by Claire Cook
B.J. and I had spent the morning making a tour of galleries and gift shops. We’d hit potential pay dirt at one, a funky little store right near the main fishing docks. The owner took the box spring ladies on consignment, and even said she’d do her best to keep them together.
“Good french fries,” I said.
Finn nodded and popped another Advil. His golf shirt collar was sticking up on one side. He had little marks under the thinning hair on his head that looked like they’d been made by a sewing machine. Hair Plugs in Sunlight popped into my head, as if he were a sculpture.
I watched him wash the Advil down with a loud gulp of iced coffee.
He cleared his throat. “So then I told him if you’re going to jerk me around like that, forget about it. You can take your friggin’ promotion and put it where the sun don’t shine.”
I reached for another french fry. “Wow, just like that, huh.”
“You bet your sweet bippy.”
“Aww. I forgot about that expression. Laugh-In, right? Not that we’re old enough to remember that show.”
He shrugged.
“I know it’s a long time ago,” I said, “but I’m sorry I hurt you back in high school. You were really nice to me and you didn’t deserve it.”
“Yeah, you were a total bitch. Those Leon Russell tickets weren’t cheap, you know. Hey, so what was it you do again? Didn’t I read something about Dubai? How’s the weather over there?”
I smiled. “I’ve never actually been to Dubai. I think B.J. may have embellished my profile. I’m a metal sculptor.”
“Huh. Where do you get the metal?”
“Well,” I said, “sometimes I buy it, but as often as I can I try to work with metal that I find. Junkyards and metal yards and even yard sales. I guess the buzzword is upcycle. You know, recycle into something more valuable.”
“Good money in that?”
“Well, it has its moments, but I’d have to say the rewards are more creative than monetary.”
He leaned forward over the table. “Copper.”
I waited for the rest of the sentence to arrive.
Finn chewed a piece of fried fish and grinned at the same time, not the sexiest of combinations.
“Excuse me?” I finally said.
He washed down his fish and swallowed. “Copper. It’s gone through the roof. So this is what you do: You hire a bunch of high school kids for cheap and get them to pick through the junkyards for the copper. Or maybe even get your hands on some free college interns.”
He shook the bottle of Advil and grinned.
“And?” I finally said, mostly to get him to stop shaking the Advil.
He looked over his shoulder. Apparently satisfied that there were no spies around, he leaned forward again.
“And then you sell it. You’ll make a bundle. And feel free to drop my ten percent in the mail.”
My cell phone rang and I grabbed for it like a life preserver.
“Good news or bad news?” B.J. said.
“Good would be nice,” I said. I aimed a fake smile at Finn, but he was busy spearing some more fish.
“I just grabbed Maria’s subs with a bunch of classmates who wouldn’t give us the time of day in high school, and now we’re on our way to play miniature golf. The good news is I left you the car keys in case you want to join us. Unless Finn turns into an overnight.’ ”
“Not a snowball’s chance in hell,” I said. “But thanks for the first part.”
“Okay, and Kurt called Tom at home to find out where we were staying, and I’d just talked to Tom and happened to mention where you were meeting your old friend Finn and I know, I know, it’s none of his business but he is my husband and we used to go to that fish-and-chips place together all the time when we were dating. And anyway, long story short—”
“Thanks for the heads-up.” I clicked the OFF button, tucked my phone back in my purse, and slung it over my shoulder.
I stood up as Kurt wove his way toward us through the picnic tables.
“Look who’s here,” I said. “What a nice surprise.”
Kurt stopped and looked over his shoulder.
I smiled at him encouragingly.
“Sit, sit,” I said when he got to the table. “Listen, why don’t you boys catch up while I hit the little girls’ room to powder my nose.”
Kurt gave me a funny look, as if he thought he might remember that I didn’t really talk like this, but couldn’t be sure.
I walked back into the restaurant and made a quick stop in the ladies’ room. Like everything else lately, the graffiti-covered stall brought me back to high school. WHO TOOK THE CHARMIN? I’M TOO SEXY FOR THIS PLACE. K.L. & B.H. FOREVER. FOR A GOOD TIME, CALL 1-800-CRISSY. WIPE FRONT TO BACK. HERE I SIT, BROKENHEARTED.
Here I sat, brokenhearted, too.
Wait. Actually, I was kind of relieved.
I’d foolishly pinned my hopes on a guy I had nothing in common with but high school math class a gazillion years ago. It would have been a great story if it had worked out, but the truth was I didn’t even like math. And I didn’t like Finn Miller any more the second time around.
I left the graffiti behind and gazed at myself in the mirror as I washed my hands. Under the harsh fluorescent lights, even with makeup I looked every bit my age. My eyes had crinkles around them and my face was heading south, along with the rest of me.
But I was too good for Kurt and I was too good for Finn Miller. B.J. was right—I’d been the only one who still had to believe it.
I believed it.
I found our waitress. “Excuse me,” I said, “but once I’m out of sight, would you mind telling those two guys over there that I got a better offer? On second thought, that’s kind of mean—maybe you should just say that something came up.”
She tilted her head to look, then grinned. “Are you telling me they’re both available?”
I grinned back, as if we’d gone to high school together. “They’re all yours, honey—take your pick. Oh, wait, neither of them lives around here.”
She rolled her eyes. “Tourists.”
As soon as I got back to the hotel room I called Veronica.
“Hey,” she said. “How was the reunion?”
“It totally sucked. Well, actually, ask me again in a few months. How’s Fawn?”
“She’s doing okay. Thanks for asking, and thanks again for last night. It meant a lot.”
I closed my eyes. “Listen, I’m sorry I’ve been a crappy friend all these years.”
“Life gets busy.”
“Yeah, but what would it have taken? I never even called you back the last time you called.”
“Don’t worry about it, Melanie. I get it.”
“Where in the South is Mark working?”
“Birmingham.”
“Seriously? That’s only about two and a half hours from my house. Well, with Atlanta traffic, you never know, but still. Anyway, maybe you and Fawn could come stay with me for a while. Mark is welcome, too—I have plenty of room. I was just thinking it might be good for you to have a change of pace, and for Fawn to have something to look forward to.”
“Are you sure? As you may have noticed, Fawn can be a little bit of a handful.”
“Of course I’m sure. I was thinking I could help her make some sculptures. Nothing dangerous—I’m thinking soda cans and a glue gun. Remember that awesome table I made with Tab cans junior year?”
“Like it was yesterday. Glass top with an empty space in the middle to hide things? I tried to copy you and make one, too, but it collapsed midway.”
“I’ll let you in on all my soda can sculpture secrets. And I think I might still have one of Trevor and Troy’s old Slip’n Slides, if it hasn’t sprung a leak yet. Maybe we could make a soda can obstacle course for Fawn to slide through.”
“She’d love that.”
“And I’d love to show you guys Atlanta. I actually kind of miss being there.”
After Veronica and I hung up, I called Marion
right away, before I could chicken out.
Four rings later she finally answered.
“Hello,” she said, as if Caller ID had never been invented and she had absolutely no idea who was calling.
“Hi,” I said. “It’s Melanie. Can I come over and talk to you for a few minutes?”
“Why? It’s not like I won’t see you in another ten years.”
“Please,” I said.
CHAPTER 40
Marion and I sat across the coffee table from each other in her stupid, stuffy formal living room, our hands folded in our laps. She didn’t even offer me a glass of water.
I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry that I flaked,” I said, the expression coming back to me across the years. “I’m sorry I bailed on you. I should have helped you more with Mom and Dad. I should have been a better sister. I should have been there for all of you. I put Kurt before everything and now I see that I screwed up.”
Marion looked at the empty space over my shoulder and shrugged.
“I can’t undo what I did,” I said.
“Or didn’t do,” she said.
“Or didn’t do. I understand that you might not forgive me and that’s your choice, but I apologize from the bottom of my heart.”
She made eye contact for the first time. “That’s it?”
I shrugged. “Well, unless you want to do a few shots of tequila.”
Her eyes teared up. “You think you can just apologize and it’ll all go away like it never happened?”
I bit my tongue so I wouldn’t take the bait. “I have no expectations. I just want you to know I’m sorry.”
We sat there, looking at each other.
“Was Mom afraid of driving on the highway when we were little?” I finally asked.
Marion shook her head. “Don’t you remember? She was afraid of everything. Highways, spiders, the basement. Sometimes it wouldn’t be that bad, but I remember once she barely left her room for almost a month. Dad and I had to do everything.”
“Wow. I mean, I kind of remember it, but I didn’t realize it was that bad.”
Marion leaned forward. “Why? Are you having symptoms?”
I shrugged. “They say the biggest thing to watch out for is the pattern of avoidance. Funny, kind of the story of my life.”
Marion didn’t say anything.
“How about you?” I finally said.
“Nothing. Not a thing.” She brushed her hands together and stood up. “Well, Jonathan and I have dinner plans tonight, so I need to jump in the shower.”
I stood up, too. “Well, thanks for letting me come over. And give my love to Jonathan and the girls.”
I reached over and gave her a hug. She may have hugged me back a little bit.
She didn’t walk me to the door, so I opened it myself.
“I love you,” I yelled.
I closed the door without waiting around to find out if she answered. Whether she did or not, I was going to call her in a week or two. And maybe some day I’d even cop to switching our jewelry boxes all those years ago.
It was a dorky thing to do, but I drove Mustang Sally to the beach and circled around a few times until I lucked out and scored a parking spot right across from the lighthouse that blinked 1–4–3.
Then I called Ted Brody again. He answered on the first ring.
“Hi,” I said, “it’s Melanie again. First of all, I want you to know that it is completely, one hundred percent over between my husband and me. That doesn’t guarantee that he won’t be a pain in the neck, but it’s the best I can do.”
“My daughters,” he said, “are a little bit overprotective.”
I rolled my window down so I could hear the sound of the waves breaking on the beach.
“The second thing is,” I said, “that I get lost in my work, a lot, but you could look at that as a good thing in a way, because half the time I don’t even notice when it’s the weekend anyway. But I have this weird highway driving phobia, and I’m working on it, but I feel that it’s only fair that I warn you I’ve got some issues.”
“I put garlic in everything I cook. Lots of it. So if you don’t love garlic, that could be a big issue. But you could look at it that it’s a good thing, because if you hang out with me, you will never, ever be bothered by vampires.”
“Are you making fun of me?”
“Wait. Sometimes I wake up with recipe ideas in the middle of the night. I can also be a little bit too obsessed with the Cooking Channel, but I learn something new every damn time I watch. And just to be upfront, if I ever get a chance to be on one of those shows, I’m going. It’s not that I don’t watch the occasional movie, but I have to admit I spend far too much time checking out the set design in the restaurant scenes and I’ve been known to miss the occasional plot point. And I have to tell you, I’m really digging the idea of those chalkboard bottles.”
I smiled. “The only thing I remember from the opening ceremonies of the London Olympics was how cool it was that they actually forged the first Olympic ring to show the industrial revolution, and then the other four rings dropped down from the sky. Oh, and all those lighted copper petals that rose up to become the Olympic flame. I stayed up half the night making my own petals.”
“Maybe we could work a few in with the fireflies.”
“And finally, what I need right now is a guy who has Mondays off and might be able to pick me up at the airport tomorrow afternoon.”
He had a great laugh, a laugh I could get used to. “I could do that. I might even be able to rustle us up a nice Monday early-bird dinner, too.”
“Thank you, I’d like that. I’ll text you my flight info.”
“I’ll look for it.”
“Great, I’ll look for you when I get to the airport.”
“I’ll look forward to you looking for me.”
“Ha. Thanks. Okay, I have to go now. I have some driving to do.”
“You know that last scene in Thelma and Louise, when they drive off the cliff? Well, it’s always bothered me. I mean, I get that they choose their ending, that they decide to hold hands and go out in a blaze of glory. But think about it. Men go out in a blaze of glory; women are smarter than that. They don’t need the drama.”
B.J. looked up from trying to poke her finger with a needle from the sewing kit I’d found in my suitcase. “Do you remember back in elementary school when if you had a good friend you pricked holes in your fingers and pressed them together and became blood brothers? I spent half my time faking sick just to get out of it.”
I took a deep breath and started up Mustang Sally.
“Wait,” B.J. said. She opened the glove compartment and took out two scarves.
When I tied mine on, my hands were shaking.
“Come on, Thelma, you can do this.”
“Louise,” I said. “It’s my turn to be Louise.”
I worked my way out through the tree-lined back roads until we got to the highway. I put the blinker on. I placed my hands carefully at ten and two o’clock.
My mouth made a dry popping sound when I opened it. I cleared my throat. “Okay, let’s do it.”
The traffic roared. I tried to pretend it was the sound of the waves breaking on the beach just a couple of miles away. It didn’t really work, but at least it distracted me from the anxiety that swam through my veins, invading every part of me.
As the ramp fed me to the highway, I tried to breathe my way through it. I looked in the rearview mirror, put on my blinker again, eased my way over into the next-to-slowest lane.
“Hang in there,” B.J. said. “You can do this.”
In front of us, the highway stretched out endlessly, flanked by marshes and scrub pines and the occasional glimpse of a fast-food restaurant. If I didn’t think about having to get off again, it wasn’t so bad. Entrances and exits were always the worst.
Life was like that, too. It was the transitions that wreaked havoc on your nerves, your heart, your home. But once you made it through to the open stretches,
it was pretty smooth sailing, at least for a while. So maybe the trick was to make the most of those times. Maybe The Rolling Stones were right and you had to get it while you can.
Time flies. Time flies faster every year. Time flies whether you’re having fun or not, whether you’re living your life big or small, whether you surround yourself with fear or with laughter. It might have been just a dream, but Corita Kent and Sister Bertrille were right—there were only two choices, afraid and boring.
I wasn’t going to play it safe anymore.
It seemed to me that maybe I’d needed to dabble in my past to recognize my future, and who didn’t love a good stroll down memory lane, but life was way too short to get stuck there.
My heart filled with hope and promise. Okay, and a little bit of anxiety.
I took a deep breath and pressed my foot down on the accelerator until I was actually going the speed limit. Maybe I was a little bit better. Or maybe the baby elephant would show up any minute. But, easy or hard, I wasn’t going to let it get in the way of having a life anymore. A totally amazing life. I was going to lick this thing, and someday I’d be so comfortable driving I’d even name my own car. Ellie the Element? Eleanor Rigby? Ooh, maybe Elenore, from that old song by The Turtles. I couldn’t wait to download it. I couldn’t wait to get on with my life.
“Where do you think we should go?” I asked B.J.
“Don’t think about it,” my best friend said. “Just drive.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First and foremost, I thank you for reading Time Flies. If you enjoyed it, I hope you’ll take a moment to tell a friend or write a nice review—truly the biggest gifts you can give an author.
Whenever I needed a detail for this novel, it was only a Facebook post or a Tweet away. A huge thank-you to my fabulous readers for taking a stroll down memory lane and helping me remember feelings, songs, clothes, bad makeup, and more. Thanks for always making me feel that I’m writing my books for all of us.