by Elle Spencer
The door felt heavy and closed with a force. She scanned the dashboard. It looked like one of those private jets she’d seen in the movies with the shiny wood grain and silver knobs. The steering wheel looked too skinny. Nothing like today’s cars. And right in front of her, above the glove box, was an actual clock. Not a digital clock, but one with a second hand that was ticking away.
The tan velour felt soft under her fingers. It showed very little wear and tear. She wondered what the horn would sound like and reached over to push it right when Mrs. Stokely opened the driver’s side door. “Don’t you dare blow that horn at me, young lady.”
Lindsay pulled her hand back. She knew better than to help Mrs. Stokely with her purse, or “pocketbook,” as Mrs. Stokely called it. The woman valued her independence and let everyone know it. “I just wondered how loud it is.”
Mrs. Stokely got situated behind the wheel and pushed hard on the horn. “Loud enough to get your heart beating a might faster, and I’m not afraid to use it.”
Lindsay jumped at the sound. Talking with Mrs. Stokely always made her feel like she was a kid and could be grounded at any moment if she said the wrong thing. She was pretty sure that’s exactly how Mrs. Stokely saw her. “Yes, ma’am.”
They both jumped at the sound of a knock on the passenger window. Surely, with the right person behind the wheel, the Saffron Firemist would be a great getaway car. Big engine roaring, tires shrieking. But an elderly woman driving as if she’d just robbed a bank only happened in the movies, and even then, it was a stunt man wearing a gray wig. Unfortunately, Mrs. Stokely was no stuntman, so she chose to keep the car in park, ensuring Lindsay’s further humiliation.
Since there was no escaping this nightmare, Lindsay turned toward the window and forced a smile. Ren gave her a wave and held up a pink leash. “I think this is your dog,” she shouted.
Oh, God! Lindsay was such an idiot. First, the fainting, then she forgot a whole dog. She’d run right past him, hell-bent on extracting herself from that horrendous scene with Ren. Because Ren. Ren. Lindsay’s gaze fell to the gap in Ren’s blouse. She could see the curve of her breasts. The light freckles on her smooth skin. She looked nothing like Roo, but she was just as intriguing.
The whole thing was crazy. It was just the painting of Timmy and the beautiful woman and the low blood sugar like Mrs. Stokely said. All of that, with the déjà vu? Who wouldn’t have fainted? Lindsay knew the answer to that. No one else would have fainted.
By the time Mrs. Stokely interrupted Lindsay’s train wreck of a thought process, she was horrified to discover she was still ogling Ren’s breasts. Lindsay turned her attention to the car’s window crank handle. She twisted the little knob at the end of the handle and heard Mrs. Stokely firmly announce that “Animals do not ride in my 1979 Buick LeSabe-ruh.”
“Of course not, Mrs. Stokely.” Lindsay reached for the door handle. “I’ll just walk him home.”
“You will do no such thing.” Mrs. Stokely sighed. “The mutt may ride with us, but he has to stay on the floor.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Lindsay opened her door.
Her tummy fluttered when Ren smiled at her and said, “Deb told me it was your painting. She said there are others. I’d love to know more about it. Maybe we could have coffee sometime. When you’re feeling better, of course.”
Would Lindsay faint again if they had coffee? No. It was the shock, the surprise of seeing the woman she’d painted standing right in front of her. She could have coffee with her, couldn’t she? Lindsay wasn’t so sure. It would help if it was Irish coffee.
Ren raised her eyebrows ever so slightly as if to say, Well?
“You also bought one of Mrs. Stokely’s paintings,” Lindsay blurted.
A look of confusion flashed across Ren’s face but quickly morphed into another breathtaking smile. “I’d love to have coffee with both of you, then.”
“It’s a date,” Mrs. Stokely said. “Two p.m. tomorrow at my house. 189 West Center Street. Don’t be late.”
Lindsay leaned over and snapped her fingers. “Get in and stay, Barksy.” She turned to Ren. “I swear I don’t usually leave my dog in public places. Thanks for taking care of him for me.” Another wave of humiliation washed over her when she noticed just how much coffee she’d spilled on herself. Pretty much the entire cup had soaked through her shirt and bra. She imagined a parallel universe where the Mistmobile’s thrusters lit up and lifted them straight into the air like a helicopter, then shot off at light speed to another galaxy called Anywhere Else.
Ren’s hair would blow back, and she’d block her eyes from the sun as she watched them go, never to be seen or heard from again. Ren would recount the strange events, but with time, her memories would fade, and she’d eventually sell the paintings she’d bought that day.
The town of Salt Creek would realize a superhero had lived amongst them for years. Mrs. Stokely and her Mistmobile would live in infamy. Sadly, the car remained firmly in park.
Sir Barksalot didn’t like being relegated to the floor. He barked and pawed at Lindsay’s leg. Ren got down on one knee and scratched his ears. “His name is Barksy?”
Since the thrusters hadn’t kicked in, Lindsay would have to come up with an excuse so she wouldn’t have to join them for coffee. Of course, that wouldn’t be hard, considering the huge bump on her head. “His full name is Sir Barksalot. You know, because he—”
“Barks a lot?” Ren said with a grin.
Mrs. Stokely laughed and patted Lindsay’s knee. “No explanation needed, dear.”
“Right.” Lindsay rubbed her forehead. “I’m not myself today.”
Ren stood and put her hand on the door to close it. “Put some ice on that bump, and I guess I’ll see you both tomorrow?”
“You’ve made a commitment, so it seems there would be nothing to guess about, is there, dear?”
“No, ma’am, I don’t believe there is.” Ren looked at Lindsay. “Like you said, it’s a date.”
“Good. What’s my address?” Mrs. Stokely put the car in reverse and waited for Ren to answer.
“189 West Center,” Ren said without diverting her gaze.
“A woman who listens. I like you already. It’s the red brick house on the corner.”
Ren barely got the door closed before Mrs. Stokely hit the gas and reversed without looking behind her. Lindsay turned and shared a look of half-faux panic as she gave Ren a small wave good-bye. It was fine if Ren was the last person she saw before she died on the way to the clinic. Saffron Firemist dying in the Mistmobile after seeing her one true love for the first time? It seemed like an epic ending. She’d take it.
* * *
As it happened, Lindsay did not die in a fiery crash. After they dropped Barksy off at Lindsay’s house, Mrs. Stokely took her to the clinic as promised. Lindsay insisted Mrs. Stokely not wait with her. The retired teacher still did occasional private tutoring at the library and had a student waiting.
Lindsay waited in the lobby until Mrs. Stokely drove away, then walked the few blocks back to her car. The clinic was packed, and she’d spend at least an hour sitting on a hard chair while her chest burned and her head ached. Besides, she’d be fine, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to explain what had made her faint.
While she was a supporter of truth-telling at the doctor’s office, this particular clinic was run by Dr. Jim, a kid who’d been three grades behind her in school. A kid who would’ve been voted more likely to Revolutionize the Bong Industry than Go to Medical School.
They’d called him Jimbo at his request. So no, she would not be telling this particular story to Jimbo, but she also knew that not giving any reason at all would mean they’d have to run tests. No, thanks. It was just a bump on her head, and the burns were superficial. Nothing she couldn’t take care of on her own. Or with the help of Patty, who was parked in her driveway when she pulled in.
Lindsay stopped and unrolled her window.
“I knew you wouldn’t go to the clinic. Get
in,” Patty said.
Lindsay ignored the request and pulled into the garage. Patty was right there when she got out of her car. “This is nuts, Linds. I could’ve helped you.”
“What was I supposed to do? Decline the ride from Evil Knievel Stokely? And miss my chance to ride in a classic?” Lindsay dropped her purse on the kitchen counter. She needed a clean shirt and something for her headache.
“I’m not talking about the LeSabre, and you know it. You should be at urgent care. What if you have a concussion or something?”
“I don’t.”
“Okay, but will you at least tell me what that was all about? Did Ren say something to upset you? Was it the painting? Oh God, it was the painting, wasn’t it?”
“She didn’t have to say anything, Cakes.” Lindsay covered her face with her hands. “God, one look and I knew.”
“Okay, you’ve lost me.”
Lindsay dropped her hands. “It’s Roo. She’s Roo. I felt it. I don’t know how to describe it, but I just knew.”
Patty blinked. No words, no movement. She just blinked. And then she blinked again.
Lindsay broke their gaze. She couldn’t really blame Patty. She knew how it sounded. She opened one of the kitchen cupboards, slammed it shut, and opened another one. “That’s what’s on my mind at the moment, so no, I’m not really worried about a concussion.” She turned back around. “What’s nuts is, last night, I finally painted Roo, and today, a woman I’m certain is her walked into your gallery and bought one of my paintings—Timmy, of all paintings—right off the wall. What the hell is happening?”
Patty pointed at herself. “You’re asking me?”
Lindsay laughed. “Right. Maybe I do have a concussion.” She grabbed a bottle of aspirin out of the cupboard and checked the expiration date. “Damnit, it’s old.” She tossed the bottle in the trash.
“OMG. You’re such a mom. You check the expiration dates?” Patty didn’t wait for a reply before digging through her purse. “You never were prepared for emergencies.” She pulled out a small vial and shook two pills into Lindsay’s palm.
“The thing I wasn’t prepared for was finding myself in a Stranger Things episode.” Lindsay climbed the stairs to the second floor with Patty right behind her. She sat on the bed and took off her shirt.
Patty went into the master bathroom and started opening drawers and cupboards. “Aha!” She came out holding a bottle of aloe vera gel. “Lean back, and I’ll squirt it on your chest, and don’t you dare ask me what the expiration date is on this. It’s fine.”
Lindsay leaned back on her elbows. “Try not to make a mess. I just changed the sheets.”
With her pinkie finger, Patty spread the aloe over the red patches. “I shouldn’t have sold Timmy to her, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer, and you know how hard it is for me to say no to a pretty lady.”
“You say no to me all the time.”
“Well, Linds, I have high standards when it comes to who I have sex with.”
Lindsay plopped back on the bed and threw an arm over her eyes. “In your dreams.”
“Only once. And it was a really long time ago. Like, ages.”
Lindsay pushed her hand away. “Okay, get away from my boobs.” She tried to suppress her laughter, but it broke through. She needed a good laugh after what had just happened, so she let it go.
“Nice bra,” Patty said. “It’s really a shame they didn’t have to rip your shirt open and use those paddle thingies.”
Lindsay covered her chest with her hands and laughed even harder.
“I mean, apart from the fact that your heart would’ve stopped beating. But I guarantee, those EMTs, be they male or female, would’ve thought to themselves, damn, that’s a sexy bra.”
Lindsay wiped the tears from her eyes and caught her breath. The laughter helped release some of the tension, but it didn’t take away her confusion. It was all so humiliating. She didn’t think she’d be able to show her face at You Mocha Me Faint for quite some time. Possibly not ever. “Am I going crazy, Cakes? I feel like I’m going crazy. The idea of Roo has never felt crazy to me. But this? This I didn’t see coming.”
The bed sank with the weight of Patty by Lindsay’s side. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s her, and you were always meant to meet again.”
“Maybe.”
“Linds?”
“Yeah?”
“How many times have we been out on the grass in this exact same position, staring up at the sky, wondering what else is out there?”
“Too many to count.”
“And still no answers.”
Lindsay turned onto her side. “Cakes?”
“Yeah?”
“You were there that day when I first remembered Roo.”
Patty put up a finger. “Correction. I slept through those stupid past life CDs and dreamt about Emily Burton, that hottie from English class. Remember her? Also, peach schnapps? What were we thinking? We could have stolen anything in my dad’s liquor cabinet. I still cringe every time I hear someone order a fuzzy navel.”
“Which is exactly never, I bet.”
“The point is, we were pretty tipsy, and my experience was, you know, more like on the unconscious side of the hypnosis spectrum.”
“Seriously, Cakes? Those CDs cost ten dollars! What was I thinking, spending my hard-earned money on an experience you’d pass out for?”
“Terrible decision-making skills on your part, and not the first time either,” Patty said. “Right up there with that time you insisted we take the Ouija board to the cemetery at two in the morning.”
“Whoa. Hold up. I insisted? As in, me? You think that was my idea?”
“Uh, yeah. You were all, ‘Cakes, look at this thing I found at the pawnshop.’ And I was all, ‘I don’t know, Lindsay, this doesn’t seem like the best idea. Maybe we should study instead.’ Remember?”
“No. I definitely don’t remember that pile of bullshizzle. What I do remember is that because of your stupid idea, we ended up scaring ourselves shitless.”
Patty sighed. “Well, if it was my idea, and I’m certainly not copping to that, but if it was, I’m still paying the price.”
“What do you mean?”
“To this day, I still can’t look Brent Atkinson in the eye. Every time I see him, I wish he’d move out of town.”
“Oh my God, that’s right,” Lindsay said with a laugh. “You jumped on his lap that night and peed your pants.”
“And ruined that fab vintage skirt I’d found.”
“Don’t forget the combat boots you wore with that skirt.”
“Yeah, I was like a walking billboard for Al’s Penny and Pawn.”
“No wonder he went out of business,” Lindsay quipped.
“Oh, stop. My artsy look was hot,” Patty said. “And FYI, Al had knee surgery and developed a blood clot in his leg that went to his heart. Don’t you ever read the obituaries?”
Lindsay huffed. “Like I need more dead people in my life.” She rolled onto her back again. “Maybe it was the schnapps that fucked with my head. I let Ben go all the way that night too.”
“Ha! It would take a lot more than peach schnapps—” Patty threw a hand over her mouth. “Sorry. I know he’s the father of our little Brookey. That’s probably my fault too. I’m the one who called you a prude that day. I remember thinking I should apologize, but I don’t think I ever did. And then, boom! You were pregnant.”
“Relax, Cakes. I only regret that night when Brooke is slamming doors in my face. And not even then, not really. She’s everything to me, although these days, it feels like she’d rather have another mother.”
“No way. She’s ten times better and more interested in you than we ever were in our parents. Plus, you’re the best mom ever. And one day, Brooke is going to realize that. In fact, it’ll probably hit her right when she’s accepting the Nobel Peace Prize, and she’ll get so choked up she won’t be able to finish her speech. That’s when her awesome wife, the hot W
imbledon champion, will step in and finish for her. And there you’ll be, standing in between your two grandchildren, clapping and crying tears of joy. But no one will know you’re a grandma because you’ll still look so young.”
Lindsay shook her head. “Oh, Cakes. You want everyone to be gay, don’t you? Not that it would be a bad thing.”
Patty shrugged. “The world would be a better place, in my not so humble opinion.”
Lindsay rolled onto her side. “Agreed. You deserve the Nobel Prize for friendship. Now, let me spoon you so I can sleep off this massive headache.”
Patty grabbed a pillow and fluffed it. “You know I’m always up for spooning. And naps. Preferably at the same time.”
* * *
Lindsay locked herself in her studio and pulled the blinds. After a short nap, she’d told Patty to go back to the gallery. Her need for a babysitter had passed, even if that babysitter was the person she trusted more than anyone in the world.
She told Patty she could use a bit of alone time to get her emotions under control before Brooke came home. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth, either. She was desperate to get back out to her studio and see the painting of Roo again.
Had she somehow made a connection between Ren and Roo that didn’t really exist? She was running on very little sleep since she’d spent the previous night painting. Was it simply a lack of sleep combined with the intense emotional experience of painting Roo that had her in a vulnerable place?
Lindsay knew the difference between what she did for a living as a portrait painter and what she did painting Timmy and Roo. The process couldn’t have been more different.
Lindsay’s paying clients came to her through word of mouth, and for some reason—“Because you’re amazing,” Patty had said—word had really spread over the last few years. People from all over the country hired her to paint their portraits. For the most part, she required that they come to Salt Creek for sittings so she could be a constant presence in Brooke’s life. She also saw things more clearly there, in her studio, at home. It was where she belonged. It was where she worked.