It Starts

by Avery Kirk

  I put my feet on the yellow throw rug next to my bed and stood up. I normally made the bed right when I got up, but I heard the phone ring and my grampa called that it was for me. I ran down the stairs and picked up the phone. My grampa motioned to me that he was going out to the garage and walked out of the door. I nodded to him.

  “Hello?”

  “Mel?” a woman’s voice said.

  “Speaking,” I responded, clearing my throat.

  “This is Margaret from Mundo Hermoso Travel. I have a note here to call you for finalization of your travel arrangements next month.”

  I froze.

  “I’m sorry, you must have the wrong number,” I said hopefully.

  “Well now, let me be sure I have the right person. I’m looking for Amelia E. Harper—preferred name Mel. Is that who I’m speaking with?”

  “Yes, but—I don’t have a trip planned next month,” I said, my throat feeling thick.

  “Well, this is odd. Let me verify some other things with you if you could just bear with me. Is it possible someone is surprising you? Oh God, I wonder if I wasn’t supposed to call just yet. I hope I didn’t spoil any surprise.”

  I didn’t respond. I could hear her keyboard and mouse clicking.

  “Let me see here. I’m showing the following information: Amelia Evelyn Harper at 2910 Statler Road in Saint Clair Shores, Michigan. Date of birth January 10. It shows that a credit was purchased through our travel agency. Well, it’s a sort of a gift certificate program that we have here. Specific instructions left in our system were to call you in three days and firm up the arrangements. I was getting ready to call with ticket prices, and I noticed that your traveling companion is unnamed. So I wanted to ask first whose name I should place on the second ticket.”

  “Where would I be going?” I asked in almost a whisper, feeling slightly fearful at the answer. I covered my mouth with my hand as I waited for the reply.

  “The flight is headed to San Diego, California,” she said. “But it shows that the requested lodging is in Temecula.”

  I felt sick. A pressure settled on my chest and wouldn’t leave me. I tried to deep-breathe but my hands shook. I made myself breathe very slowly and deeply to calm myself. I watched my grampa tinker around in the garage for a moment.

  “Miss? Are you still there?” she said.

  “Yeah, I’m here. Can I call you back with that information?” I managed to say, although my voice sounded hoarse.

  “You sure can. Are you able to call me by Tuesday? I want to be certain we book prior to the two-week mark. Rates generally go up after that. I also want to be sure these are mailed to you in time,” she said, hesitantly.

  “Can I ask you who paid for them—I mean whose name is on the account?” I asked, courage returning to my voice.

  “Let me take a peek at the details.” She didn’t speak for a few minutes and I didn’t hear anything except for a few thinking sounds as I used the time to feel both fear and anger. I decided to side with the anger since fear wouldn’t help at all.

  “Well the strange thing, Miss, is that it shows that you were the buyer. Last year,” she said. “Although the payment was made in cash so I suppose anyone could’ve used your name as the buyer since you’re the traveler. Well, you and your companion, I mean. Geez, I’m sorry that this is catching you off-guard. I feel bad that it seems so mysterious to you. Our system had a reminder set, so I’m really not very familiar with the client file,” she said, trailing off.

  “Are you located in Michigan then?” I asked.

  “No, we’re in Albuquerque,” she replied.

  I laughed without humor. “Well, I’ve never been to Albuquerque, so I couldn’t have paid cash for your gift card or whatever it is,” I said, a little more anger in my voice than I meant.

  Margaret apologized again and announced that she would read every word in the file to me as long as I didn’t tell the gift giver if it did happen to be part of an elaborate plot as a gift.

  The file revealed that the purchaser was a walk-in client who’d paid a hefty sum in cash as a gift certificate with instructions to call me to set my traveling companion. Margaret had called a few days before the reminder alerted her because she was being proactive, according to her. I grilled her on whether or not the file said anything about letting anyone know if I would be going or where I would be staying. She said she had no notes on any follow up.

  I asked her if I could use the credit to go anywhere or just California. She said it was good for anywhere. I let her know that I’d have to think about it but would call her back either way. She gave me her number.

  I stood very still after I hung up the phone. I couldn’t think of who to call or what to do. Kevin was spending the day with Lanie, so I didn’t want to bug him with this. I’d have to tell him later.

  I wasn’t a religious person. I believed in the main stuff, but I didn’t even go to church. I believed more in things I could feel or touch than stories about greatness that dead people witnessed. I was more literal than religion recommended. So, while the idea crossed my mind that this was some divine influence, I dismissed it. That path of thinking brought up too many other questions, so it couldn’t possibly be true or answerable.

  If I was needed for something super important in California, my main question would be: Why? Literally millions of people would be better suited than I was. I was still trying to get a grip on all the basics: family, friends, career. I couldn’t think of a single possible reason why someone would need me to go to California. I wasn’t great at anything.

  So, my first thought was that this came from someone I’d met who was playing a mind game with me. That didn’t add up either, though. Why would someone make such an elaborate plan? A year in advance at that. It just didn’t add up.

  I decided to move, and still in the kitchen, leaned up against the other counter. I sat for a few minutes trying to decide what to do.

  Impulsively, I grabbed my keys, ran outside in my pajamas, and hopped in the truck. I stuck my head out the window and waved to my grampa.

  “I just have to run out real fast—be back in about an hour,” I told him. He nodded and waved, although he had a bit of a confused look on his face.

  I drove to the Bloomfield house again—barefoot. I decided that I needed to see if the fake homeowner would come back.

  I sat parked on the street, watching the house. An old woman with her gray hair in rollers peeked out of the neighbor’s window and stared at me. I rolled my eyes and ignored her. I watched the house for a good thirty minutes, just sitting in silence. He was bound to come back, right? Maybe he was with the roofing crew. I wish I’d asked the crew when I last saw them. They were still there the day after the fire started.

  I looked down at my truck, peeling a piece of vinyl on the cup holder that was bugging me. I heard a knock on my driver’s-side window, and I jumped. The face was familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. I rolled down the window. The man had dark blond hair, but his scent was what triggered my memory.

  “Hi. Surprised to see you here,” he said.

  “Yeah,” I said. I wasn’t about to explain why I was there.

  “Do you remember me?” he wanted to know.

  “Yeah, you’re a firefighter, right? The one who fixed up my leg.”

  “Yep. How is it, by the way?” he asked, scratching his hair just above his ear.

  “It’s totally fine. I’m pretty used to job-related injuries. I do appreciate the help,” I said, nodding.

  “Anytime.”

  There was a long pause.

  He continued. “So, that guy you were talking to the other day, is he your dad?”

  “Murray? No, he’s my boss.”

  “Oh. That makes sense.”

  He stood by the window, not moving. He put his hands in his jeans’ front pockets and looked down the street.

  “I didn’t hear you drive up,” I said.

  “Oh, I actually parked down there,” he said, pointing to
his car. “I lost my pocket knife the other day. My mom got it for me a while back when I became a fireman, so I wanted to see if I could find it. I thought maybe I lost it when I was here. I’ve looked everywhere. I was all up and down the street that day so I’ve been checking in the front of these houses and in the backyard of this one. I was in the neighborhood.”

  “Any luck?” I asked, wondering if people were ever really in the neighborhood when they say they were.

  “Not yet,” he said, glancing up at the nosey old lady, who was still peeking out the window. He waved to her. I laughed.

  “I would help you look for it,” I said, “but I’m not wearing any shoes.” I felt a little silly and put one foot on top of the other on the brake pedal.

  “I did notice that,” he said, smiling. “That’s OK. I was just about to give up. I’m Wren, by the way.” He put his hand in my window to shake my hand.

  I took his hand and shook it. His knuckles felt rough. “I’m Mel,” I said.

  “Mel. Is that short for something?” he asked, shoving his hands back into his front pockets.

  “Yeah, short for Amelia.” I said.

  “I like it,” he said, nodding.

  I smiled. I kind of wondered why he was still standing there.

  “So, you’re a carpenter, huh?” he asked, kicking some gravel on the street.

  “Yeah. I’m still learning, but I’ve been a finish carpenter for a few years now.” I noticed his chin had a dimple and his blond hair was much neater today. It was brushed to the side and had a slight wave to it.

  “Do you have a business card?”

  “Oh, sure.” I reached into my glove box and snagged a card, straightening the corners as I handed it to him. It was only about the third one I’d given out in probably a year.

  “Thanks,” he said, acting very interested in what was on the card. He flicked it with his fingertips.

  “Do you need carpentry work done?” I asked, wondering.

  “I do if you’re going to do it,” he said, moving his eyes up to mine and holding them there, his gaze intense.

  “Oh,” I said, not sure how to respond.

  “So, are you…” He paused. “…with anyone?” He bit his bottom lip, waiting for my response.

  I shook my head slightly, holding his gaze.

  “Do you think I could give you a call?” he asked, looking at me with a sort of hopeful trust.

  I nodded. I really wasn’t sure what to say, so I didn’t say anything.

  “Maybe we can grab some coffee. I was just going to get some, actually. I would ask you to come now, but there’s that shoe thing again,” he said, smiling. He had perfect teeth, and I noticed his hazel eyes.

  “If only I had shoes,” I said with a shrug.

  Something occurred to him. “Are you an adventurous type of girl?” he said to me.

  I looked at him sideways, wondering exactly what he was referring to. He laughed.

  “I meant that I actually have some rubber boots in my truck. I was helping my uncle lay cement. I could bring you with me to get coffee right now. Those would be the prettiest feet my boots have ever had in them.”

  I smiled and looked down. “I would, but I actually slept in this.” I said, pointing to my black yoga pants and lime-green T-shirt.”

  He shook his bent knee back and forth and set his hands on the sides of my window, leaning closer to me.

  He spoke softly. “I don’t care if you don’t.”

  I realized just then that I’d been playing with my hair. I stopped abruptly and squinted my eyes, turning to him. “Can you have me back here in less than an hour?”

  “That I can do.” He smirked.

  “OK then, I’m in.”

  “Excellent. Let me grab those boots for you.” He smiled, jogging over to his parked car.

  I hopped out of my truck, tossing on a gray, hooded sweatshirt that I kept on the passenger side. I used the sleeve to rub my teeth, realizing that I hadn’t brushed them. I grabbed a credit card and an Atomic Fireball from my center console and sucked on it for three seconds, putting it back in its wrapper as my mouth burned.

  I walked over to his car while pulling my hair into a ponytail. Wren had the trunk open and got the black rubber boots out for me. He turned them upside down to pour out anything that might have been inside. The bottom of the boots had a thin coating of dried cement on them. He set them down behind his car, taking the time to put the left on the left and right on the right, facing me. He held his hand out to help me balance.

  I hesitated because he caught me off-guard by offering his hand when I could have easily used the car for balance. I looked at him then took his hand, stepping into the boots. They were huge on me and I giggled. I had to point my toes up when I walked to keep them on my feet. Wren ran over to the car to pick up the pop bottles from the passenger floor while I clomped over to sit down. He opened the door for me from the inside, reaching over.

  Wren’s car smelled like artificial coconut air freshener. I found it funny. We drove to a coffee shop just down the street. After we ordered, I offered to pay with my pocketed credit card, but he insisted on buying. We then sat down at a small table against the wall.

  “My kind of girl,” he remarked, with a mischievous smile.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Plain coffee and rubber boots in a fancy coffee shop. Any guy would agree. Any sane guy would agree,” he corrected. His jeans were distracting me, and I was sure he caught me noticing them.

  “So, what made you become a firefighter?” I asked, realizing that I was staring at him.

  He stirred his coffee and hunched over the cup, thinking. “Every kid wants to be a firefighter, right? I guess it’s because I was drawn to the team feeling of it. You’re a team of people who grow to be family. Your sole job is to rescue people and help them and stop what went wrong. It’s dangerous, but you count on your team. You’re there for each other.”

  “That’s a great answer.”

  “Thank you.” He flashed his perfect smile at me. “I get asked that a lot so I’ve had time to think about it. What made you become a carpenter?”

  “Now I wish you would’ve asked me first. My answer is way worse.”

  He laughed. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

  “Well, it’s not as admirable, that’s for sure. I just tried it. and I liked it. Turns out I’m a bit of a perfectionist, and that works well when you’re a carpenter.”

  “No way,” he said, sitting back.

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “No disrespect,” he said, placing his hand on his chest, laughing. “No disrespect. I just put the term perfectionist with someone much more…high maintenance. With high hair, and high heels.”

  “Decent recovery,” I said, nodding.

  “So, what brought you to the house today? You looked like you were waiting for someone,” he said, sitting back and crossing his legs.

  “I came back there to see if the guy who was posing as the homeowner was going to come back,” I said nonchalantly.

  “Really?” He seemed genuinely surprised. “What were you going to do if he showed up?”

  “Confront him. Find out why he would lie about that, I guess.” I felt as if I should’ve told him I was there for a different reason. This morning’s 200-pound phone call that prompted me to leave the house quickly dropped right back on my chest. I tried to bury it in my mind so that my change in mood wouldn’t give him the wrong idea. I actually liked him.

  “Interesting.” He nodded, looking at me and taking a sip of his coffee. He seemed to have a habit of holding his coffee in his mouth before he swallowed, rather than just drinking it. I locked eyes with him. Most people looked away when I did that, but he held my gaze for longer than most. Then he looked at his watch. “I only have 13 minutes left to get you back to your car and I’m already bummed about it.”

  I wasn’t sure if that was a line or not, but I smiled anyway. He had a very strong brow and his eyebrows w
ere darker than his hair. His jawline was well defined and I could see his jaw muscles when he clenched his teeth, which he had done a few times already.

  He drove me back to my car and turned his car off which I took as a hint that he wasn’t ready to drive away. So I sat still and didn’t hop right out of the car.

  “Well, Wren, thank you for the coffee and for the use of your rubber boots.”

  “You’re very welcome.”

  “I hope you find your pocket knife. It sounds like it’s important.”

  “Yeah, thanks, I hope so too. I’ve got a few more places to check.”

  I started to pull my feet out of the boots. “Well—” I began.

  “You can keep those,” he rushed to say. “For now, I mean. I don’t need them for a while, and I wouldn’t want your toes to be cold. Gives me a reason to see you again. If you’re OK with that.” He looked down then he turned his lips into each other, seeming a little self-conscious.

  “I might be OK with that,” I said in a low voice, glancing at him out of the side of my eye.

  “I’ll give you a call then,” he said with a shy smile.

  “Talk to you then,” I answered as I got out of the car and shut the door. I walked in the giant boots over to my car, where I felt flushed and a bit anxious. I’d never had an immediate connection with someone like that before.

  As I pulled away, I found myself struggling between the stress from my phone call and the encounter with Wren. What the hell kind of name was that, anyway? I smelled my sweatshirt sleeves up and down to see if his spicy smell might have lingered—nothing. I smiled as I drove. I didn’t want to think about when he would call or I might make myself crazy. Although I did set my phone ringer up a little louder than it had been, just in case he called.

  I drove for about ten minutes, and my phone rang. I had turned it up so loud that it startled me and I grabbed it quickly to see who it was. I should’ve programmed his number. An unknown number came across the screen. I tucked my hair behind my ear and answered in a much higher voice than my natural one.