The Tea Series

by Sheila Horgan

  “How about the hotel?”

  “No thanks. I like my new little apartment. I’m starting to get comfortable. Oh, and Connie stopped by.”

  “Connie? As in the guy who used to live here?”

  “Yep, he just wanted to make sure that I’m comfortable. He wanted to show me a couple of things. He’s a contractor guy, and he made a couple of improvements that the apartment complex doesn’t know about.”

  “Really? Like what?”

  “You know in the kitchen where the cupboards meet in the corner?”

  I pointed. “There?”

  “Yep, if you go to your apartment and put something up on top in the corner it will just fall through because they don’t have wood up there where there is a void. He put wood on mine so I can put stuff all the way across.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “He also put lighting under the cupboards so that I can have soft lighting. It will work well for the baby so that she doesn’t have bright lights in her eyes if she wakes up at night. He used it for more nefarious reasons.” She wiggled her eyebrows and made me laugh.

  “That sounds good too.”

  “There is also a little safe where the circuit box is in the laundry room. Not a lot of space but enough to shove some extra cash or some jewelry.”

  “I had no idea he was ripping the place apart.”

  “Oh, and then there’s the air conditioning.”

  “He told me he cleaned it all out for you since he is a smoker. He didn’t want all that yuck blowing in on the baby.”

  “Oh, no, let me show you.”

  We walked over to the wall. She had the same setup I do, which is a really stupid setup. The air intake for the whole unit is on the wall just outside the laundry room door. It’s this huge three-foot-by-three-and-a-half-foot vent thing in the wall. You can’t put anything over it. It just looks ugly. To clean the filter, you simply unscrew a couple of screws that have little hats on them. The vent cover comes off, and you have all kinds of ducting work and the place where you put the filter. The filter is a whole other problem. I’d say about half the time when I open it up — I change the filter once a month — the filter has been sucked into the hole and isn’t really doing any good anyway.

  Oh, and there’s a little trough thing in there that freezes up if there is too much humidity in the air, and in Florida there is always too much humidity in the air, and the whole system kind of throws up on your foot. I’ve actually had water drip down on me from the vent in the kitchen. I should have called the health department. How sanitary is that?

  Okay, I’m grumpy. I’ll think about that.

  Suzi unscrewed the cover, pulled it off, and set it on the floor. Looked just like mine. Only cleaner, thanks to Connie.

  Then Suzi took off the filter, put it to the side and pulled off what I thought was ductwork. Looks kind of like a silver chimney with sharp angles. There was a whole area there. A big area. I’m not sure what you would want to put in there, but whatever it is, there would be room.

  “What did he use this for?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Years from now someone is going to find this and figure someone that lived here was a drug dealer or something.”

  “Maybe he is. Maybe that’s why he cleaned it all out.”

  “He just married a cop. Besides, why would he show it to you if he used it for something like that?”

  “I’m kidding. Damn, Cara, not everything is a huge mystery for you to unravel. When you live in a crappy apartment, anything of any value at all, maybe just sentimental value, is at risk. Maybe he hid his kid’s baby pictures in here. Or cash when he didn’t want to run to the bank all the time. Maybe tools. They cost a fortune.”

  “He had a garage for his tools. You’re right. I’m sorry. It just seems like there’s a hidden meaning in everything around me all the time, and it’s been that way for the last several months. It makes you paranoid.”

  We finished our tea, and I made sure Suzi had Teagan’s phone number as well as mine.

  I went home, took a shower, slathered on some smelly-good-stuff and put on some loungewear. I argued with myself about what to pack while A.J. talked to himself in the other room.

  I took a minute to send up a little prayer. Something I haven’t been doing enough of lately. Not that I don’t ask for help. I probably do that a little more often than I should. More like I don’t remember to say thank you. That’s a biggie. Not so much because God cares, I am sure he has better things to worry about, but because it reminds me that I have so much to say thank you for.

  I know it is a well-worn cliché and one my mother particularly hates, but I am more spiritual than I am religious, and I think that remembering what it is you have to be grateful for is a big step in attracting positive things into your life. I’m really good about it for a while; then things start going really well, and I forget; then everything falls apart, and I have to work to get it all back straight again. If I would just remember all the time, maybe I wouldn’t be on such a roller coaster sometimes.

  A.J. finished up his work and packed it all away. He’s gotten in the habit of leaving everything he needs to take to work the next day right by the front door — literally sitting in front of the door — right before we go to bed. It’s become almost a ritual. For me it signals when it is time to go to bed. For him it helps to slow his brain down; knowing that he has everything there, he doesn’t have to think about it. And although we have a good security system now, I dare anybody to try to get past all his junk without making any noise.

  We lay in bed and talked about nothing. Pretty much all night. We talked about television shows we liked as kids and the way dew magnifies the beauty of a flower. We talked about being hungry and being fortunate and the fact that he was closer to his grandparents than I was to mine. We covered what we would want in a dream house, the perfect car, and symbiosis — specifically how it applies to the Coopers and the O’Flynns.

  It was a great night.

  EIGHT

  TEAGAN SHOWED UP just as the sun did. In a car I didn’t recognize.

  “What happened to your car?”

  “Nothing.”

  “This isn’t Jessie’s car.”

  “No, it’s not. I rented one.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that financial guy on television said if you are driving more than six hundred and fifty miles you should rent a car and put the miles on their car instead of your own.”

  “Are you allowed to drive this one out of the state? Some of them have rules about that.”

  “I checked; we’re good.”

  “Okay.”

  “And you are on the contract so you can drive.”

  “How’d you pull that off? Don’t they need a copy of my driver’s license or something?”

  “It’s taken care of. Ready?”

  “Sure. Let me grab my stuff and say goodbye to A.J.”

  The car is a little bit bigger than either of our cars, which will make for a more comfortable ride, but will make it harder to reach the ice chest. Everything is a balancing act.

  “I’ll start driving.” Teagan has a tendency to be a little bit bossy on road trips. It annoys the rest of the family, but it doesn’t bother me. I figure she’s just a little bit insecure, and since she so rarely is, I find it cute. “I figure we can just get on I-75 and head north to I-10, then west until we can’t stand driving anymore.”

  “That works. Is this a drive to get there kind of drive or a drive to enjoy getting there kind of drive.”

  “We’re on vacation. I want to have fun the whole time, so it is an enjoy getting there kind of drive.”

  “Good. Are there outlet malls on the way?”

  “That’s a possibility.”

  “Texas does everything big; they have to have a huge wedding dress store there.”

  “True, but I thought I’d wait for Mom on that.”

  “Good plan. It would be bad to have funerals instead
of a wedding. She’d kill us both.”

  We’d only made it down to the corner before the GPS started in on us. We decided to go the back way to the freeway so that we could stop and get ice.

  The tiny little woman who lives in the GPS was not amused.

  We stopped and got ice, topped off the tank simply because you never know if a rental car is telling you the truth about these things. It would be bad luck to get out in the middle of nowhere and then find out that the gas tank indicator thingy is broken.

  Of course we aren’t going to get out in the middle of nowhere before we buy gas, but if it were broken, we might want to bring the car back and get a different one. That’s the wonderful thing about renting cars for a trip. If there’s a problem, it isn’t your problem.

  The gas tank only took about a dollar, which means it was topped off already.

  Good omen.

  So I bought a lottery ticket.

  Told Teagan that if I won a hundred million dollars, I’d pay for her wedding.

  She pointed out that the jackpot was only thirteen million.

  With an attitude like that, she’ll just have to pay for her own wedding.

  Back on the road, we headed north, with Jill, that’s the name of the little tiny woman in the GPS, sounding more and more annoyed. Turns out she thought we should take a bunch of little roads up the coast instead of I-75. Every time we passed an exit, she’d tell us to get off and head for the coast roads. Every time Teagan ignored her, she sounded more annoyed. About ten exits up, we were laughing at the tiny little woman in the GPS. I think we hurt her feelings. I was just sure that at any moment I would hear, “Girls, don’t make me turn this car around; you know I will!”

  We made it all the way north to I-10 before she calmed down.

  We could have just muted the sound, but that would be rude to poor little tiny Jill, and, besides, what’s the fun in that?

  We stopped about a hundred miles our side of Pensacola to get gas. A bunch of military types were there. Teagan talked to a family while she was putting gas in the car. They said that a bunch of the guys just got back and they were all going to Orlando to visit the happiest place on earth.

  I’m not sure what all the conversation entailed, but I saw Teagan hand the woman a business card.

  That’s part of the reason she’s so good at her job.

  She’s a talker.

  I can talk to total strangers and get their life story before the cashier has a chance to ring up my purchase, but Teagan actually talks about business and stuff.

  I just talk about nothing.

  I’m sure that doesn’t surprise anybody.

  And it tells you all kinds of stuff about the differences between me and Teagan. And our approaches to life.

  Back on the road, it was my turn to drive. We crossed the long bridge to Pensacola. It’s not really a bridge; it’s more like a causeway I guess. It’s just a really long section of road just over the water. It’s pretty. It didn’t even freak me out because it’s really not that high.

  The tunnel later is what freaked me out.

  I’m not even exactly sure where we were, but I’m sure it was on I-10. You come out of this tunnel, and it’s really bright, and you make this sharp turn, and there are trucks and cars everywhere driving really fast because they know what they’re doing, and I was going kind of slow because I wasn’t sure where I was going. Just the speed limit. It’s not like I was going twelve miles an hour. Some tanker truck guy lay on his horn and about scared me to death.

  “Cara, you feeling lucky?”

  “If we aren’t dead, I’d say we were very lucky.”

  “Why don’t we spend the night in one of the casinos in Mississippi?”

  “Sure, if you want to.”

  “They usually have cheap rooms at the casinos, they usually have pretty good food that is cheap, and maybe they have a show, or we could play on slot machines or something.”

  “Sounds good to me. You want to get on your phone and see what you can see?”

  “Sure.”

  Minutes later we had reservations at one of the big casinos. Evidently the room was not as cheap as Teagan had envisioned, but she was sure it was a nice and safe place to stay and not all that far off the freeway.

  I hate walking into a public place after I’ve been on the road all day. Teagan always looks like she just walked out of a salon. I always look like I just walked out of a wind tunnel. That was testing for hurricanes. Near a convenience store, since I have little bits of chips and chocolate stuck to my shirt.

  We got our key, got to our room, took wonderful showers, and got dressed to find food.

  The buffet was good.

  The ice cream in the buffet was better.

  We played video poker for a little while. Teagan won a little. I donated twenty dollars.

  We went back to the room. Checked emails and everything with our phones, since Wi-Fi cost eleven ninety-five for the one night we would be there.

  We watched a little television and passed out.

  Teagan was taking a shower when I woke up in the morning. It was before the sun came up. Not a good sign. I usually have to threaten bodily harm to get Teagan going in the morning on a road trip.

  “What’s up?”

  “I thought Suzi talked to you.”

  “Sorry. Teagan, dear sister of mine, person I adore, what is it that is bothering you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Not true.”

  “Cara, I said there’s nothing bothering me.”

  “I know you better than anyone else in the world knows you. If you don’t want to tell me what is wrong, that’s fine, but we both know that something’s wrong.”

  “You’re delusional.”

  “Not the first time someone has said that to me, but it doesn’t change anything.”

  “Take your shower so we can get going, dingleberry.”

  “Did you want to get breakfast? They have something downstairs. The lady in the elevator last night said it was good.”

  “Sure, we can do that.”

  Something is definitely wrong. Teagan is never dispassionate about food.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Cara, I told you I’m fine. I just didn’t sleep very well last night.”

  “Why don’t I drive? You can take a nap in the car.”

  “Sure, that would be good. I forgot my pillow. Can I use yours?”

  “Of course, I smooshed it in the backseat in the foot part.”

  “Yuck, who knows what feet have been there?”

  “Not to worry. Already thought of that. It’s in a garbage bag.”

  “Very good.”

  “Not really. I just didn’t want to forget to bring garbage bags this time. I always forget, and then either I want to bring something home, or I want to clean out the car.”

  “I cannot believe that I actually do a cleaning thing that you don’t do. I’ve out-Cara-ed you. I should do a cartwheel or write this down or something.”

  I wanted to smack her, but her gloating seemed to be pulling her out of her mild but quick-onset depression.

  She continued. “I take the bags from the grocery store, flatten them out, fold them in fours width ways, then in half length ways, then roll them up, and put a bunch of them in a quart bag. They fit perfectly. Then I stick the quart bag in the pouch behind my seat. I can always reach them, and they are handy for garbage and stuff.”

  “When did you start doing that?”

  “Jessie thinks I’m a little messy. He says my car is always full of stuff. Just made it easier.”

  “You do tend toward clutter, but you’re clean, and that’s what’s important.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “What did he say?”

  “We’ll get a housecleaning service to come in and de-clutter me a couple of times a month.”

  “How do you feel about that? I don’t think I’d want someone else in my house mungin’ around in my stuff.”


  “I think it’s a great idea. I can go get myself all glamorized while someone like you, who actually enjoys cleaning and is good at it, takes care of it for me. Best of all worlds.”

  “If it works for you, it works. I’m gonna take my shower, and I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

  “I’ll go downstairs and look at the buffet.”

  Her heart just wasn’t in it.

  Something isn’t right.

  We decided to skip the buffet and just get on the road.

  Some people think that driving a road like I-10 is boring. I love it. For the most part it is flat, straight, the people are somewhat accommodating — depending on what state you are in — and there aren’t many areas with edges.

  If the road has a good shoulder and a guardrail, I can drive anywhere, even in the mountains. As long as I keep my eyes on the road and not on the mountain. If there isn’t a good shoulder or guardrail, forget it.

  When I was doing research for the girls, a bunch of people on the Internet were talking about roads all over the place that I am never going to go on. Ever.

  Like there is one in Yellowstone where you can only go about twenty-five miles an hour because it is on the side of a mountain and you could just go flipping off the edge. Of course, that’s my fear talking. You don’t hear daily alerts about people flipping over the edge at Yellowstone, but one of the people on the message board I went to said that they were doing some kind of construction in the area and these big trucks were on their brakes the whole time they were on that stretch of the road and by the time they got to the bottom their brakes were smokin’ and they had to pull over.

  No thank you.

  Those are the kinds of things I think about when I’m driving down a nice, long, flat straight road. It keeps me awake. Wide awake.

  Teagan had her seat back, and she had her sunglasses on. And if I didn’t know her so well, I’d think she was asleep. But she wasn’t asleep. She was thinking. That can’t be good.