The Open Road: A Second Chance Romance

by Quinn Loftis

  Seriously, are you going to really bother with the non-fat after you asked me to dump caramel all over your drink? What’s the point? She shouted out the order to the dining room. A plump woman sauntered up to the counter and took the drink without so much as a thank you.

  “Well, screw you, too,” Samantha muttered as the woman walked away.

  “Excuse me?” the woman said turning back to the counter.

  “What’s that?” asked Sam, her eyebrows raised. “Is there something else I can get you?”

  “No. Did you just say something to me?”

  “No,” replied Samantha.

  “I thought I heard something,” pressed the woman.

  “Oh, you’re right,” said Sam, nodding her head. “I said have a nice day,” and she plastered a syrupy smile across her face. The woman pursued her lips and then grunted before walking away.

  “Yeah, you better walk away,” Samantha said under her breath, this time a little quieter. The phone rang again and, instead of hoping someone else would get it, Samantha snatched it up. “Yes, we’re open,” she said without giving the person on the other end of the line a chance to speak. “Anything else?” she asked.

  “I was calling to check and see if you were working, Sam.”

  The deep voice sent a chill down her spine. It was a voice she was all too familiar with and one she had come to dread hearing over the past few months.

  Samantha saw the man for the first time three months ago. He’d come into the store and sat alone with his coffee, doing nothing but staring at Samantha for two hours. On the creepster scale, the man was off the charts. He wasn’t hideously ugly, but he also wasn’t remarkable in any way … other than his stalker tendencies. The second time he’d come in, he introduced himself as Henry. Now, he comes in the coffee shop two or three days a week. Some days he will sit for hours. He buys refills and food so, to Samantha’s surprise and over her objections, Tran lets him hang out without harassing him.

  In her mind, Samantha had begun calling him Henry Hyena. Hyenas, with their weird little hops, odd bodies, and wicked laughs, were the creepiest animals she could think of. In addition to his other stalky behavior, he’d begun calling her every other day. Apparently, Samantha was off her game today because she’d completely forgotten she should have been expecting a phone call.

  “Sam?” Henry Hyena said. “Did you hear me?”

  A hundred snarky remarks ran through Samantha’s head. She bit them all back, though, because she didn’t particularly want to anger the likely sociopath. Instead, she answered, “I’m sorry, sir, the shop is unusually busy today. Do you need to place a pick-up order?”

  Henry chuckled. It was a sound that made Samantha feel like he knew something she didn’t—something she wouldn’t like if she did know.

  “No, I don’t need to place an order. I will be in shortly to get my usual. See you soon.” The call ended and Samantha felt as if ice had been poured into her veins. She took several deep breaths and collected herself after hanging up the phone. She could hear the grumbling of the people in line and knew she needed to get moving or a face a riot at the counter.

  She turned to the next guest and then paused, unsure of how to proceed. The woman before her was smartly dressed in a lavender pant suit. Her frosted hair was seriously sculpted, and she was holding a purple handbag that matched her outfit. But what gave Samantha pause was the small Yorkshire terrier poking its head out of the top of the bag.

  “Decaf, soy latte, with two extra shots and cream at one hundred and twenty degrees,” the woman said before Sam even had time to ask.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. We don’t allow pets in the store. There’s a sign on the door.” She pointed past the woman to the coffee shop’s front window.

  “Excuse me,” the customer said, somehow making the word excuse sound like it had five syllables. “This is a therapy dog.”

  “And he’s very cute, but he’s not allowed in,” reiterated Samantha.

  “It’s my legal right to have Bingo with me wherever I go,” the woman cried. “I get panic attacks!”

  “I don’t doubt that,” said Sam smiling. “But it’s store policy, so … nothing I can do.” She shrugged her shoulders and adopted a helpless posture.

  “You cannot deny us service. It’s our legal right. I demand to speak to your manager.”

  “I don’t think you want to do that.” In fact, Samantha was pretty sure the dog lady would want to do anything but talk to Tran once she experienced it. It was not something a person willingly did twice.

  “I demand to speak to your manager … now!”

  Samantha yelled to the back of the shop. “Tran, customer wants to see you.” She turned back to the woman. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “Tran busy,” came an immediate reply from the drive-thru window.

  “It’s a lady with a dog,” shouted Samantha in a singsong voice.

  In the blink of an eye, an elderly Asian man with a furrowed brow appeared at the counter. He had a high, shiny forehead that was deeply lined with wrinkles. The man was as spry as someone half his age, which was actually terribly hard to guess at a glance. “Out!” he yelled, pointing toward the door. “No dog allowed.”

  The woman gasped. “I cannot believe this,” she sputtered. “I’m allowed to take Bingo wherever I go. It’s my right under the ADA.”

  “It my right to kick you out,” shouted Tran. “You take mangy mutt out of store now.”

  The woman gasped again, even louder now. “I’ve never been treated so poorly. You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.” She practically ran out of the building, swinging her bag behind her, almost toppling poor Bingo from his carriage. There were a few chuckles from the other customers, but a couple cast Tran dirty looks. One lady wearing a sour expression even left the line and followed the offended customer out the door.

  “No dog allowed,” barked Tran to those that remained in the lobby, sounding himself a bit like a terrier. He stared for a few moments with narrowed eyes, as if he were expecting someone to reveal a poodle hiding under a peacoat. Eventually, he nodded his head and returned to the drive-thru window.

  A few minutes later, he showed up. Samantha didn’t want to make eye contact with Henry Hyena, but she also didn’t want to come across like a pushover. So, she forced herself to look straight at his face.

  “Good morning, what can I get for you?” Samantha asked him, her shoulders pulled back and her chin up as she tried to portray a level of confidence she didn’t feel under his intense stare.

  “Good morning, Sam,” Henry said.

  The familiarity with which he said her name made Samantha gag, as if he were claiming some sort of ownership over her. He spoke in a slow, almost melodic, tone and she noticed he didn’t have the Virginian drawl that the majority of her customers possessed. He certainly wasn’t from the area. Or, if he was, he did a good job of disguising his accent.

  Samantha didn’t respond. She’d already said good morning and asked for his order. Customer service decorum required nothing more from her. She pasted on a generic smile and waited patiently.

  “I’d like my usual, please. And … also … a slice of the cinnamon crumble cake,” Henry said.

  Samantha rang up the order. When Henry handed her his card to pay, he deliberately ran his thumb across her fingers. Her head jerked up. Henry’s pale grey eyes met hers. She saw longing staring back at her and, for the first time since meeting the hyena, she felt sorry for him. The look in his eyes was one with which she was familiar. She’d worn the same look herself for too long, all for Derek, a man who didn’t deserve even her attention, much less her longing.

  She sighed and finished ringing him up. Without speaking further, Henry turned and took his usual table, one with a clear view of the counter. All the better to leer at her.

  A few minutes later, she took the hyena’s order to his table and then did something she’d never dreamed of doing before. She spoke to him first. “I need you to k
now that nothing will ever happen between us.”

  Henry looked up from where he’d been straightening the napkin in his lap. “Does this mean you are a seer? You possess the second sight?”

  Samantha frowned. “Um, what?”

  “A seer, a soothsayer, a psychic? That is to say, you know the future?” he asked and then continued before she could answer. “Because that is the only way that you could possibly tell me with confidence that nothing will ever happen between us.”

  Samantha gaped for a moment, then frowned. To think, for one small second, she’d actually felt sorry for this pompous ass. “I don’t have to be psychic to know whether or not I will ever date a man I am not attracted to. So, despite not being blessed with the second sight, I can say with complete confidence, having come to this conclusion using only my first sight, there will NEVER be anything between us.” She turned on her heel and stomped away, her blood boiling in her veins at Henry Hyena’s audacity.

  Thirty minutes later, to Samantha’s surprise, Henry got up and headed for the door. She was wiping down tabletops and she looked up to watch him go. He paused as he placed his hand on the door handle, turned, and looked straight at her. “You’re wrong about us, Sam. We do have a future. I am completely certain of it.”

  “You’re crazy,” she answered.

  “Would you like to know how I’m so certain?”

  She wanted to throw a dirty rag in his face and run away screaming ‘stranger danger’ at the top of her lungs. Instead, Samantha said, “Sure, you’re entitled to your opinion. Enlighten me.”

  “I don’t just need my opinion. I’ve seen it.”

  “Seen what?” Samantha wanted to slap herself. Why on earth was she engaging him?

  “I’ve seen our future together. You see, you may not be psychic or a seer, but I am.”

  Fantastic, not only do I have a stalker, but he thinks he can see the future. Before she could respond, Henry opened the door and was gone. Samantha stood there for a few minutes wondering if she needed to be worried that he was dangerous. She didn’t get a sinister, ‘I’m going to chop you up and wear your skin across state lines’ vibe from him, but he was definitely not normal. Then again, with her track record with men, what did she expect?

  The remainder of the morning was uneventful. No one else appeared with their pets, no more stalkers made themselves known, and the mad rush of early-morning customers eventually slowed. Now, only two people sat in the dining room, a young couple. As Samantha was wiping down the empty tables, she felt her phone vibrate in the back pocket of her jeans. She pulled it out and saw a text message from Charity.

  Check this out.

  A few seconds later, a link appeared. She clicked, it and Jason O’Neal’s face filled her phone’s screen. Samantha rolled her eyes. This guy again? She almost ignored the video, but then she thought better of it. If this person was full of crap, and she knew he was, then he was probably already trying to sell something in the video. That’s why Charity sent it—admitting defeat. Samantha punched the play button, and Jason began to speak.

  “Hello, America, Jason O’Neal here again. So, as promised, it’s day two of my video log. Not really sure what to call this journey just yet. Maybe ‘Jason’s Lost His Mind—North American Tour’ or something like that. Everyone around here seems to think that’s exactly what’s happened. Anyway, like I said before, I don’t really care. I’m going, and I’m taking Bethany and the girls with me—their memories, anyway—and no one is going to stop me. But I thought I’d introduce you to someone before I leave town.”

  Jason turned the camera, and another man came into view. He was a little older than Jason, probably around thirty, but had his same dark hair and blue eyes. He wore a faded T-shirt bearing the words “Mountain Life,” plaid shorts, and held a leash at his side. Attached to the leash was a short, wrinkled, brown-and-white English bulldog. “Not this guy,” said Jason, holding the camera out and indicating the man with the leash. “This is my brother, Jordan. No one cares about him.” Jordan waved goofily at the camera. “Now, normally I’d say he’s a total douchebag, but he’s doing something extremely un-douchey right now, so I won’t mention it. But I’m talking about this little guy right here.” Jason squatted down to pat the bulldog, which promptly rolled onto its back and wiggled back and forth as the man rubbed his stomach. “This is Frisco, my bulldog. It’s was Hannah’s dog mostly—our oldest. Bethany convinced me to get the dog for the girls after Chloe was born. I’m so glad we did. When Hannah got sick—” Jason’s voice caught in his throat. He paused for a moment. “We had to take her out of daycare because her immune system was so compromised. This dog was her only friend. Well, this guy and her sister, of course. Somehow Frisco knew Hannah needed him more than the rest of us. They bonded, and he never left Hannah’s side except to go out and use the bathroom. Even then, she wanted to take him out for walks. I let her sometimes, but she was weak, and she couldn’t stay out in the sun too long because of the medicine she took.” Jason started tugging on Frisco’s ears as the dog playfully chewed on the man’s wrist. He looked back up at the camera. Fresh tears had appeared in his eyes, but his voice held steady. “This guy hasn’t been himself since the accident. Every afternoon, he still goes to the door at the same time, waiting for the girls to get home from daycare. He whines and scratches at it when they don’t show up.” Jason stopped and took in a shuddering breath. “I’ve been really torn up about whether I should take him with me. I know the trip would do him some good just as it will me, and he’d probably love it. I can just see us flying down the highway with the windows rolled down. He loves to stick his head out the window and let his big lips and tongue flop in the wind.”

  As if to prove the point, Frisco stopped gnawing Jason’s wrist and began panting. His wide mouth opened and an overlarge tongue fell out, dropping drool all over the tile floor.

  “I know he’d be great company on the trip, but I also know every time I look at him I’m going to think of Hannah, and that’s just too much for me. Way too much. I hate to leave him behind, but I don’t think I’m strong enough to have him around right now. So, I’m leaving him with this goober.” Jason stood and slugged his brother on the shoulder. “Which is actually a form of punishment, really. I lived with this slob for fourteen years before he went off to college, and it was not easy.”

  “Hey, it was no picnic for me either, little bro,” said Jordan. “He still borrows my stuff without asking,” Jordan said, sticking his face up by the camera.

  “Get back,” said Jason, pushing him away. “You don’t want to scare the people with that mug of yours. There might be kids watching this.”

  “Ha-ha,” came Jordan’s deadpan response. “Seriously, though. Don’t worry about Frisco. I’ll take good care of him. And he will be here when you get back. You can leave him for as long or as little as you need to.”

  “Thanks, big bro,” said Jason, and he grabbed Jordan in a hug. After a few moments, they released one another, and Jason turned back to the camera.

  “Sorry you guys had to see that. Didn’t know it was going to get so mushy all of a sudden. I’ll try to avoid sappy scenes like that from here on out, especially with him. Oh, and one more thing before I go. Wanted to announce the results of the poll. Looks like I’m headed west. You guys voted, all three hundred and forty-two of you, to send me west. Not sure why west won out, but it did with thirty-eight percent of the vote, so that’s where I’m going. South came in second, for those that are curious, with twenty-percent of the vote. Not sure why that matters or even why I bothered to mention it, but there you go.

  “Three hundred and forty-two votes isn’t exactly going viral, but I was shocked even that many people saw the video. I was expecting one or two, to be honest. But that doesn’t matter. I’m not doing these videos to get famous. I don’t care if too many people watch them. I’m just doing this so I’ll have some documented memories of the trip. And I’m also thinking that maybe, just maybe, there is someone
else out there watching who’s hurting like I am. Maybe these videos will help them somehow. I don’t know. Plus, talking to the camera, it kind of makes me feel like I’m talking to Bethany, if that makes any sense.” He huffed. “It probably doesn’t. Anyway, I’ll see you on the open road.”

  The video stopped.

  Hmm, west and south. Sounds like Jessica and Charity were on the same page with the rest of America. Samantha shook her head. Psh, those three hundred and forty-two people were probably just those two voting over and over again on different devices.

  “What you watching?” said Tran loudly as he popped up beside her and peered over her shoulder. Samantha yelped and jumped into the air, almost dropping her phone in the process. Tran’s voice had only two volumes—loud and angry/loud. Even though he was only set on loud right now, she was still caught off guard. Conversation with Tran was like going into battle. You always had to be aware of your surroundings and keep your defenses up. Samantha heard the man and woman sitting at a nearby table giggling.

  “Hey,” Samantha said, “how about not sneaking up on me?”

  “You white girls startle so easily. Calm down.”

  Samantha thought she heard one of the people sitting at the table spit out their coffee in shock. “Number one,” she said, “that’s racist. Number two, anyone would startle with you jumping out of nowhere and yelling at them, and number three, how about a little privacy?”