Back to Blue

by Dillon Watson

  A bump against her table had her turning her head in time to get hit in the face with food and drink. I’m lucky the tray didn’t hit me, she thought, grabbing a napkin and wiping ineffectively at the scrambled eggs with cheese mixed with orange juice now spattered on her face and chest. When she blinked her eyes clear, she saw Rich standing in front of her looking like a fish trying to get oxygen, his face and throat a mottled red. She could only sigh.

  A petite blonde rushed from behind the counter, towel in hand. “Are you hurt?” she asked, her voice surprisingly deep.

  “I’m okay.” As she accepted the towel, embarrassment had her wishing the earth would open up and swallow her. She had no doubt her face was as red as Rich’s.

  “I’m so sorry,” Rich finally said. “I’ll get you…let me… I’ll uh…Damn, I’m sorry. I’ll get you more food.”

  “No,” she said more forcefully than she intended and stood, dumping food from her lap. “I mean, I was done.” Summer made the mistake of looking around only to see they had the attention of everyone in the bakery. “I…I gotta go.” She backed away from Rich, then fled, reciting the multiplication table until she could lock her apartment door behind her, away from the all-seeing eyes.

  * * *

  Renny blotted her lips with a tissue, took one last look in the mirror and declared herself satisfied with the color of her lipstick. The coral was pinker than she usually wore, but it worked against the brown tones of her skin. Not that it mattered considering where she was going. Still it was nice to make an effort now and again.

  In the kitchen, she covered the large square casserole dish filled with warm banana pudding and hurried two doors down to Keile’s house. As she shivered on the porch, waiting for the doorbell to be answered, she was glad she’d grabbed her coat. February was hanging on tight to winter, making sure March would come in like a lion. The midafternoon temperature was in the low forties and windy.

  Haydn Davenport opened the door, tendrils of auburn hair escaping the band she’d used to pull it back. “Hey. Don’t you look nice.” She pulled Renny into a hug. “Thanks for helping out the other day. Sorry I missed seeing you, but Keile tells me the book is going well.”

  “I feel like I should knock on wood before I agree with that. As for helping out, I should be thanking you for suggesting Keile invite me. Dinner was right on time. So I guess this is my show of thanks.” She held out the dish with pudding.

  “It’s warm.” Haydn’s green eyes lit up as she hugged the offering. “Come on. I have to find a hiding space for this in the kitchen before the hordes of hungry lesbians descend.”

  Renny laughed, but she got a kick out of Haydn’s reaction to one of the few dishes she prided herself on. One of the few dishes her grandmother had taught her how to make. “Where are my kids?”

  “Chelsea’s finally taking her nap, no doubt fueling up for the party, and Kyle and Can went shopping with Keile. She decided at the last minute she didn’t have enough charcoal or chicken.”

  “Isn’t it a lot cold for that?” Her southern California roots were alive and well.

  “Preaching to the choir.” Haydn shrugged. “When she gets these ideas in her head there’s no talking her out of them. She would tell you she’s determined. I say hardheaded.”

  It was said with such affection that Renny smiled. “If she’s willing to freeze for us to have barbecue, who am I to object? What can I do to help?”

  “Don’t tell anyone else about the banana pudding for starters.”

  “You would only regret it if you ate it all.”

  “I know. And since I’ve finally shed the extra weight from having Chelsea, technically I shouldn’t have any.” Haydn placed the bowl on the counter.

  Taking in Haydn’s woebegone expression, Renny said, “On the other hand, not having some would be downright rude. As the hostess it’s your duty to sample it and shower me with praise.”

  “You got me there. Dear Abby would say it’s my sworn duty. Or is that Miss Manners?” She grinned. “How do you feel about stuffing eggs?”

  “No problem.” Renny washed her hands while Haydn removed the halved eggs and stuffing from the fridge. She picked up the decorator tool and filled it with stuffing.

  “Tell me about your book,” Haydn said as they worked side by side.

  “It’s about an addict. Darker, grittier, more real life than I usually write. My agent’s scared it’ll drive away my regular readers.”

  “What do you think?”

  “It could, but at some point I have to write what’s inside me. Writing’s a business, don’t get me wrong. At the same time, I feel I have to take chances, expand my horizons in order to grow as a writer.”

  “What happens if it doesn’t turn out like you want?”

  “I think my readers are forgiving enough to give me another read if this one isn’t to their taste.”

  “As one of your fans I’d go there with you,” Haydn said, deftly chopping green onions. “You have a unique way of telling a story. I don’t see how that could change because of the subject matter.”

  “Can I have my agent call you? She and I have been over and under this issue for a month now. I almost regret telling her about it. Should have just dropped the completed manuscript on her. The way things are progressing, I feel like this is the best piece I’ve ever written. But I tend to think that about everything I write.”

  “Then you have to go with it.” Haydn scraped the onions into a bowl of spinach and grabbed an orange pepper. “How autobiographical is this?”

  “There are pieces of me in the main character. Pieces of people I knew when I was using. Cleverly disguised, of course, so they can’t sue me.”

  “So if you have a beautiful, intelligent woman with red hair and freckles I shouldn’t assume it’s me?”

  Renny laughed and gave Haydn a quick hug. “Exactly. Now if she’s an accountant you’d better watch out.”

  “When are you going to write a story about an actress? I have to confess the whole Hollywood scene sucks me in.”

  “When I feel I can do it justice. Be more objective.” She shrugged. “Trust me. If I wrote it now, it would be a lousy novel. Maybe one day after I’ve made peace with that time in my life.” With my mother, she added, to be strictly honest with herself. “And I’m sure that’s more angst than you wanted to hear.”

  “No. The process fascinates me. I’m a numbers person who can remember struggling to write a short story in my high school English class. Having an idea is easy. Putting all the words together to make it interesting is the hard part. Read ‘impossible’ for me. How do you do it?”

  “One of my secrets is having a great editor. The other is putting ass to chair and pushing through. That’s especially important on the days when I think every word I’ve written is crap. Are you thoroughly disillusioned yet?”

  “No more than when I see how special effects are created. I still enjoy the movie. And I can still get lost in a book despite knowing what an author has to go through to write it.”

  “Good to know. Being able to help someone get away even for a little while is rewarding. We all need that kind of outlet.” Renny placed the decorator tool on the counter and admired her work. “Not bad. Should I wrap this up and put it in the fridge?”

  Haydn peered at the clock on the microwave. “Wrap, yes. I need to make some room before you can put it in, though.”

  “I’ll finish chopping the veggies while you take care of that.”

  “That works.” She paused at sound of Can’s bark followed by Kyle’s excited chatter. “Our quiet time is over.”

  Chapter Six

  Summer stopped a block from Keile’s house and maneuvered her bike onto the sidewalk. Her heart was racing so fast she wondered if she was having a heart attack. Her throat wasn’t closed so it couldn’t be a full-blown anxiety attack. Maybe she was having an “I shouldn’t have listened to my mother” attack. Lord knows that was the only reason she had left her condo. The only r
eason for fighting the frigid temperature that she was sure had frozen her nose and cheeks.

  How does she talk me into this stuff? she wondered, pressing a gloved hand against her frozen nose. Most mothers would have advised their daughters, especially the ones who couldn’t drive, to stay in and out of the cold. Not her mother, who had insisted her daughter was healthy enough to withstand the cold and who had brushed aside Summer’s comment that she would be out in the elements for an hour with the return trip. When she had pointed out that she’d run all over town finding the all-weather gear to ensure Summer could bike or walk in every kind of weather, Summer had thought it prudent to promise to attend the party.

  “Hey, you got bike trouble?”

  Heat rushed to Summer’s cheeks, defrosting them as she glanced at the full-sized pickup truck that had pulled up alongside her. The two female occupants looked at her in concern.

  “Uh, no, thanks. Just making sure I’m going the right way.” Summer was glad the cap under her helmet obscured her face somewhat.

  “Happy to give you directions,” the butch-looking driver said. “Know this area well.”

  “It’s, uh, right down the block,” she replied, pointing. “I’m, uh, good now.”

  “Are you going to Keile and Haydn’s house?” the attractive African American passenger asked. “If so, Terri can throw your bike in the back and you could ride with us. We’re good friends of theirs.”

  “It’s okay. Really.”

  “If you’re sure. I’m Lynn Thompson and this is my partner, Terri Ocalla.”

  “Summer Baxby.”

  “Great. We’ll see you there.”

  “Yeah,” Summer muttered as they drove away. “Great.” She didn’t have to make an entrance to make a fool of herself. Hands against her cheeks, she gave serious thought to heading back to the condo, her figurative tail between her legs. But what possible excuse would she have for Keile, who would soon be hearing from her friends that she was a block away? Kidnapped by aliens?

  Her phone buzzed before she could contemplate a more original excuse. She groaned, seeing her mother’s name, but answered anyway. “I’m on my way there. I swear.”

  “You’re not biking and talking, are you?”

  “No. I had to stop for a minute. Uh, check the directions.”

  “Call me when you get there.”

  “Mom, I’m not a baby.”

  “You’re my baby and I don’t trust you to go. I think you got halfway there and chickened out. I bet when I called you were thinking about turning around and going home.”

  “More than halfway there, okay? I was more than halfway there. And it was more of a panic attack than chickening out.”

  “Oh, baby, I know this is all so hard for you. Do you want me to come get you and drop you off? Maybe even go in with…”

  “Or you could just paint a big L for loser on my forehead and be done with it.” Summer’s cheeks burned at the thought of showing up with her mom in tow. Far better to go to the party and take credit for her own embarrassment. “I’m leaving now, Mother. Expect my call in five minutes.”

  Sandra laughed. “I thought that would motivate you. Try to have fun. You can wait, call me tomorrow and tell me all about it.”

  Muttering under her breath about sneaky mothers, she eased into the street. Keile’s house was three-quarters of the way down the block. A string of blue lights were draped around the front door. Summer swung off the bike and walked it up the driveway. She was looking for something to lock it to when Keile stepped out of the house.

  “Hey.”

  “You made it,” Keile said, returning Summer’s smile. “We can take your bike around back. It’ll be safe there. How was the trip over? Not too cold, I hope?”

  “It was okay.” Summer followed Keile around the side of the house to a fenced-in backyard where the smell of barbecue emanated from a large grill being tended by two women. “You make your friends cook outside in this weather?” She returned the wave of the truck driver who’d stopped to check on her, then flipped down the bike’s kickstand. Terri was her name, she remembered. Terri, who was with Lynn.

  “If you can ride your bike in it, they can grill in it. And I didn’t have to make Jo or Terri do anything. Grills have a gravitational pull for them.”

  “My dad’s like that. Here’s hoping they don’t need to have the food rescued from burning like he does.”

  “Please don’t let them hear you casting aspersions on their grilling abilities,” Keile said, her voice lowered. “I’ve heard people have been maimed for less.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Summer removed a box of Godiva chocolates from one of her bike bags. “It’s not much, but it travels well.”

  “You didn’t have to bring anything, but thanks. Come inside. I’ll introduce you around.”

  “Uh, yeah. Inside.” Summer slowly attached her helmet to her bike, then took a deep breath. “Okay.” Looking at the back door, she tried not to think about all the unfamiliar women she’d encounter there. With shaky hands, she pulled off her skull cap and ran her fingers through her hair. “Okay,” she repeated.

  “Relax.” Keile placed a hand on her shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. “Everybody’s friendly and if it gets to be too much you can always hide in Kyle’s or Chelsea’s room for a bit.”

  When Keile kept a hand on her shoulder, Summer wondered if it was for support or to keep her from escaping. Maybe both, she decided as they stepped into the brightly lit kitchen. She recognized the redhead with a smattering of freckles who was standing by the sink as Keile’s partner, Haydn, from the photos Keile had shown her at lunch.

  “You must be Summer,” Haydn said, wiping her hands on her apron.

  “Summer Baxby, my partner Haydn Davenport.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Summer shook Haydn’s hand. The sound of banging drew her attention to the kitchen’s other occupant, almost hidden by the mesh of the playpen.

  “And that’s my Chelsea.” Keile crossed the kitchen, scooped up her daughter and flew her overhead a couple of times. “Watch out for her,” she warned as Chelsea dissolved into giggles. “She’s an attention hog.”

  “She’s beautiful,” Summer marveled. “Looks just like you, Keile.”

  “The red highlights and freckles come from her mama,” Keile said, obviously proud.

  “You were right, Haydn. The hummus…” Renny came to an abrupt stop just inside the door. “Hi. I didn’t realize anyone else was in here.”

  “Don’t stop now,” Haydn said. “Not when you were praising my rightness for all to hear.”

  “Don’t listen to her.” Keile poked Haydn’s shoulder. “Renny, come meet my newly re-found friend, Summer.”

  Renny set the empty dish on the counter. “Renny—”

  “Jamison,” Summer finished. Before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “I’ve read all your books.” Realizing she sounded like fangirl-ish, she put her hands against her heated cheeks. At least she hadn’t mentioned that Renny looked better in person than she did in her publicity photo.

  “I hope you enjoyed them,” Renny said, seemingly unperturbed by Summer’s outburst. “Have we met? You look familiar.”

  Summer shook her head. “I would have remembered that. Summer Baxby,” she added belatedly and held out her hand.

  “Summer, as a Renny Jamison fan, would you read a book about an addict that was…” Haydn pointed at Renny. “How did you describe it?”

  “Darker, grittier, more like real life.”

  “That’s right. So, Summer, would you buy it?”

  “Oh yeah. If Renny Jamison’s name is on the cover I know it’ll be a good read.”

  “Too much of this and my ego will get out of control. Maybe both of you should tag-team my agent. Assure her I’m not committing writing suicide.”

  “Has she read it?” Summer asked. “I can’t imagine how she could say that if she’s read it.”

  “Not finished.” Renny slid her hands into the
pockets of her slacks. “This is based on the detailed synopsis.”

  “What happens if she says no?” The heat in the kitchen had Summer unzipping her coat, revealing a long-sleeved purple sweater, which barely met the top of hip-hugger corduroys in the same color. “While I can’t really see her saying no to Renny Jamison, does that mean you toss your book?”

  Renny smiled. “I’m exaggerating. Janine might grumble, but she hasn’t said no so far.”

  “And why would she?” Keile said as she played peekaboo with Chelsea. “You’re a bestselling author.”

  “I’m only as good as my next book sells. And before I forget why I came in here…” She grabbed the empty bowl. “We need more hummus.”

  “Can’t have that.” Haydn opened the fridge. “Summer, what can I get you to drink?”

  “Coke, if you have it.” She accepted the can as the back door opened.

  “The last of the chicken’s done,” Terri announced, coming in the back door and holding up a filled platter. “Anything else need to go on?”

  “More veggie kabobs.” Haydn returned to the refrigerator.

  “Glad to see you got here okay,” Terri said to Summer. “Summer, meet my ugly sister, Jo.”

  Summer looked from one to the other. Their faces were identical. “Hi. Summer Baxby.”

  “Jo Ocalla, the better looking sister. Nice to meet you. Any chance you’re in the market for a dog?”

  “Geez, Jo, give it a rest.” Terri rolled her eyes.

  Jo glared at her sister. “As I was saying, I work with rescue dogs and we’re always looking for responsible parents. You decide you’re ready, Keile knows how to find me.”

  “Oh…Okay.” Summer wondered in what universe she could be classified as responsible. She could barely take care of herself.