Things I Want to Say

by Cyndi Myers

  “Do you think you’ll find Mr. Right in California?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “I’m not looking.”

  “Maybe you’ll find him anyway. When you least expect it.”

  “You always were a romantic,” she said.

  “You were, too,” I said. “After all, you married your high school sweetheart and wanted to live in the woods and make bread and babies.”

  “Yes, and look where that fantasy got me.” She shook her head. “But it’s not too late for you. I can live vicariously through you.”

  I giggled. “I hope you’re not disappointed. My life hasn’t been very exciting so far.”

  “That could change at any time.” She leaned over and dug the phone book out of the drawer by the bed. “Let’s order that pizza. What size should we get?”

  “A large. I’m starved.” Funny, saying that would have usually made me feel panicky. I’d fought so hard to overcome my addiction to food, I didn’t want to backslide, but right now that didn’t seem to matter.

  “See, you’re already going for the gusto. I’m proud of you.”

  “It’s just pizza, Alice.”

  “It’s a start. Today pizza, tomorrow the man of your dreams!”

  She laughed, a wonderful, carefree sound that made my heart hurt. In spite of everything that had happened to her, the fact that Alice could still laugh like that made me believe anything was possible.

  After we finished the pizza I fell into a doze, my stomach uncomfortably full and my mind still fogged from the marijuana.

  I woke hours later, to a dark, unfamiliar room and the tinny sound of Bolèro grating at my nerves. I sat up and blinked, then realized the music was coming from my phone. I lunged for the nightstand and grabbed my purse and dug for the phone.

  “Hello?” I was out of breath, clutching the phone to my ear and trying to orient myself in the darkness.

  “Ellen, this is Martin Franklin. Did I call at a bad time?”

  “Martin!” I sat up straighter, my heart in my throat. “No! No, this isn’t a bad time at all.” I smoothed my blouse—pure reflex, since obviously he couldn’t see me.

  “How was your drive today?” he asked. “Where are you now?”

  “Salina, Kansas.” I looked over at the other bed. Alice was an inert lump under the covers. I scooted back on my own bed and settled against the pillows, pulling the blankets around me. “The drive was okay. I got pulled over for speeding.” Even at this distance I felt queasy, remembering.

  “Tough,” he said. “I’ll admit I like to drive fast, too. Especially on the long, straight stretches of highway we have around here.”

  “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a speed demon,” I said.

  “There are a lot of things about me that might surprise you.” His tone was teasing, flirtatious.

  I swallowed, wishing I could think of something witty to say. “What are you doing right now?” I asked.

  “I’m working. I’m doing the arrangements for a funeral tomorrow.”

  “That’s sad,” I said.

  “It is and it isn’t,” he said. “I didn’t know this gentleman, but his family obviously think a great deal of him. I like to believe that the flowers I put together will help comfort them in their grief.”

  “That’s a beautiful way to look at it. The only funeral flowers I’ve ever done were for characters on soap operas. The only grief involved was what the set designer would give me if I didn’t get them right.”

  He laughed—a warm chuckle that sent desire curling up through my middle like smoke. “I bet you always get them right.” There was a burst of static. “Sorry.” He came back on the line. “I had to shift the phone to my other ear. What do you think of lilies for funerals? Too cliché?”

  I frowned, seriously considering the question. “Depends on the person the funeral was for. Was he a traditional, formal man? Then lilies are good. But if he’s more colorful, less formal, the flowers should be less formal, too.”

  “Exactly what I told the family! So we’re going with blue and red delphiniums and asters.”

  Flowers were such a natural topic of conversation. Non-threatening. I felt myself relax. “It sounds beautiful.” I smiled.

  “You’re welcome to use the same idea the next time you do a television funeral.” He laughed. “My life must sound pretty dull compared to all that Hollywood glamour.”

  I shrugged. “There’s nothing glamorous at all about my life, really.”

  “No one’s ever going to see my work on TV.”

  “No, but your work will mean more to the people who do see it.” I hugged my knees to my chest. “I envy you,” I said.

  “Why is that?”

  “You work with real people. The flowers you provide make a difference in their lives. They cheer them up when they’re sick or mourning and help them celebrate all the landmark events. They mean something.” For all their beauty, my fantasy creations for pretend situations didn’t mean anything to anyone.

  “I think that’s one of the reasons I enjoy this work so much,” he said. “I really like most of my customers.”

  “The movie people I work with can be fun,” I said, “but it’s not the same as putting together an arrangement for a birthday party or a real wedding.”

  “Maybe you should think about adding a retail section,” he said. “That way you could keep your movie business, but do other work that was more satisfying on a personal level.”

  “I never thought about it that way before.” I shifted my position in the bed. “There are a lot of florists in Bakersfield. I’m not sure I could compete.” I could almost hear Frannie’s voice in my head, telling me to stay in my niche, to stick with what I knew. Taking risks was dangerous and could only lead to grief.

  “That’s one of the advantages of a small town,” he said. “There’s not a lot of competition here.”

  “I liked Sweetwater,” I said. “What I saw of it.” Mainly I liked him.

  “I hope you’ll come back to visit. I’d like to see you again.”

  “I’d like to see you, too.” I’d like a lot of things—to have a real home and real friends with whom I could be close. The question was, did I have the courage to break away from the familiar to pursue all that? I didn’t want to abandon Frannie, but I could see the attraction now of not always working so hard to please her.

  “I don’t want to hang up, but I have to finish up these arrangements,” he said. “It’s getting late.”

  “Call again anytime.”

  “I will. And you feel free to call me.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “You’re a very special lady,” he said. “I knew it the minute you walked into my shop.”

  The praise made me feel like laughing—and like crying. I had never thought of myself as special. And for a lot of years—my fat years—I wouldn’t have enjoyed being singled out as such.

  But to be thought special by a man, one with whom I’d felt a connection from our first meeting, was a gift I’d treasure no matter what the future held. “Thank you for saying that,” I said.

  “I mean it. Good night, Ellen. I hope you have sweet dreams.”

  “Good night.” My dreams would be sweet if they featured Martin.

  I cradled the phone to my chest and stared off into the darkness, a goofy grin stretching the corners of my mouth. Was this what falling in love felt like—this giddy rush down a raging waterfall, bobbing and bouncing and not caring at all if you drowned, only reveling in the excitement of the ride?

  All I knew about love was contained in novels and acted out in television and movies. My limited dating experience had involved a few fumbling lust-filled exchanges in the backseats of cars or bachelor apartments, all of which ended after a few weeks when one of us—usually the man—lost interest. Even during sex I’d felt no real closeness to the men—certainly not the connection I’d experienced with Martin.

  Knowing this didn’t give me a clue as to what I was going to do about him, however.
He was firmly planted in a small town in Kansas and I was headed back to my life in Bakersfield. As wild as my imagination could be at times, even I was sensible enough to know that a person didn’t leave behind an established business and the only family she had on the basis of a few brief conversations.

  I sighed and leaned over and replaced the phone in my purse. Frannie would have a conniption if she knew the direction my thoughts had taken, so I resolved not to tell her. I needed to think this through without my sister telling me what to do.

  The other bed creaked as Alice shifted and mumbled in her sleep. Alice would tell me to “go with the flow” and see what happened next. I slid farther under the covers, my head on the pillow, trying out the idea. I’d spent my life looking ahead, anticipating, dreaming. My dreams were a way to escape the present and head off any problems in the future. After all, if I’d already imagined the worst, I could avoid doing anything to make that bad reality come true. If those fears kept me from trying very many new things at least they helped me avoid a lot of hurt, too.

  But what if I did—just this once—avoid thinking about the future altogether? Would it be so wrong to enjoy the moment? I didn’t have to do anything right this minute but enjoy this feeling of being appreciated by a handsome man. I’d wait for the next phone call and see what developed. One conversation at a time.

  I was still feeling good the next morning and volunteered to drive first. We were a few miles outside of Colby, Kansas, when I heard what sounded like a gunshot. The truck lurched to one side and I fought to keep it in the lane, heart pounding.

  “Blowout,” Alice said, steadying herself with one hand on the dash. “Just ease it over to the shoulder.”

  Once we were safely stopped, we both piled out to survey the damage. “Bad news,” Alice said as we contemplated the shredded rubber that barely clung to the wheel rim.

  “Can we change it?” I asked, meaning can you change it? because I’ve never changed a tire in my life. That’s why I have AAA. “Are you going to jack up a vehicle that size?” she asked. “I don’t think so.” She pulled out her cell phone. “The moving company has an emergency service. We’ll let them take care of it.”

  After a cryptic conversation, Alice reported the moving company had promised to send someone “in about an hour.”

  We climbed back into the cab of the truck and Alice fanned herself. “Put the key in and crank the air back on,” she said. “It’s like an oven out there.”

  I obliged and for a moment we basked in the full force of the air-conditioning. “I’ll sure as hell be glad when we get out of Kansas,” Alice said after a moment. “It’s been one thing after another in this state.”

  I nodded. Except for Martin, Kansas had had more than its share of adventures. I stared out at the mostly empty highway, heat lakes shimmering on the pavement. “If Frannie were here, she’d be having a fit,” I said. “She hates anything that doesn’t go according to schedule.”

  Alice snorted. “How did she get this far in life and not figure out things almost never go according to plan?”

  “I guess she’s not very patient.”

  “I’m not so much patient as resigned,” she said. She looked at me. “And I’m used to this kind of thing. I’ve never had great luck with cars. Or trucks.” She chuckled. “Do you remember that green Ford Maverick I had?”

  “The one you got right after your sixteenth birthday?” I had a vague memory of the car Alice acquired the month before I left town.

  “That’s the one. My older brother sold it to me for six hundred dollars—money I’d saved from my job as a car hop at the drive-in. God, I loved that car.”

  “Whatever happened to it?” I asked, more to keep the conversation going than anything else. I liked it when Alice remembered happier times.

  “Larry Westover talked me into trading it for a Camaro his cousin had.” She shook her head. “Biggest piece-of-shit car I ever owned. Damn thing left me stranded more times than I can count.”

  “You should have made the cousin buy it back,” I said.

  “Ah, but then I would have to admit I’d made a bad choice,” she said. “What seventeen-year-old wants to do that?”

  I laughed. “So you drove the lemon?”

  She nodded. “Until I traded it for a used Chevy pickup. It was a good truck. That was right after Bobby and I got married. We thought the truck would be more practical for our back-to-the-land adventure, but after a year or two, I wanted something flashier, so I got a Dodge Dart.” She smiled. “That’s the story of my life—always looking for something better. Cars. Jobs. Men. They all look dull to me after a while.”

  “I’m just the opposite,” I said. “At least when it comes to cars.”

  Alice turned toward me, one leg tucked under her. “What was your first car?”

  “A 1987 Toyota Camry. I got it right after I graduated.” I could still remember the new-car aroma of that Camry. It smelled like money and success to me. “I drove it ten years, until Frannie threatened to have it towed when I wasn’t looking.”

  “What was your next car?”

  “Another Camry.” I laughed at her look of disbelief. “Hey, when I find something that works for me, I stick with it.”

  Alice threw her head back and howled. “God, we are a pair!”

  We were still laughing when a tapping on the window startled us. I turned to see a black-haired man with a beard and a faded camouflage T-shirt. “You ladies need some help?” he asked.

  I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw a battered LTD parked a few hundred yards behind us.

  “No, thanks,” Alice said. “Someone’s on the way.”

  The man’s smile dimmed a little before brightening again. “No need to wait for them when I’m right here.”

  “No, thank you.” Alice’s expression was stony. She reached over me to depress the lock but Black Beard was faster. He yanked open the driver’s door and grabbed my arm.

  I screamed and tried to pull away, but he dragged me to the ground. I fell hard on my knees in the gravel at the side of the highway.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Alice shouted. She lunged for him and tried to rake the side of his face with her nails, but he batted her away as if she were a gnat.

  “I’m taking this truck, lady,” he said as he climbed into the driver’s seat. “You can come with me or not. Your choice.”

  I struggled to my feet and stared into the cab of the truck, a sick feeling of helplessness churning my stomach. My purse with my cell phone inside was still in there with Alice and this wacko. “Get out of the truck, Alice!” I shouted. “Don’t go with him.”

  Alice ignored me. “You idiot! We’re stuck here in the first place because we had a tire blow out.”

  “Who are you calling an idiot?” he demanded.

  “Only an idiot would try to steal a truck with a flat tire,” she said.

  “I figure I can go pretty far on the rim.”

  As if to prove his point, Black Beard put the truck in gear. It started rolling forward. I screamed and trotted alongside. “Alice, get out!” I shouted. “Let him have the damn truck!”

  “Everything I own is in this truck!” she shouted back. “I’m not about to let some idiot take it from me.” Moving faster than I would have thought possible, she reached behind the seat and grabbed the little cooler where we kept our snacks and drinks. She dumped the entire thing—ice, bottles and all—into Black Beard’s lap. Then she reached down and took off one of her shoes and started beating him with it.

  Black Beard roared and the truck lurched to a stop. I stared, openmouthed, as he bailed out of the driver’s seat. Alice came after him, flailing away with her shoe—a pink kitten-heeled sandal I’d privately thought was impractical for travel.

  That heel was making its mark now, literally. The would-be thief had a dozen round bruises on his face and arms, and blood ran from the corner or one eye. “Think…you can…take advantage…of a couple…of women…do you…idiot?�
�� Each word was emphasized with another blow from the shoe.

  Black Beard stopped trying to fight. He curled into a ball and lay in the gravel at the edge of the highway, his arms cradling his head. “Stop it, lady!” he begged. “Are you trying to kill me?”

  “It’s no better than you deserve!”

  I had never seen Alice so angry. She continued to whale on the now-helpless man, until the shoe broke and half of it went flying off into the weeds.

  Flashing lights appeared on the horizon and I steeled myself for another encounter with the police. Surely I could hold myself together a little better this time.

  But the lights turned out to belong to a wrecker. The driver pulled in front of the truck and a burly older man with a long gray ponytail climbed out. He looked at Black Beard, who still lay curled on the ground. “What’s this?” he asked.

  “This is the piece of shit who tried to steal our truck.” Alice aimed a halfhearted kick at the man on the ground, then turned to face the wrecker driver. “I hope you’re here to fix our tire, because I am in no mood to deal with another man who’s out to cause trouble.”

  The wrecker driver looked as if he was biting back a grin. “Yes, ma’am, I’m here to fix your tire. But even if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t give you any trouble.” He looked at the man on the ground. “What do you want to do about him?”

  “He can lie there and rot for all I care.” With more dignity than I would have thought possible for a woman wearing only one shoe, she turned and limped away.

  Alice and I waited in the cab of the wrecker while the driver changed our tire. Alice stared straight ahead, not saying anything. Her cheeks were flushed and she was still breathing hard.

  Movement in the rearview mirror caught my attention. “The idiot is getting up,” I said. I watched as he heaved himself to his feet and began hobbling toward his car. “He’s leaving.”

  “Let him go,” she said, not even glancing in the mirror. “He’ll think twice about messing with a ‘helpless’ woman again.”

  “I’ve never seen you so angry,” I said. “I was a little afraid.”