagine.”
“It’s no excuse for me to just leave you hanging, though. I’m really sorry.”
“Hey.” He puts down his utensils and reaches for my hand. “Don’t mention it.”
I nod, reluctantly pulling my hand away so I can continue eating. “I actually thought you’d gone and called up one of the women in your contacts.”
“There are no other women in my contacts.”
Really?
“Even if there were, none of them can hold a candle to you.”
My breath catches.
“I mean, none of them would have looked as good in a torn dress as you did.”
My eyebrows furrow.
“And none of them would still look as good with a bit of shrimp.” He wipes the corner of my mouth with his thumb then sucks on it.
I hold my breath. His gesture is simple and innocent, and yet it turns the warmth in my body into heat, my mind conjuring an image of him sucking on something else.
He smacks his lips. “That tastes good.”
I blush even more furiously.
“Also, no one looks as good with puffy eyes.”
I pout. “You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?”
“It’s a compliment.”
“How would you feel if I said you still looked good with something stuck between your teeth?”
Nathan gives a puzzled look as he curls his lips. “Is something stuck between my teeth?”
I laugh as I grab my glass of wine. “I’m not telling.”
“Meanie.”
“I’m still not telling.”
“Though I’m glad to hear you laugh. Earlier, you looked… well, dejected.”
I set down my glass. “It hurt to find out they were getting rid of Jack’s truck.”
“You must have loved your brother so much.”
“Just as much as every little girl loves her big brother. Do you have a younger sister?”
“No. I was an only child.”
“If you had a younger sister, though, I bet you’d be spoiling her rotten by now. I bet she’d just say ‘please’ once and you’d do whatever she asked.”
He frowns. “Do I look like I can be easily made to do a girl’s bidding?”
“Not a girl. Your little sister.”
He shrugs. “Maybe she’d be the one at my beck and call instead.”
I can imagine that. A little girl running to fulfill her brother’s every whim, eager to please him.
“Then I’m glad I’m not your little sister.”
“So am I. If you were my little sister, I wouldn’t have been able to kiss you like I did last night. And the night before.”
The confession sends heat and electricity tingling through my veins, even more so when I see the look in his eyes.
Heat. Hunger. Desire.
It’s enough to make me shudder with excitement, enough to make me wet, but I get a hold of myself.
“Anyway, my older brother was the sweetest. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for me, from finishing my vegetables even though he hated them more than I did, to dressing up like a girl just so I could have another princess to play with. But my favorite part was when he’d tell me all about the different animals. He knew so much about them. Sometimes, he’d make up stories about them. Even when he went to Africa, he’d still write and tell me about the animals he’d see. He sent me pictures, too, which is what made me even more determined to become a wildlife photographer. I couldn’t wait to get his letters, and whenever I did, I’d light up like a kid on Christmas morning.”
“I’m jealous.”
I look down at my plate, finishing the last of my grilled shrimp. “You don’t have to be.”
“I can be crazy sometimes, wild even.” His eyes narrow. “Would you like to see
how wild I can be?”
I pause with my fingers wrapped around my glass of wine. My heart seems to have stopped as well.
“I’m scaring you, aren’t I?” He gulps down the last of his wine. “Just forget about it.”
What? He isn’t serious?
I, too, finish my wine, letting the liquid wash down my mixed emotions — relief at the reprieve I’ve been given contrasting with annoyance and a bit of remorse at the withdrawn invitation.
“Are you done? If you want, we can stroll for a bit. They have lovely gardens here.”
“Sure.”
I get the feeling we both need some fresh, cool air.
***
“So, every time you cover a party, you imagine the guests are animals?” Nathan chuckles, walking slightly ahead of me with his hands in the pockets of his pants. “I’ve heard of some people pretending everyone in the conference room are potatoes so they don’t get so nervous giving their sales pitch, but a photographer imagining people as animals?”
“What?” I kick a fallen leaf aside. “It makes it more interesting.”
“Okay.” He turns around, walking backward. “So, what exactly is Helena Goodwin?”
I grin. “Do you want to guess?”
Nathan touches his chin. “A camel?”
“A camel?”
“Because she’s got fake eyelashes.”
“How would you know that?”
“Let’s just say female anatomy is one of my many areas of expertise.”
Okay. And why did I just get an image of him with a naked woman when he said that?
“Plus, she drinks a lot.”
“That she does,” I agree. “I think a camel describes her well, though I initially thought of her as a hyena.”
“A hyena. Why?”
“You know. She’s always looking for the weakest member of the herd, someone to pick on. Plus, she has a loud, annoying laugh.”
“Ah, yes. A camel and a hyena.”
I try to imagine the two animals combined but can’t, ending up laughing.
“What about me?” Nathan asks, facing forward again. “What animal do you think best describes me?”