by Gina Calanni
Brandon casts his dreamy blues up to the ceiling, which is covered by bright fluorescent lights. I jerk my head back and blink. Ouch.
“Hmm, he must have worked here for at least twenty years, I remember… er, I think someone mentioned earlier that he had been here for a long time.” He nods. “Anyways, who really cares, right? This isn’t exactly the crème de la crème of factories… at least not given the owner.” He clears his throat.
“It’s the best creamery in the US… even if you count the place in Vermont.” Not that this matters. I need to focus his attention away from me and my degree at Eagle Online. “Twenty years, he must be nearing retirement then, right?” Please, let this be the case. Surely, if the deep dagger of a reality check that is piercing my side and causing spots behind my eyes brighter than a blue light special at K-Mart is trying to alert me to the fact that Brandon is right about my degree, then I have messed up bigger than the time I couldn’t figure out how to turn off the swirl ice-cream machine on my first day at Dairy Queen. It just kept spinning vanilla and chocolate swirls onto the floor and filling every container I held up until it finally ran out and our floor was covered in melted ice-cream mess. Dorothy almost tripped, which would have been her fourth worker’s comp claim in the past year, and I ended up in more hot water than the laundry mat on payday.
“Oh I’ll bet he’ll be teaching classes until he takes his last breath. He’s been a pillar of Blue Ribbon since the beginning and I think he’s in good with the Blue family or something. Has to be the only reason they keep him around, right?” Brandon laughs.
I let out a polite laugh. I don’t want to sit dead pan for Brandon’s attempt at a joke, but I’m definitely not going to be gossiping about other employees and the Blue family. Shoot, no. I know lines and when not to cross them. I dig in my purse for my phone and check out the time. I want to dash off and look up Eagle Online on the internet but there is a part of me that wants to bury my head in a pile of chocolate chips and pretend that I’ve drowned. Because death by chocolate seems like a nice way to go and you don’t really need water to feel like you’re drowning. I couldn’t be anymore drowning than in this moment. I’ve got to get out of here.
“We have to be back in class in five minutes.” I stand up.
“It’s only around the corner.” Brandon jerks his back.
“I need to visit the ladies’. It was nice chatting with you.”
I don’t wait for him to say the same. I’ve got to make it to the ladies’ and back to the classroom in less than five minutes and I wouldn’t be surprised if there is a line. Lord knows there are lots of ladies who work here.
I rush through the cafeteria and out the door. The restrooms are at the end of the hall. If this wasn’t my first day on the job and I was alone, I would run, but like my mama always says, have decorum, Sahara, know your manners. I push the door open and hike my way through the room to find an empty stall.
“Hey there, new girl?”
I jerk my head back. Is this voice talking to me? I ignore it and go about my business, flush and stalk my way to the sink. An older woman is washing her hands next to me.
“Listen here, new girl, you be careful around that boy.”
“Ma’am?” I don’t mean her any disrespect but I’ve got to make it to class and I’m not sure why she is telling me to be careful around… Brandon.
“Just be careful.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I nod and hike out of the ladies’ as fast as I can without running. I could probably qualify for the walking event in the Olympics. I’m sure I look ridiculous swinging my arms up and down but I’ve got to make it to room 771 in less than a minute. I slide in through the closing door.
Mr. Flints is at the front of the class with some odd-looking metal contraption and his eyes are on me. I sure hope he hasn’t been looking over my resume. Good grief, Sahara, what have you gotten yourself into? I slide my way to the back of the class but as I pass Brandon’s desk he hands me a small piece of white paper. Is he passing me a note in class? Does he want me to get in trouble? I sure hope Mr. Flints didn’t pick up on that. I grab it and stick it in my pocket as I sit down. The note is like a fire blazing on a hot July night and I’m fanning myself in the back of the class trying not to sweat. I slowly retrieve the note and open it up. Written are two words and ten numbers that flicker through my chest like a swarm of bees buzzing at a hive. Call me.
Chapter Three
After class I scramble to my car and hop in. I saved up for three whole summers to buy Rontu. I thought that was the right name for my brown Chevette. It reminded me of the dog in Island of the Blue Dolphins. I just knew when I laid eyes on it at the flea market that Rontu and I would go on great adventures. Sure, most folks don’t think Chevettes are great cars, but I knew it would be solid and make for great companionship. Shoot, look at us now. Sitting in the parking lot of Blue Ribbon Creamery. First day of training was, I guess, a fifty-fifty. I didn’t scoop ice cream right… but I did meet somebody really nice. My chest tightens. I glance out into the parking lot; most of the cars are gone. Brandon is hustling toward me. I swallow. What am I going to say? What is he going to say?
His face lights up like the first day of spring and everybody is headed to Dairy Queen for their free scoop of ice cream.
“Hey there.” He leans into my car window. His body is so large I have to back up or else our faces would be touching. And by our faces I mean our lips. They are so close. The lump in the back of my throat grows bigger, like it’s one of those ridiculous-size jawbreakers that nobody could even fit in their mouth – well, except Suzie T, but that’s not nice to say; I can almost hear my mama clearing her throat in disapproval.
“Hey.” I kick my own foot. Hey? Why can’t I ever think of something clever? Well, I suppose that’s because I’m Sahara… and unfortunately Sahara is not clever. Especially with her degree that’s not good enough for the creamery. I frown.
Brandon squints his eyes at me. “Do you want to grab something to eat?”
I laugh. “Are you trying to come up with another way of buying me a meal?”
Brandon flashes his healthy chompers at me again. “It wasn’t going to be as fancy as the cafeteria but I have a couple of bucks in my wallet and the dollar menu sounds like a good idea. What do you say?”
My eyebrows push together. Is he serious? I’m too embarrassed to ask. “Maybe another time. I’ve got to get home and study.”
Brandon jerks his head back at me. “Study for what?’
“For this class we’re in. Aren’t you going to?”
His knuckles brush against his chin like he’s thinking of something. “How about we study together?” His dreamy blues stare down into my eyes and my chest tightens like a rattlesnake is cutting off my air supply. “Starbucks and study time, yes?”
“All right.” I can’t imagine Brandon’s ever heard the word no. He’s so confident and those eyes of his are about the prettiest things I’ve ever seen.
“Do you want to ride with me?” He raises an eyebrow at me.
“No, I’ll follow in my car.”
He nods and strolls to a big silver truck. I’m sure that thing cost a fortune. It’s so fancy-looking. Here I am in my beat-up…
“I’m sorry, Rontu.” I know I didn’t say it out loud but it’s like Rontu and I are connected somehow and, even though he’s a car, it just didn’t seem the right thing to say or think. He has really been a worthwhile investment for me.
I follow behind Brandon’s pricey truck and flip on some tunes to ease my nerves. That guy makes my insides dance around like a bunch of Mexican jumping beans. As the twang of the guitar slides through my speakers, I’m immediately at ease. I sure do like Patsy Cline and “Walking After Midnight” is one of my favorite songs. I know it’s sad but it reminds me of my daddy. Like maybe somehow his leaving was not on purpose. I wonder sometimes if he got lost and is still trying to find his way back to our home. To me and my mama. Though I don’t know if my mama w
ould welcome him back in as it’s been twelve years since he left.
As I park my car I glance at Brandon’s truck. It’s so sparkly and nice, just like Brandon. Why is something that shiny acting interested in me? My stomach clenches and I hop out of my car.
Brandon holds open the door for me and we make our way to the register. I scan the different options and decide to order one of their tiramisu lattes. Whipped cream in the afternoon, is there anything better? I think not.
I reach into my purse to take out my card and Brandon pushes my hand back in my purse.
“Come on now, it’s only coffee.” His dreamy blues make my knees all wobbly.
I sigh. “Okay. Thank you. I’d like a tiramisu latte.”
“Whoa… I said coffee not the works.” Brandon laughs.
I reach back in my purse.
“Sahara, I’m kidding.” He shakes his head at me. “Two tiramisus, please.”
The cashier takes our names and rings us up. We step to the side while they make our drinks.
“You’re something else.” Brandon tugs on my hair.
“I could say the same about you.” I poke his side.
“Sarah and Brandon.” The employee shouts.
We both laugh as if we knew it would be Sarah and not Sahara. Brandon grabs our drinks and I follow behind him to the back of the café. We sit down, me with my notes and Brandon with his laptop.
“I bet you get that all the time, huh?”
I laugh. “More times than I can count.”
“It is an interesting name, though. Are your parents big travelers?”
I laugh even harder now. Brandon is staring at me like I’ve got a clown wig on or something.
“I’m sorry. It’s just the idea of my parents as travelers… well, that’s just funny. I guess, I mean my daddy might be. He left on my tenth birthday, so who knows what he’s up to; maybe he is a big traveler.”
“Oh, gosh, that must have been really difficult.”
“I suppose, but there’s no going back and changing things, so…” I take a sip of my drink.
The sides of Brandon’s mouth pull up higher than the sunrise at noon. I’m not sure why he thinks my daddy leaving is funny. I’m about to stand up and leave as he leans in to me and wipes my nose.
“Sorry, you had some whipped cream on your nose.” His eyes twinkle at me.
My face heats up and I’m not sure which is worse: that I had whipped cream on my nose or that Brandon thought it was funny. Does he think I’m a fool? My shoulders slump to the floor.
“Hey, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Do you know how cute you look when you’re pouting?” Brandon squeezes my hand. His fingers are a little rough but the warmth of his skin makes me all sensitive inside. How is he causing all these emotions when I only just met him?
I stare back into his eyes. “I’m not pouting.”
“Okay.” Brandon grins. “So tell me about your name. I’m curious.”
I sigh. I really don’t want to share this with Brandon. I’m afraid he’ll think it’s silly or think less of my family.
“My mama said she named me Sahara because I was going to be something special, like the desert.” Brandon’s eyes are sparkling at me. I hesitate for a second. “But when my daddy left he said that my mama lied and that she had just misspelled Sarah because she was too doped up on hospital drugs when she filled out the form.” I swallow hard but the lump in the back of my throat doesn’t move.
“Wow.” Brandon shakes his head. “Your dad.” He stops speaking for a moment, almost as if he’s remembering an unwritten rule about talking badly about somebody else’s family. He lets out a sigh. “I like your name and think it suits you well.”
“Thank you. Now enough about me. We’re supposed to be studying here.” I tap on my papers. They look so lame compared to Brandon’s laptop. I’m still not sure why he is sitting here next to me. We are like the dry cleaner’s and the laundromat. Obviously from two different worlds. I’m sure his family life is probably as nice as his truck.
“How about I quiz you?” Brandon winks at me.
“Okay and then I’ll quiz you.” I skim my notes as quickly as I can before Brandon can ask me the first question.
“I didn’t take you for the cheating type.” Brandon tugs the papers away from me.
“I wasn’t. I was just checking out my notes one last time.”
“Tell it to the judge.” Brandon laughs and shuffles the papers. “All right. What is Blue Ribbon’s number-one rule?”
I stare up at the ceiling. I know the answer is not going to be printed up there but for some reason it just seems like the right thing to do. Shoot. I can’t think of what the number-one rule is. Is it about safety? Or more about sales. I glance back at Brandon; he’s watching me with a big smile plastered across his face. I can’t help but smile back even though my insides are twisting together. I do not know the answer to his question.
“I’ll give you a hint.” Brandon’s eyes twinkle and his smile is brighter than the reflection of sundown on the tin foil over my Aunt Betty’s famous apple pie. I’m still stumped. I have no idea.
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
“A smile can go a long way.” Brandon lets out a small laugh.
“Ah, yeah, I suppose I forgot about that one. It’s the company tagline, right?” Gosh, I couldn’t feel worse right about now. I didn’t remember the company tagline; how am I supposed to pass any of the tests when I don’t even know the tagline? My insides feel shredded. I glance at my phone. It’s five after six.
“Yes, it is. All right, next question.” Brandon scans over my notes. A vibrating sound comes from underneath the table. He eyes his phone and holds up one finger to me.
“Hello… yes, this is Brandon. Yes, I’m working on… training just began. Yes, I will. All right. Bye.” His mind seems to be elsewhere as he stuffs his phone back in his pocket. What was that about? It’s not anything for me to worry about, that’s for sure.
I clear my throat and pick up my notes. “Actually, I’ve got to go. I promised Ms. Myra I’d eat dinner with her tonight and now I’m going to be late.” I stand up. Brandon’s eyes are wide. Does he think I’m dumber than a fruit fly? I sure wish I had wings right about now and I would flap them so fast and exit this shop before Brandon noticed I was gone.
“Oh, okay.” Brandon stands as well.
“Thanks for the latte.” I nod at him and hightail it out of there. My whole drive home I try not to slam my head onto my steering wheel. The only thing that prevents me from doing so is, one, Rontu wouldn’t appreciate it and, two, I might cause an accident. Other than that it seems like a great idea.
I scoot my way up the driveway and run to Ms. Myra’s front door. The kitchen light is on. I sure hope I haven’t ruined dinner. This would be our very first one together. I open the door and take a right to the kitchen. Ms. Myra’s house is what one might describe as quaint. It’s got three bedrooms, a kitchen, a living room, and only one bathroom. The bathroom part might be a problem for some folks but I’ve been sharing one with my mama since I was born. Ha, I mean once I was out of diapers.
“Hi, Ms. Myra. I hope I’m not late, I was studying.”
Ms. Myra has her back to me as she’s stirring a big pot of something on the stove. She slowly turns around and her smile tells me she isn’t mad.
“Not at all, dear. Now have a seat and tell me all about your day. How did you like Blue Ribbon?
“Yes, ma’am. I liked it a lot. Except I need to do some major studying as apparently I don’t know the proper way to scoop ice cream and I forgot about the number-one rule of the creamery.” I slide onto the vinyl green chair and then immediately hop up. “Can I help with something, Ms. Myra?”
“No, dear, tonight is my turn. You can take a turn another time.” Ms. Myra nods at me to take a seat. I reluctantly sit back down. It seems backwards for me to be sitting while she serves me. After her allowing me to stay with her an’ all.
&nb
sp; “What’s the proper way to scoop ice cream? I would have thought someone from Dairy Queen would know.”
I laugh. “I would have thought that, too, but Mr. Flints seems to think not too kindly of Dairy Queen. Anyways, he said the proper way is to cut the ice cream with a warm knife first, like a grid.”
Ms. Myra brings the pot to the table and sloshes some of the chili onto the floor. “Oh, darn it.” She slides the pot on the table and reaches for a towel. Her legs slip a bit and she braces herself on the counter.
“Are you all right?” I jump to her side.
“Yes, dear. I’m just getting old, that’s all.”
I take the towel from her and clean up the mess.
She is still holding on to the sides of the counter like she might fall. I’m afraid to ask her if I can help. I don’t want to embarrass her. I pretend to clean the towel for longer than what would seem necessary at the sink until she lets go of the sides of the counter and slowly makes her way to the table like an inchworm. This is not the kind of movement I would expect of someone her age. If I had to guess I would say she’s got to be a few years older than my mama, but that would still make her under sixty.
I sit down at the seat in front of her and smile. “Thanks for making dinner. It smells delicious.”
“Oh, thank you, Sahara – that’s very kind of you.” She grins back at me.
My heart is warming all over. There is something about her that makes me want to rush to her side and hug her. Like I’ve known her my whole life or something.
“Tell me about the rest of your day. Did you meet any new friends?” She takes a scoop of the chili. I notice the cornbread is sitting on the counter and I step up and grab it along with the butter.
“Good call.” She nods at the cornbread. “Now, quit stalling. Did you meet a boy?”