Waiting for You

by Elle Spencer

  “I…I really need to call someone.”

  “Okay. Um, I can wait.” Ren watched closely as Patty sat at her desk and put her phone to her ear. They stared at each other until Patty looked away and began whispering. Ren stepped closer so she could listen in.

  “There’s a woman here, an art dealer, I think. Anyway, she wants to buy the boy—Timmy—she wants to buy Timmy. I know I begged you to sell it, but now I’m feeling like I pressured you, and I’m not sure what to do.”

  “Sell it to me?” Ren flashed Patty a winning smile when she turned. “I promise it’ll go to a good home.”

  “Call me,” Patty said into the phone. She set it on her desk and stood. “It’s just that I made a promise to the artist.”

  “I get it,” Ren said. “Artists can be fickle. Sounds like we have a very hesitant seller here?”

  “You could say that. And since I don’t really know anything about you…”

  “What would you like to know? In fact, why don’t you just google me.” She put up a hand. “Wait. Don’t do that. My ex has been posting crazy stuff on Facebook.”

  “Oh God. I hate it when that happens,” Patty said with a groan. “They think they’re being all sly with vague posts about betrayal and heartache and letting go, as if all of their followers are complete idiots and have no idea who they’ve been dating for the last few months. I mean, just grow up, Stacy.”

  Ren threw her hands up. “Right? Grow up, Krazy Kerry with two Ks. No one cares that you’ve lost your voice from whispering my name over and over.”

  Patty scrunched her nose up. “Really? A dude posted that on Facebook? He’s brave.”

  “Krazy Kerry is a woman who, I regret to say, seduced me with her amazing smile and quick wit and then proceeded to turn my world upside down, and not in a good way.”

  “Oh, I’ve been there. Women.” Patty tried to smooth her wild, curly hair but quickly gave up and proceeded to twist it up into a spikey puff on her head.

  Ren stared in fascination at the dexterity and quick tucks that held it all in place without any pin or barrette. She waited a few seconds, expecting it to explode, but it held. “Wow, that’s impressive. I wish I could do that with my hair. You should put that on YouTube. It’s like watching hands shuffle cards or knead dough or build tiny things.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing.” Patty waved a hand. “You’re making me blush.”

  “Well, I feel we’re moving in a more positive direction, Patty.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that. Can we start over?”

  “Absolutely. Let’s start over by you ringing me up for that painting over there.”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of a song. ‘Hello’ by Lionel Richie.”

  Ren managed to barely hold back her laughter. “A song. Okay. Are you singing the song, or am I?”

  “For some reason, ever since you walked through that door, I felt like I needed to belt out that song. Like, just sing it from the top of my lungs. Just get it out there into the universe, you know? I do that with all the new girls in town.”

  Patty’s phone vibrated on the desk. She grabbed it and said, “Linds? Yeah, never mind. I got this. Me and Lionel Richie have totally got this. I got your back, babe. You are under my umbrella, if you know what I mean. No, it’s a song. No, not a Lionel Richie song. Rhianna!” Patty slammed the phone down as if that somehow ended the call the way it would with a landline.

  Ren gestured at the phone. “I think I can hear her yelling for you.”

  Patty hit the end button and set the phone back down. “Okay, here’s the deal. You can buy the painting.”

  Ren rubbed her hands together. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

  Patty put up a finger. “Ah. Not so fast.”

  “Oh, right. The Lionel Richie song.” Ren grabbed a letter opener off the desk and offered it to Patty. “I usually need a microphone when I belt out a song.”

  Patty sat on the edge of the desk and held the letter opener to her mouth. “The urge to sing has passed, but it’s important for you to know that my BFF is the artist, and if anything bad were to happen to that painting, I would be forced to hunt you down.”

  Patty continued to hold the letter opener like a microphone while she waited for a reply. Ren reached for it, and Patty handed it over. She put it to her mouth and said, “I promise that won’t be necessary.”

  Patty took the letter opener back and pushed off the desk. “One more thing.” She walked to a small landscape that hung on the wall. “You will also purchase this painting done by a local artist named J. Stokely. It’s a package deal or no deal at all.”

  This was quite possibly the strangest negotiation Ren had ever experienced while purchasing artwork, but she felt utterly amused by Patty, and she really wanted that painting, so she offered her hand. “Ah yes, the famous Mrs. Stokely. Her reputation precedes her. Consider it done.”

  * * *

  Sir Barksalot gave Lindsay that pathetic look again. “Nope. Not falling for it, mister. Your dad might cave under that kind of pressure, but I won’t.”

  Sir Barksalot sniffed the air, licked his chops, and whined.

  Lindsay also got a whiff of what could only be Deb’s famous, at least in the Hall household, caramel shortbread cookies. “If you weren’t on a diet, Barksy, I’d share one with you.” She tied his leash to the bike rack, knowing full well she’d buy one of those homemade doggie treats Deb kept in a jar by the cash register. “Stay, Barksy. And don’t let anyone steal that fancy leash of yours. The diamonds aren’t real, but not everyone knows that, you know?”

  He sat back on his haunches and whined again.

  Lindsay backed away and shook her finger at him one last time. “Be a good boy. I’ll be right back.” She walked into You Mocha Me Crazy, stopped, and closed her eyes. “Oh my God, it smells good in here.”

  Deb gave her a wave from behind the counter. “Hey, Linds. Same as always?”

  “If by same as always you mean two cinnamon rolls, a half dozen shortbread cookies, a doggie treat, and a tall Americano, extra hot, then yes, same as always.”

  Deb laughed. “I wish all of my regulars placed big orders like that.” She grabbed a paper cup and held it up. “To go?”

  “Yeah, I’d love to stay and chat, but I have a rotund canine waiting for me.”

  Deb looked past her. “He looks fine to me. And look, he misses you.”

  Lindsay turned around, and there Barksy was, blocking the door and trying to make everyone think he’d been abandoned. “Oh, he just wants one of your cinnamon rolls, and believe me, he’s not too proud to beg. Get some pride, Barksy!” She turned back to Deb. “Actually, when it comes right down to it, I’m not too proud to beg either. Please tell me you haven’t sold out of them already.”

  “You’re in luck.”

  “Oh, thank God,” Lindsay said. “Brooke would not be a happy camper if she knew I indulged in her favorite treat without her.”

  “Yeah, I can’t hide anything from Corey either,” Deb said. “Those two should be private detectives.”

  “Their interrogation techniques alone, am I right?”

  Deb’s eyes widened. “I’ve often wondered if they didn’t take an online course at some point because Corey can sniff out a lie faster than that dog out there could find raw hamburger in his doggie dish.”

  “You lie to your children, Deb? I’m shocked. Just shocked.”

  Deb slid the cup across the counter. “I’m not even going to try with Caleb. I’ll let Corey and Colby Junior decide how long they want to keep him in the dark about Santa and the Easter Bunny and the tooth fairy, etcetera.”

  “How do you keep all of those C names straight? I have a hard enough time with Brooke and Ben.”

  Deb shrugged. “They all have nicknames, even if some of them are just in my head.”

  “Oh, this should be rich.” Lindsay leaned in close. “Spill it.”

  “Corey is Coreo, like her favorite cookie. That one I say out loud.
When she’s being a hormonal teenager, I call her Cor-gesterone. Core the Bore tells meandering stories about the teachers at school as if I’d never spent a day in high school or had exactly the same teachers back in the day because apparently, they never leave.”

  Lindsay giggled under her breath.

  “Oh, your kid’s not off the hook either,” Deb said. “When Corey won’t get off the damn phone, I know it’s Babbling Brooke we have to thank.”

  “Totally fair,” Lindsay said with a laugh. “I don’t think she talks to me in an entire month as much as she talks to Corey in an afternoon. Tell you what, though, when she acts like we live in poverty because we won’t let her do this or that, I’m going to call her Brokey.”

  “Oh, that’s Junior’s schtick too. He always needs money. Plus, his feet smell like rotten cheese, so I call him Colby Jack.”

  “And your little one?”

  “He’s Number Two because it seems like his diaper is always full.”

  Lindsay laughed out loud. “Oh my God, this is fantastic.”

  Deb grabbed a pastry box and started packing it with Lindsay’s order. “Good thing I already set aside a cinnamon roll for my houseguest. You’re clearing me out.”

  Lindsay took her coffee to the condiment station and added a little bit of milk and sugar. “Friends in town?”

  “Yup, my old college roommate.” Deb pointed at the door. “Oh, she’s here.”

  Lindsay put the lid back on her cup and turned so she could introduce herself. Her mouth gaped. She waved in a futile effort to grab a chair or table before she lost the will to stand.

  Chapter Five

  Lindsay woke with a start. The ceiling wasn’t white with an orange peel texture like the one in her bedroom. There were pipes and air ducts and concerned faces. “Ow.” She grabbed the back of her head and found a goose-egg-sized bump. “What the hell happened?”

  “You fainted, dear. Did you forget to have breakfast this morning? If you remember in fifth grade, you fainted in my classroom because your blood sugar was too low.”

  Lindsay appreciated Mrs. Stokely’s concern, but she had the story all wrong. Fifth graders had dropped like flies due to a heat wave. The AC wasn’t working in the portable classroom they’d put in the school parking lot while they renovated their regular classroom. It was all Ethan Thomas’s fault. One day, he’d decided to set his desk on fire just to “see what would happen.” How could Mrs. Stokely forget that part?

  Deb knelt next to Lindsay and put a cold cloth on her head. “I can’t have customers dropping dead in my shop, Linds. It’s bad for business.” Deb gave her a wink and moved the cloth to Lindsay’s cheek.

  “Just tell them I died from too much pleasure while eating your masterpiece of a—” Lindsay stopped when she heard someone laugh. She turned her head, and there she was again, sitting in a chair with her elbows on her knees, old boots on her feet, and a smile on her face that Lindsay would never in a million years forget.

  And for some reason, she had a painting of the boy leaning on the chair next to her. It was too much for Lindsay’s brain to comprehend. She was obviously in the upside-down because as sure as the sun would set tonight and rise again tomorrow, Lindsay knew she was looking at Roo. Or the present-day version of Roo.

  As her emotions welled, Lindsay had to blink tears away so she could see Roo more clearly. “Hi,” she whispered.

  The woman put out a hand as if she wanted to help Lindsay to her feet. “Hi. I’m Ren.”

  Ren, not Roo. Lindsay wanted to repeat the name over and over. She felt more tears welling. The rest of the world faded away. There was only Roo. Or Ren. She swallowed the lump in her throat and said, “Sorry, I’m, um…” She trailed off, unable to think of her own name.

  Ren withdrew her hand. “Lindsay.”

  “How did you—”

  “Deb’s said it about fifty times trying to wake you up.”

  “Oh. Right.” God, she was so beautiful. Her eyes were perfect. Such a deep brown. So full of emotion. So expressive. Much like Roo’s eyes.

  “I think she might be a little confused from the fainting,” Deb said. “Let’s get her up off the floor.”

  “Lindsay!” Patty rushed into the shop. “Oh God! What happened?”

  Lindsay sat up. “I’m fine. Really. Just a little light-headed.”

  “Fine? Why are you on the floor?”

  “Can you give me a lift home, Cakes? I just need to rest. Then I’ll be fine.”

  “Of course. Let’s get you up.” Patty leaned down and grabbed her arm.

  Deb and Patty helped her stand. A headache was setting in, and the bump on her head throbbed. She took a deep breath and paused to get her bearings. “I’m so embarrassed. I don’t know what that was.”

  “I’ll pack up your order and bring it over later,” Deb said. “I’ll want to check on you anyway.”

  A burning sensation on Lindsay’s chest caused her to look down. Coffee covered her white Henley and jeans. Her face burned from embarrassment, but her chest was just plain burned. She always ordered her coffee extra hot, but today that turned out to be a mistake. She grabbed Patty’s hand to steady herself and turned to Deb. “Do you have some ice you could put in a bag for me?”

  “You should see a doctor.”

  Lindsay turned to protest and found Ren standing less than an arm’s length away. She resisted the urge to step closer out of fear she’d completely lose control of her emotions. She couldn’t fall into a stranger’s arms and cry on her chest. She couldn’t breathe her in or feel her skin or get lost in her voice. She’d get so drunk on the feeling that she’d say or do something inappropriate. “I’ll be fine,” she said. But she couldn’t look away. Every day for the rest of her life, she’d regret it if she didn’t spend these precious seconds committing that face to memory.

  “You fell hard.” Ren stepped even closer. “And your chest is red. I think maybe the coffee burned you. Deb, hurry up with that ice!”

  Lindsay felt faint again. Dizzy. The sound of Ren’s alto voice felt like a healing salve on a long-open wound, but at the same time, it was all so confusing. And so painful.

  Hard as she tried, she couldn’t hold Ren’s stare. She dropped her gaze and questioned if this person was real or if this was just another dream she’d wake up from. The pain in her head, the burning on her skin, and the tightness in her chest told her it was real. But how could this be real? And why now? It was going on eighteen years since she’d had the past life breakthrough, so what did it all mean?

  There were no clear answers. She had no idea where her past life took place or who Roo was then. And now, here was Ren. One look at her, and Lindsay had known she was looking at Roo. And the next thing she knew, she was flat on her back. It was all too much. She needed to get out of there before she humiliated herself again.

  “I’ll be fine.” Lindsay backed away. “I just need to get home and rest a bit.”

  Mrs. Stokely piped in. “You’ll do no such thing. I’ll drive you to the clinic myself.” She dug into her purse for her keys. “I remember that stubborn streak of yours, missy, and I’ll have none of that today.”

  Oh, fabulous. Could this get any more embarrassing? Lindsay didn’t want to make more of a scene than she already had. She’d just have to climb into Mrs. Stokely’s 1979 Buick LeSabre that she got on her fortieth birthday and had been driving ever since. Everyone knew the exact year and model because Mrs. Stokely didn’t refer to it as her car. It was always, “my 1979 Buick LeSabre.” It became a joke with the kids. They’d admire her car and ask what year it was just so they could hear Mrs. Stokely call it a LeSabe-ruh, as she chose to pronounce it, painted in what the Buick designers called Saffron Firemist. So basically, a rusty colored car.

  Back in the day, it was considered a badge of honor if you managed to get a ride in what the kids called the Mistmobile. Bets were even waged. Dares made. Lindsay hadn’t ever participated in those dares, so this would be her first ride. She always thought
Saffron Firemist would be a good name for a superhero. In fact, she’d be loath to admit it, but Saffron Firemist was her online username.

  She would have to convince Mrs. Stokely to take her straight home, bypassing any doctor visits. If she went home and climbed under the covers for a hundred years, maybe that would be long enough for everyone to forget this moment of humiliation. A hundred years would be perfect, actually. She could meet up with Ren or Roo or whoever in the next life. Forget this one ever happened.

  Ugh. Why couldn’t she have been chill about the whole thing? Just act like it was no big deal. Be cool and say sophisticated things in a low, slightly gravelly voice like, “I see you bought my painting. I’d be happy to put a personal note on the back of the canvas. Have a Sharpie, by chance? No? Me neither because who carries a Sharpie with them?” Not cool, Lindsay. Not even close.

  “Get your things, dear.” Mrs. Stokely took Lindsay by the arm and whispered, “Do you think Deb’s friend knows whose paintings she just bought?”

  Lindsay hadn’t noticed Mrs. Stokely’s smaller landscape sitting on the table. She leaned in and whispered, “Can we not tell her? If she knew it was me, she might want to return it.”

  “Nonsense.” Mrs. Stokely puffed up her chest as much as an elderly woman with a slight hunch could and turned to Ren. “Whatever you paid for that boy, it was a steal.” She winked at Lindsay and turned to leave. She didn’t let go of Lindsay’s arm, apparently intending to drag her out of the shop.

  “I know,” Ren said.

  Lindsay paused for a few seconds, then turned to look at her.

  Ren stood there with her arms folded. “It’s extraordinary, actually. Exquisite.” Ren looked at the painting again and back up at Mrs. Stokely. “Do you know the artist?”

  Lindsay shook free of Mrs. Stokely and was out the door before anyone could answer. She spotted the Mistmobile across the street and rushed over to it. It wasn’t surprising that the car was unlocked. One of the many benefits of living in Salt Creek.