To say business is slow is an understatement. I head back up to the front counter where the register is. I push aside some of the paperwork I'll have to go through later (since Mr. Frank is so behind on it) and set up my Mac to edit some of the photos I took last week. I mainly shoot still life––so, no people––which is ironic since I'm working at a place that frames mostly family photos, and only attempts to sell artwork.
The good thing about Cayden Springs is that it's incredibly beautiful. Since I shoot nature, there is always something to photograph at any time and place. As a photographer, I really couldn't ask for a better place to live. I like Portland but my heart will always be here. I'm not a rock climber, or avid hiker, or skier, or anything like that but being in the middle of nature when I'm shooting is an indescribable feeling. One that I would never ever give up if my life depended on it. It truly feeds my soul.
Hours later, my head shoots up at the sound of the bells jingling on the front door. I must have fallen asleep while editing. It happens sometimes. I don't have the best eyes, and I wear glasses, so editing or looking at my computer in general can strain my eyes. Eventually keeping them open hurts too much. Taking photos isn't the easiest thing either, especially because I hate wearing contacts. I manage though and try not to let it get to me. Like I said, photography is my passion, and I would never give it up no matter how much my eyes ache at the end of the day.
"Hi, Mrs. Jacobson. How are you today?" I greet her, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand to make sure I didn't drool at all. I should be more embarrassed or concerned that she caught me sleeping but I'm not. She’s our regular customer and an art lover. I have incredible respect for her. She’s the sweetest older woman I know and her presence lights up the room.
"Hi, Amelia. Did you have a good nap?" She asks, smiling. Okay, maybe I am a little embarrassed. My cheeks turn pink and I grin sheepishly. "Is the framing finished for the painting I brought in last week?"
"It is! Let me go grab it. I wrapped it up for you yesterday so it's good to go."
"Oh, wonderful! I can't wait to see it."
I walk to the back of the store and grab the large wrapped frame. "Here it is, Mrs. Jacobson. I think you'll be very pleased. The frame you picked out goes with the painting perfectly." When I get back to her she's taken her coat off to reveal a plum colored cashmere sweater. Mrs. Jacobson is one of the wealthier people in town. She's adorned in gold and diamonds. Even today on this rainy day she is wearing her ridiculously large diamond wedding ring even though she’s widowed, a gold tennis bracelet, a gold and ruby ring with a matching necklace, and diamond earrings to top it all off.
Part of me wonders what it would be like to have that much money lying around. We're not poor but my mom works for the church and my dad is an accountant. My mom essentially works for Josh's tuition and I pay my tuition at UP with student loans and a few small scholarships. I can't even imagine what it would be like to be able to go to school without loans like I'm sure Mrs. Jacobson's kids did. A pang of jealousy hits my chest.
"Honey, do you think I could see it before I leave? I'm sure it looks great but I'm just too excited. Is it too troublesome for you to unwrap it and the wrap it back up for me?" She holds her hands clasped together up by her heart and has a pleading look in her eyes. It's cute because even if she was a total bitch or something, I wouldn't say no. After all, this is my job and in general, I'm not a person that can say "no" easily.
"Of course, Mrs. Jacobson! It's no problem at all." I find the scissors in the heap of crap on the counter, cut the twine, and then rip the brown paper off revealing a stunning work of art.
She gasps and grabs her heart. "Wow, it's even more beautiful than the last time I saw it. It is incredible isn't it?" I nod my head. "The way she blended the colors of the mountains and trees..." she pauses for a moment in admiration. "She painted this exactly how I wanted and right from the view of one of our upstairs balconies."
One of their upstairs balconies.
I have to physically stop myself from sighing in part from envy and in part from the profound sorrow that I'll never know what having multiple upstairs balconies would be like. I shake it off. I try really hard not to care about financial matters. "Emmy is an incredible artist. She's going to be famous one day."
"Oh, you know Emerald?" She looks up at me with twinkling eyes. I nod.
"Yes, we went to Mount St. Mary's together but she was a year older. We were on Student Council together. She's the nicest person I think I’ve ever met. I haven't talked to her in a long time though."
"She is truly incredible. And so are you. Fantastic job on the framing, it's flawless."
I don't have the heart to tell her Mr. Frank did the framing. At this point the only thing I've done is wrap it. She releases the painting, and I take it back to the framing counter in the back of the store. After a few minutes of wrapping it twice (since it's raining) I take it back up to the front of the store. "Here it is," I announce. She jumps and I notice that she's looking at my computer. My heart goes into overdrive.
My photographs.
It's not that I don't want people to see my work––I mean, obviously, photos are taken so they can be seen and remembered––but those photos on my computer aren't edited and I've never shown my photos to anyone other than my close friends, family and classmates. Mrs. Jacobson obviously has an eye for art, and if she doesn't like my work, well...I would be a little hurt.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to look! It was just open and I caught a glimpse and I couldn't help myself from looking at a few more." Her cheeks are pink and mine are too, now that I know she didn't just see one photo, but has looked through multiple unedited photos.
"It's okay, don't worry about it." I set the painting down and try to calm my racing heart. I move behind the counter to ring her up. She hands me her credit card, avoiding all eye contact. Or maybe it's me avoiding eye contact. Either way, there's no eye contact happening. I do my best to pretend like the whole thing never happened. I slap a grin on my face and ask, "Would you like me to help carry this to your car?"
She looks at my guiltily for some reason. "Yes, I do actually need your help. I know it's raining but I had to park up the street and with my purse, and umbrella, and this..." she gestured to the painting.
"It's okay, really, I don't mind. I've wrapped it twice, too, to make it sure it doesn't get wet at all. The paper is thick so it shouldn't soak through." I walk around the counter as she puts her jacket back on.
"Thank you so much, Amelia. You're such a kind girl."
I grin and grab my coat off the coat rack. As soon as she's all set to leave I grab the painting and follow her out. It's not pouring but it's a decent rain. I follow quickly behind her as we walk up the street to her car. Once we reach her SUV she opens the trunk and I lift the painting in and lay it down so it's safe for her drive home. When she closes the trunk she smiles at me, and shoves something in the pocket of my raincoat.
"Thank you, dear. Let me have a look at those photos when you're done editing them, won’t you? I would love to buy one. You're a talented young woman."
I smile at her, and nod my head. "Thank you, Mrs. Jacobson. Drive safely!" She gives a final wave before hopping in her car and driving away.
I turn to jog back to the store since I don't have an umbrella, and all I have is my little raincoat whose hood keeps falling down. As I turn, I lose my balance and slip off the high curb and land in stream of water flowing down the gutter. A shooting pain rips through my ankle. I bellow loudly and grab it. I’m so preoccupied with he searing pain, that I’m oblivious to my surroundings. I finally look up just as a passing motorcycle sends a huge wave of dirty rain water directly into me.
I choke and spit out the most foul-tasting thing that's ever been in my mouth. My long brown hair is now plastered to my face and my entire body completely soaked. The wave of water even shot down the neck of my raincoat so my shirt is wet, too. I attempt to get up, but another sharp pain radiates throu
gh my ankle. I manage to get onto my hands and knees but before I can devise a clear plan on how I'm going to get back to the store, a voice interrupts me.
3
–– Todd ––
"Hey, are you okay?" I look down at the very sad and pathetic looking girl in the gutter. I saw at the last minute that she was in the path of the huge spray of water from my bike. I wasn't going to stop, but I felt guilty as hell...and concerned as to what she was doing in the gutter in the first place. I had to stop. Even I'm not that much of an asshole. I don't think so, anyway.
She looks up at me startled and I can't tell if she's crying or not, because she's completely soaked and looks like a wet beaver. She also has on those obnoxious black-rimmed hipster glasses. I'm sure she's a newbie in town, probably moved down from Portland. She squeezes her eyes and her shoulders start to shake. Great. I made her cry. I don't think I've ever made a girl cry, much less a complete stranger. I squat down to talk to her. "What's wrong?" She looks up at me with the biggest, saddest brown eyes I've ever seen. She wails and starts sobbing again.
Oookay.
Annoyed, I sigh and put a hand on her shoulder. She jumps and then turns stiff. "Are you hurt?" I ask less than gently. She nods her head.
Okay, progress.
"Is it your foot?" She nods. "I'm going to help you up, okay?" She nods again. If she doesn't use her words soon I might have to just leave her here. I reach under her arms and I'm surprised she even lets me considering her entire body is stiff, and I'm not even sure if she's breathing anymore. I'm used to women acting many ways around me, especially while I'm touching them, but stand-off-ish isn't one of them. I manage to get her standing, and I notice she's holding the weight off of her left ankle.
"Is this your car?" I ask, pointing to the dark blue Honda in front of us. She shakes her head. "Look, if you want my help then you're going to have to tell me what's going on." She looks down and nods. I still have my arm around her shoulder to make sure she doesn't fall, and I can feel her take a deep breath before looking up at me. Her glasses are riddled with water and mud droplets. No wonder she’s hesitant toward me. I'm surprised she can even see me.
"No. I'm working. I need to get to that shop." She points to the sign up the street that hangs over the sidewalk.
"Jimmy Frank's Framing and Photography? I didn't know that place was still open. Okay, here we go." I lift her arm over my shoulder, and grab her right side. She sucks in a sharp inhale of air––now that's the reaction I'm used to having on women. Part of me wants to be smug and grin, but this chick is so depressing, shy, and...just pathetic that I couldn't have any sexual feelings if I tried. And that's a first for me.
I lift her up on the sidewalk and we make it a few feet before I decide this isn't working. If she hobbles all the way back it will take us an hour to get back to the store, and I know we're both already soaked but it's still raining and I don't want to be getting rained on any more than necessary.
"This isn't working."
She looks up at me confused. I bend down and sweep her legs out from under her. She instinctively wraps her arms around my neck. I never wanted to be a firefighter, but I'm pretty proud at this moment for stopping, helping this girl and now carrying her firefighter style back to her work. Even if it is my fault that she looks like a wet beaver.
I finally get her inside the store, and set her down on her one good leg. We’re both dripping water on the large mat just inside the door. She takes her raincoat off, and hangs it on the rack by the door white I look around the store. Everything about it is old and depressing. We're both silent, and I'm not really sure what I'm waiting for but feels like I'm supposed to wait, so I do.
She puts her hands on her hips and turns to me. I run a hand through my hair and squeeze out the excess water. Our eyes meet and she looks...pissed.
"Why were you driving like a maniac on your motorcycle?" She snaps at me. My eyes practically jump out of my head, and my jaw goes to floor. She has to be kidding.
"Are you kidding me? A 'thank you' would be nice. Besides, I wasn't 'driving like a maniac,’" I say mimicking her angry high-pitched voice. I expect her to recoil, but she doesn't.
"I wouldn't be in this mess if you hadn’t sent that huge splash that doused me in muddy, nasty rain water!"
"Hey, you were already crawling around in the gutter when I splashed you," I counter, now copying her stance with my hands on my hips.
"So you admit to splashing me on purpose?"
"What? No. It was an accident!" I have no idea what this chick's problem is but she has no right yelling at me after I just saved her life. Okay, so maybe I didn't save her life but how else was she supposed to get out of that gutter and back to this vintage store? "I've just spent, what? Fifteen minutes helping you, and you're not even going to say thanks?" I return the fire in her eyes with more fire. She is unbelievable.
"You shouldn't be driving like that! Look at me! I'm a disgusting mess, and now I'm going to have to close down early and pray that Mr. Frank doesn't find out!"
She is a disgusting mess, but something tells me that was the case even before she was soaked. I want to tell her this, but I also like having my balls intact.
"Yeah," I nod my head vigorously, "you are a disgusting mess, and I just carried you all the way here, and I don't know if you noticed, but thanks to you, now I'm a disgusting mess too." I wave my hand in front of my body showcasing all the dirt and mud on my jeans, leather jacket, and my white shirt. "Who cares about this place closing early? When is the last time you even had a customer?"
"For your information, I just had one! I was helping her load artwork in her car," she hastily takes off her glasses, and wipes them against her soaking shirt but when she puts them back on it’s obvious all that did was make her glasses completely blurry.
"You are being a bit petty, don’t you think?" I tell her in a calm voice. Her eyes somehow double in size, and then narrow to slits. I almost reach down to cover my balls, but she yells before I have a chance to.
"You are such an asshole, Todd! Get out!" She screams, and points at the door we're still standing in front of.
"Yeah, no problem, sweet cheeks," I snap at her. She hobbles forward like she wants to push me, but I'm already out the door before she can get a hand on me. Un-fucking-believable. People are so ungrateful these days. I know I got her wet, but it was an accident! The first, and only time I've regretted getting a woman wet.
I brood all the way back to my bike up the street, and it's not until I throw my helmet on, still reeling at this chick shouting at me for something I did on accident, that I realize she called me by my name. She somehow knows me, but who the hell is she?
I get home, and immediately tune out Al who starts bitching about some cable bill that needs to be paid or he won't be able to watch some fight that's on tomorrow. He waves the bill in my face. I snatch it, and push my way past him without saying anything. Living with Al has taught me patience. I have to chuckle, because I could've sworn the fat bastard never taught me a damn thing. He was as worthless when I was growing up as he is now as an old man. Okay, maybe that’s a little harsh, but whatever.
I have to literally strip down naked in the shower to the mud washes off my clothes. Sweet Cheeks is responsible for getting me unforgivably dirty but, truthfully, I would've been a mess anyway. Until my car is ready to drive I'm stuck riding my bike around, even in the rain, and it's been raining nearly every day. I think I'll go pull a late night working on the car after I go bang whats-her-name. I freeze for a moment in the shower trying to remember her name.
...Becky!
I continue to lather up, wipe the dirt off myself and my clothes as much as possible. What a disaster. Sweet Cheeks didn't look more than eighteen. For all I know she could've been in high school still. High school...I went to Mount St. Mary's on a lacrosse scholarship. If that girl is eighteen, she could know me from school...a Freshman when I was a Senior maybe. I was even more of a partier back then, so it wouldn
't be so surprising if that's how she knew me. If she was a Freshman then it would make sense that I wouldn't know her. I grunt remembering her stupid hipster glasses. They probably weren't even real. Whatever. As long as I never have to go into Mr. Frank's Framing and Photography Studio, I'll never have to see her again. This town is small, but if I never saw her before now it's possible I won't see her again.
One can only hope.
I roll off of Becky, and her big, fake tits jiggle as I do. Burying myself in her was exactly what I needed after this weird day. I don't hesitate for more than a few seconds before getting up off the bed.
"I gotta shower and get out of here," I tell her.
"You're not even going to stay for dinner?" She pouts. I knew she was going to try and get me to stay and buy her dinner.
"No, I need to go work on my car. It'll be a late night." I gather my clothes and head for the shower.
"That's okay! Come back over when you're done. I'll be up!" She shouts after me.
Wrong Place, Right Time Page 2