The cart’s left front wheel didn’t quite touch the ground and it made an annoying clicking noise as it swung freely to and fro. Then periodically it would touch down in a direction perpendicular to all the other wheels and bring the cart to a shuddering halt. Nikki was standing in the produce aisle staring at wilting lettuce and some sad, sad apples when she heard someone calling her name.
“Nicole, Nicole, Nikki, Nikki, hola!”
“Hola, Donny.”
“You came! You said you couldn’t make it.”
“Last minute change of plans at work,” said Nikki, smiling.
“Good. Because thank God there’s someone normal here,” said Donny, engulfing her in a hug, his words tumbling over themselves. “This place isn’t right, right? We’re surrounded by ten million farms and they’ve the most disgusting produce I’ve ever seen. And I’m considering driving into Spokane just to get a decent cup of coffee. God, I need a coffee.”
“Are you sure, Donny? You kind of seem like you’ve had some already.” Nikki disentangled herself from Donny’s hug.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ve been drinking the diner coffee with my dad. I’m pretty sure it’s Folger’s made with one of the owner’s old gym socks for a filter, but the waitress said it was decaf.”
“I don’t think it was decaf.”
“I don’t think it was decaf either,” agreed Donny, nodding vehemently, “but we had like four cups before I noticed. You know the weird thing, though? My dad is not even twitching. I’m not wrong though, am I? This place is messed up.”
“The produce aisle is not inspiring.”
“It wasn’t this bad when we were kids, was it? I don’t think it was. Did we all just grow our own vegetables? Why are you dressed like you’re going to play tennis with the Great Gatsby?”
“It’s a photography project for my grandma.”
“Yeah? I’ve been trying to remember where we bought veggies before. I think we went to the farm stand out on River Road.”
“That might have been what we did. I really don’t remember. Are you staying out with your folks?”
“Yeah, but never mind that. I’m glad you’re here. I think something weird is going down. I’m going to call the LT and see what kind of jurisdiction I have here.”
“Yeah, I had a weird incident last night,” said Nikki, as Donny’s phone buzzed.
“Crap, it’s my Dad. He’s already checked out. We should talk, but not here. We’re doing a Fernandez Fiesta on Friday. You should come. We’ll talk then.”
“Oh, my God, look who it is. Little Nikki Lanier. Our resident celebrity. Or are you just our resident celebrity-kisser?” Nikki pivoted to see who was throwing down such passive-aggressive attitude this early in the day.
“Ugh. Kristine Pims. I gotta go.”
“Chicken,” muttered Nikki.
“Fuck yeah,” he agreed, but without moving. He appeared mesmerized by Kristine’s rather bountiful bosom that bounced gently as she walked toward them.
“Hi, Kristine,” said Nikki. Kristine had been a soft, blonde fifth grader with a bullying streak and a pout when Nikki had known her. It appeared that fifteen years had only added a little height and weight. Well, to be honest, it was a lot of weight. Although, apparently the weight had been distributed correctly for Donny’s tastes. “I hear you barely made it into town before causing trouble,” said Kristine archly. “Being a troublemaker must be in the blood.”
“Uh, yeah, whatever” said Nikki. “Donny, I’ll talk to you later?”
“Sure, sure,” said Donny, trying to edge away. “You’re at your grandma’s, right? I’ll call you.”
“Why are you dressed like a 1940s tramp?” demanded Kristine.
“It’s 1920s,” said Donny.
“Statement stands, no matter the decade,” said Kristine smugly.
“You think it’s trampy?” asked Nikki, glancing down at her outfit as if seeing it for the first time. “Hmm. Well, I guess some of us aren’t embarrassed of our bodies.” Then she tilted her head and stared at Kristine with a fake smile.
“Well!” said Kristine, huffing out a large breath.
“So nice to have seen you again, Kristine. Don’t let us keep you.” Nikki pulled her cart back, ostensibly to make room for Kristine. Unable to think of a retort, Kristine simply looked furious and pushed by, clanking into Nikki’s cart with unnecessary force.
“Bitchcakes!” said Donny. “Get yer hot bitchcakes! Served fresh, right here.”
“I shouldn’t have gone with the body comment,” said Nikki regretfully. “It was a cheap shot, but it was the fastest way to make her leave.”
“She earned it,” said Donny, and Nikki wrinkled her nose in disagreement—no one earned having their body shamed in public. “I’ve run into her a couple of times since being back in town. Huge chip on her shoulder.” His phone began to ring. “Anyway, I’ll call you later. Gotta go.”
“Too much coffee,” Nikki muttered to herself as he jogged toward the front of the store.
Nikki loaded her groceries into the back of the car, having turned down the perfunctory offer of help from the bag boy who looked too young to be that soulless, and tried to decide what to do about dinner. She’d bought stuff, but she wasn’t sure any of it made a dinner. She knew they were going to get back to the house and Peg would take one look and say, “Should have made a list.”
She shut the hatch-back of the SUV and turned to wheel the cart over to the cart corral. Of course, it didn’t want to go in the corral and tried to make an unpredictable left turn at the last second. Nikki kicked the cart to correct its trajectory and then instantly regretted it as she felt every metal slat through her Keds and heard the protest of the ancient seams on her shorts. Apparently 1930s ladies didn’t kick things.
She was turning back to the car when she saw Ylina, the girl from the Kessel Run, exiting the grocery store. She had changed into jean shorts and a T-shirt, but it was definitely her. She looked furtively both ways and began to cross the parking lot.
Nikki jogged over. “Hey, Ylina! It’s Nikki - from the Kessel Run.”
“Yeah, I remember,” said Ylina, but without stopping.
“I wanted to make sure you were OK. You seemed pretty freaked last night.”
“I’m fine,” said Ylina, still walking. Nikki jogged a little to keep up.
“Hey, I think you should know. The Carhartt dude—Milt? I saw him last night. I don’t think he went to jail.”
Ylina laughed once, abruptly and bitterly. “Like he was ever going to jail.”
“OK, but look, if he told the sheriff you stole his car, then you could be in trouble. You need to ditch the car ASAP.”
Ylina finally stopped walking and stared at Nikki as if she had sprouted horns. “What?”
“And you probably ought to detail it, have it wiped down for fingerprints. I mean, that’s probably overkill, but the sheriff seemed like kind of a dick, so better safe than sorry.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The car. You drove Milt’s car away from the Kessel Run. If you still have it, you need to ditch it.” Nikki scanned the parking lot, but didn’t see the boring blue four-door. “Just clean it up and leave it in a parking lot somewhere with the keys in it. If there’s no evidence you had possession of the car then the sheriff has nothing on you.”
“The sheriff always has something on me,” snapped Ylina. “He’s got something on every illegal in town. Look, Daisy Buchanan, I know you think you’re helping, but you’re not. Just leave me alone.”
Nikki glanced at Ylina’s shopping bag. Apples, protein bars, snack packs of fig newtons, and a couple of bottles of water. “Nice collection of snack food,” she said. “If someone didn’t know better, they might think you were preparing for a road trip.”
“Yeah, well, someone should mind her own business,” snapped Ylina.
“Ylina, I really can help,” said Nikki, she reached in her purse and pulled out a business card. “Whatever it i
s you’re up against, I can help.”
“Carrie Mae Foundation? What—you’re going to save me through better blush?”
“We don’t just do make-up,” said Nikki. “Or do you think that what I did to Milt and Pedro was dumb luck?”
“You don’t get it.” For a moment, Ylina’s face softened, and then she looked around the parking lot, and shook her head. “Leave me alone,” she hissed, before turning and running towards the far side of the parking lot, and crossing the street, walking quickly without a backward glance.
“You sure have a way with people,” said Kristine, her cart rattling across the pavement. “Maybe you should teach a class about how to win friends.” Then she laughed at her own joke.
Nikki was suddenly very aware of the hot asphalt burning her feet through her shoes and the brutal sun beating down on her overly white skin. She wasn’t wearing enough sunscreen for this. She felt impatient, angry, and above all hot.
“Kristine!” Several mean thoughts crossed her mind, but she counted to ten. “Go get a life!” She finished on the least offensive thing that had percolated to the top and stomped off toward the car.
August IX
Roadside Assistance
Nikki pulled up in front of the Curl Me Crazy and waved dutifully at Leona who was standing in the doorway with a cigarette in one hand. Leona fished a lighter out of the wide expanse of her cleavage and sauntered over to the car.
“Well, don’t you look like the perfect Clara Bow? What a fun project for you and Peg. I was telling her you should turn it into a calendar when you’re all done.”
“Oh, God, I hope not,” Nikki blurted out. “I mean, I’m not sure I really want to hang on people’s walls,” she added. Leona laughed.
“I don’t know. I think I’d get a kick out of it.”
“Different strokes for different folks,” said Nikki.
“True. Your grams will be out in a minute. She was going to go to the restroom, but I think she may have been waylaid by Amanda Harrison.”
“Oh,” said Nikki, and turned off the car. No sense in killing the polar bears with car exhaust. Peg wouldn’t be out for another ten minutes. “How are the corgis?” Amanda Harrison carried corgi pictures the way other people carried photos of their grandkids.
“Rex is in a feud with the mailman. Alfie is having bladder surgery on Tuesday. And Sofia isn’t doing well with the heat.”
“It has been quite warm,” said Nikki.
“Well, being dressed in a sweater, a hat, and three inches of fur probably isn’t helping any,” said Leona. “Say, what’s going on with you and that rock star? I bought his album after that picture in the Daily Star. It’s pretty good. Are those really his abs? They didn’t Photoshop them or anything, did they?”
“Uh…” said Nikki, mentally cursing her grandmother. No one else in America knew Kit Masters. Her teeny little indiscretion should have remained safely on the other side of the Atlantic, but one Canadian tabloid runs a picture and suddenly everyone knows? Leave it to Peg to point it out to everyone in town.
Peg swung open the door and came bustling out. “Step on it, kiddo! Before Amanda gets her second wind. See ya, Leona. Thanks for the ‘do!”
Leona waved affably and stepped away from the car as Peg climbed in. Nikki turned the car back on and pulled away, happy to escape.
“Grandma,” she said when they were finally on the road out of town. “Have you told a lot of people about that picture in the Daily Star?”
“Didn’t have to,” said Peg. “You remember Kristine Pims? Her father, Bill, owns the auto-body shop, and she does all the ordering for the shop. So she pointed it out to everyone.”
“Wait, what? What does ordering for the auto-body shop have to do with anything?”
“She stocks magazines and newspapers for the lobby area,” said Peg. “Recognized you right off. Quite the outfit you had going on there.”
“There were extenuating circumstances,” said Nikki. “So how many people did she show it to?”
“Just Leona,” Nikki groaned. “But you know, that’s exactly like telling lots of people.”
“So has everyone in town seen that picture?” demanded Nikki.
“Well, I would guess that most people have. Probably some of them don’t care, but it was a real interesting topic of conversation there for awhile.”
Nikki groaned again. “If you didn’t want to get talked about, you probably shouldn’t have gone around kissing British rock stars,” said Peg.
“I don’t go around kissing British rock stars! It was just Kit.”
“Uh-huh,” said Peg, looking unconvinced.
“It was New Year’s! Stuff had happened.”
“Sure, the extenuating circumstances,” replied Peg.
“Yes, damn it. The circumstances extenuated.”
“Gotcha. Well—pull over!” Peg’s hand shot out, pointing at the truck in front of them. As Nikki watched, the truck screeched to a halt and a cowboy swung out, his movements smooth and fast, speed deriving from the economy of motion, and snatched a shovel from the truck bed. Then he was sprinting toward a small, spiral of smoke from the brush on the edge of the road. Nikki was already pulling in behind the truck when she realized the cowboy was Jackson.
“I’ve got water in the back. Go see if there’s another shovel in his truck.”
Nikki ran for the truck as instructed, and pulled out a rake, before running after Jackson. By the time she got there, the fire had already spread from a thin, flickering ghost of fire to a full-on blaze intent on devouring the scrubby bushes that lined the road. Jackson was heaping dirt on the flames and Nikki set to work pulling brush away from the path of the fire, trying to deprive it of fuel. An entire clump of Scotch broom had already gone up, its yellow flowers withering to black ash with an acrid stench, but as Jackson heaped more dirt on the fire the flames began to die down. Peg arrived and leaned in to dump an entire gallon of water on the bush, then stepped back as Jackson took a final shovel full of dirt and patted down the muddy mixture. They stood silently, waiting for the flames to attempt a rebirth, but nothing moved.
“Cigarette butt,” said Jackson shaking his head. “Car in front of me, tossed it out the window.”
“Did you get their license plate number?” asked Peg. “I’d call them in. They could have done a lot of damage.”
“Didn’t have time,” said Jackson shaking his head, and wiping ash out of his face.
“Well, stop up at the house on your way home,” said Peg. “I’ll fix you some lemonade as a reward.”
“I’d rather have pie,” said Jackson grinning.
“I thought the pie went without saying,” said Peg, patting him on the shoulder. “Now let’s get home before the groceries melt.”
The groceries hadn’t melted and Jackson helped carry them into the house, then started to put things away without being asked. Nikki watched suspiciously as he moved around the kitchen, tucking away the canned goods, putting the meat in the right fridge drawer without being asked. Just how much time had Jackson been spending in this kitchen?
“Did Jackson tell you he bought the spread up on Torrence?” asked Peg, pulling out pie and lemonade.
“No, he didn’t,” said Nikki.
“We didn’t have a lot of time to catch up,” said Jackson. “What with Nikki getting into barroom brawls and what not.”
“Barroom brawl,” corrected Nikki. “Singular, not plural. And you had plenty of time afterward. You could have mentioned it.”
“It didn’t come up in conversation.” Jackson didn’t look the least bit repentant.
“That terrain’s a bit hilly for farming up there, isn’t it?” asked Nikki, as Jackson pulled out the lemonade and glasses.
Jackson rolled his eyes. “You sound like my dad. Not everything is about farming.” He handed Nikki a glass and pushed one in Peg’s direction, trading it for a plateful of pie.
“So what are you going to do?” asked Nikki.
�
�Raise rodeo bulls and make wine.”
Nikki accepted a wide wedge of pie from Peg. “Grandma, I’m not going to fit any of those vintage clothes if you keep trying to fatten me up. Bulls and wine? They don’t seem to go together.”
“Au contraire,” he replied, butchering the accent on purpose and laughing when Nikki winced. “Bull dung is a great fertilizer and makes the grapes grow faster. Grape skins are full of vitamins and can be fed to the bulls. Interlocking system.” He laced his fingers together to demonstrate.
“You’ve got it all figured out then,” said Nikki.
“No, I really don’t,” he said shaking his head. “This year is my first real growing season. I’m still struggling to hone in on the right grape varietals. It’s interesting terrain up here. If I get any decent wine at all this year, it’ll be a miracle. And the cows are doing their thing. But my babies only turn two this summer. They need another three years or so before I can put them to work. Right now, I’m keeping my fingers crossed that my savings don’t run out before the bulls are ready. I’m probably going to be doing a couple of ‘special appearances’ in the ring for the next few years while people still remember me enough to care. Keep the cash coming in for a little bit, instead of going out.”
“Three years?” Nikki took a bite of pie. “So this is kind of a long term thing you’ve got going.”
“Well, I’m currently working my five-year plan, but I put together a ten-year business model before I even made an offer on the ranch.”
“I think my longest range plan right now currently includes breakfast,” said Nikki, feeling the onset of existential angst.
Jackson shrugged. “This is where I am right now.”
“Jackson is going to be a big success,” said Peg, patting his shoulder. “Just you wait. It’s going to work out perfectly.”
“Your grandma has a lot of faith,” said Jackson, sheepishly rubbing his ear. “Anyway,” he finished his lemonade in a gulp, “I need to get back home before Captain Beaumont gets too annoyed.”
“Wouldn’t do to upset your number one farm hand,” said Peg, shaking her head and Jackson laughed.
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