by Ray, Marika
“Guess I’ll get the hose from out back and clean up the mess,” I muttered to myself. Today was not at all turning out how I anticipated.
* * *
I just turned off my computer and collected the debris from my failed lunch, intent on finally dealing with my car situation and getting home now that I’d gotten all my work completed. I didn’t live far, only a mile or so away from the clinic, but walking a mile in these heels in the afternoon sun wasn’t something I intended to do.
Another knock on the front door didn’t even phase me this time. Which wasn’t good. It signaled I was getting used to disasters.
Instead of a pigeon, an inmate, or the warden—who shall not be thought of lest I have another hot flash of irritation and intense arousal—stood a pretty girl with dark hair and a smile that made my recent heartburn dial back a notch. She waved at me through the window and I hurried over to unlock and open the door.
She came in like a hurricane, high energy pouring off her in palpable waves. Even her hair seemed to bounce into the room. Her jean shorts rode up high, showing off curvy tan legs she probably hated but every man drooled over.
“Hey there! You must be Lucille, right?”
I nodded, finding myself smiling in return. “I am. I know I’ve seen you around, but I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”
Her smile increased in wattage, which was really saying something. “I’m Hazel. I’m Yedda’s granddaughter. You’ve probably seen me visiting with Granny.”
“That’s it! Well, nice to formally meet you. Is everything okay?” In all the stress of today, I hadn’t been by Yedda’s Cat Society to check in.
“Oh, yes! Totally fine. I’m actually here because of a fundraiser I’m involved with. I’m collecting business donations for the town’s annual Testicular Cancer run this summer. Have you been to the run in past years?”
Not only had I been to the Testicular run, it had been a highlight of my summer two years ago when I ran the 5k in less than forty-five minutes. Some would call that a walk, but I didn’t think I needed labels. It was called a run, I participated, I ran. End of story.
“I sure have. I run it every year.” I folded my arms across my chest, quite proud of myself and daring her to contradict me.
Instead, she bounced up and down like her feet were made of springs. “Oh that’s great! I’m so glad to hear it. So, you’ll totally understand why Coastal Fertility Clinic should totally be a sponsor!”
I tilted my head. I hadn’t considered being a sponsor, but I supposed that was the right thing to do. Hazel, perhaps sensing the hesitation, jumped back in, her hands landing on my arms. She was a toucher.
“You work with sperm. Testicles make sperm! It’s, like, the perfect pairing!”
Her enthusiasm, combined with the stunning logic, made for a compelling argument.
“You talked me into it. I’d love to donate.”
Hazel squealed and pulled me in for a hug, surprisingly strong for such a small thing. When she let me go, she had the most brilliant smile on her face, the kind that reached her eyes and made me want to give her the shirt off my back. Okay, not this one. This one was silk and also my favorite, but you know what I meant.
“You seem to be the kind of woman who likes cookies, Lucille. Am I right?”
My stomach, the one that didn’t get half the roll of Ritz crackers or the cheese stick that went to the seagulls, growled so loud my face went hot.
“Who doesn’t love cookies?” I quipped.
She squealed again and whipped open the door, gesturing for me to follow her. I did, mostly because I was drawn to her excitement. She could be leading me to an unmarked white van with kidnappers inside and I’d still follow just for another smile and the cookies she promised. I hoped they were chocolate chip.
Instead of a van, she opened the door to a little white sedan, reaching in the back seat and pulling out a plate with foil on top.
“You’re not allergic to anything, are you?” The smile vanished and her forehead wrinkled.
“No, no. Not allergic to food. Just cats.”
She whirled around, her mouth in a comical little “O.”
“That’s terrible! You must hate being next to Granny’s National Cat Protection Society.”
I couldn’t help myself. Every time someone said the full name out loud, I got amused. I mean, it was a pretty long and serious name for a tiny room that housed a bazillion cats and one crazy cat lady. Then again, a business woman who hadn’t even had sex opening up a sperm bank was a little bizarre too. I guess we all had our interests in life. Mine just happened to be penises. In a strictly clinical sense, of course.
“It’s actually fine. They don’t get out very often and my allergies aren’t super severe,” I lied.
The smile was back and I was supremely happy I fibbed. Hazel ripped open the foil on the plate to present what I think she thought were cookies. In reality, they looked a bit like lumpy hockey pucks.
“I hope you love carob!” She winked at me and I couldn’t say no despite the shiver of revulsion.
“Yum,” I responded, forcing a smile onto my face.
I grabbed a puck and put it to my mouth, begging my teeth not to crack under the pressure. Managing to chunk off a tiny piece, I chewed enthusiastically, desperately trying to keep the grimace off my face. When you sucked a lemon, you couldn’t really control the face you made and these pucks were no different. I finally swallowed it down, seeing her nearly vibrating with happiness, waiting for my reaction.
“So good!” I exclaimed, waving that sucker in the air, hoping it would suck up some of the humidity in the air and soften up before I had to put my teeth in danger once again.
Hazel’s eyes widened a split second before I felt a tug on my hand and wind across my cheek. Looking over, I saw a seagull flying off with my cookie-puck clutched in its pointy beak.
“Oh my God, are you okay?” Hazel clasped my arm in a vise grip, shaking me. “Here, have another one.”
I shook my head, recovering quickly. “No, no. You better save those for all your donors. I’m just happy it went to an animal in need.” Those mother truckers were on my last nerve. In need, my ass. They’d gotten half my damn lunch just a couple hours ago. I didn’t want to look a gift seagull in the mouth, but I was mighty thankful for their thieving ways just so I got out of eating that disgrace of a cookie.
It was the thought that counted, so after Hazel put the cookies back in the car, I surprised myself by giving her a hug. I wasn’t a hug person. I mean, if someone gave me one, I reciprocated well enough, but I wasn’t a hug initiator. There was just something about this kind woman with the boundless energy that made you want to be just as kind in return.
She had one foot in her car when she swiveled back, a twinkle in her eye that promised mischief.
“Lucille? You got any plans tomorrow?”
It was the twinkle that got me. It was always the twinkle that did me in. I was drawn to it like seagulls to anything remotely edible.
“Nope. Nothing. Why?”
That grin intensified and I wondered if I’d just screwed myself over. I actually had lots of plans for tomorrow. Sleeping in, staying in my pajamas until it was time to put them on again, eating whatever I could scrounge up in my cupboards. Jam-packed day.
Hazel’s gaze swept me from head to toe and back up again. It was assessing. Not over the line into judgmental. More like gauging or appraising. I’d seen squinty judgy eyes and these weren’t it.
“What do you say to making some new friends?”
“Uh…” It sounded repulsive, what with the putting on of clothes I’d have to do, but at the same time, it sounded heavenly. A chance to make actual girlfriends? Scary as hell and yet so enticing.
“Leave it to me. My two besties will come over with me. You’ll love them.” She whipped a phone out of the back pocket of her teeny tiny jean shorts. “What’s your number, sweet girl?”
I preened, feeling like a beauty que
en being invited to hang out with girls I imagined were quite a bit younger than me. And calling me sweet girl? Couldn’t tell you the last time someone used a nickname for me. Well, other than my mom, but “Lucy, dear” didn’t exactly set my soul on fire, you know?
I gave her my number and her thumbs flew over the screen. She tucked it back in her pocket and slid into her car.
“Text me back with your address and we’ll be over around ten. Don’t do a thing. Don’t even get dressed. We’re gonna make you over so hard.” She squealed and I did too. For opposite reasons.
She had me with the “no dressing” thing and then she went and ruined it. Getting made over so hard? That didn’t sound like Sunday Funday. What was wrong with the way I looked? I looked exactly like a put-together professional business woman. Sure, I didn’t show a bunch of skin, but that didn’t make me a hot mess. When you worked in a clinic where lots of clothes came off, you didn’t want to be wearing something suggestive. I wanted the essential oil blend to rev their engines, not a flashy display of bosom.
Another squeal broke through my grumbly musings. Hazel peeled out of the parking lot and waved out the window as carefree as twenty-somethings can be when they have no spouse, no kids, no mortgage, and no highly realistic nightmares of being single the rest of their lives when they go to sleep at night.
I could only blame myself. My defenses were down after the repeated seagull attacks, low blood sugar from lack of food, and a broken-down car. I kicked a rock with the pointy toe of my high heel and picked my way back over to the front door of the clinic. I needed to grab my cell phone and see if I could find a ride on that one app everyone was talking about.
Once I rounded up all my stuff in my huge tote bag, I turned out the lights, locked the clinic, and gave my car a squinty stare while I waited for the app to signal that someone was coming to get me. It kept searching and searching while the late afternoon sun made me wish I’d left off the stockings today. I wasn’t sure if this was the normal wait time, or if the app was taking significantly longer time to find a ride. Unease crept into my empty stomach. Surely I wouldn’t have to walk home, right?
A roar some distance ahead tore my gaze from my phone. There, like a knight in black armor from the twenty-first century, was a huge pickup truck barreling its way down Brinestone Way, the clank and whirl of the long chain-link fence closing behind it. I held my breath and hoped it was a worker and not another recently released inmate full of detox rage. Indecision made me freeze, my arm outstretched with my phone in it, my feet turned away, but my head swiveling to watch the progress of the truck.
The angle of the sun prevented me from seeing through the windshield and assessing my potential rescuer. The truck slowed, the engine noise a fraction less like a freight train pulling into the station. My frozen indecision prevented the eye roll that normally would have happened right about now.
You know what they say about men and big trucks, don’t you?
The bigger the truck, the smaller the—
The horn blared, making me jump and nearly twist an ankle in my heels. I bobbled my phone and only got a firm grip on it when the truck came abreast. The window rolled down and I finally got a glimpse of the driver. The strong jawline covered in a day’s worth of beard flexed into a grin. The way his teeth flashed in the sunlight nearly blinded me.
Bain Sutter, the man who haunted my dreams at night and enraged my senses during the day, was my rescuer.
On second thought, no, he wasn’t.
The bastard drove on by, not even tapping on the brakes to ask if I needed help. Just a smug smirk and I choked on his exhaust. It was faint over the rumble of the engine, but I swore I could hear laughter trailing out the open window.
I raised the fist holding on to the cell phone so tight the screen might crack and snarled at his receding tailgate.
“Mother of a goatless…” I spun around to focus on the scraggly cypress tree in the distance as I took a deep breath. If I didn’t get my blood pressure under control, I just might stroke out here on the side of the road. And I would rather die than give Bain that satisfaction. For him to know he’d gotten under my skin was intolerable.
My phone vibrated in my hand.
Finally. My day was turning around. My driver just picked up my ride and would be here in less than ten minutes.
Take that, Mr. Sutter.
11
Lucille
Life constantly reminded me I lived in a small town. My Uber ride from last night? A delightful young woman by the name of Lenora who I vaguely recalled seeing around town before I left for college. Her brunette hair, with a hint of red tones, immediately drew my attention. I wondered if I could pull off that color. We’d chatted easily, but alas, I only lived a few miles away, so I was home before we could get too far. Either way, the ride was enjoyable.
And now here she was again, standing on my doorstep sandwiched by Hazel, my new friend since yesterday, and another young woman with jet-black hair and more sass in her eyes than I had in my whole body. Well, prior to the Cock sighting and the goat challenge. My sass was definitely growing.
“Ladies.” I pasted on a smile, though my stomach was in knots. Hazel had mentioned bringing some friends of hers, but I hadn’t realized Lenora would be one of them.
“Lucille?” Lenora stepped forward and swept me into a fierce hug. “I had no idea you’re who Hazel was telling me about until we pulled up to your house.”
Hazel used that moment, when my arms were glued to my sides in Lenora’s hug, to march into the house and make herself at home. The other girl sashayed in and swept her gaze around the place. When she found my framed needlepoint on the wall leading to the living room, she got closer to inspect it.
Lenora let me go and tugged me into the living room where we all sat and waited for the dark-haired girl to come on over.
“That’s Amelia, by the way.” Hazel pointed to the raven-haired beauty who had yet to speak. She was still studying my needlepoint. “And it sounds like you’ve met Lenora already.”
“Her car broke down and I gave her a ride home last night.” Lenora explained our meeting.
My gaze was still on Amelia, wondering why she was studying my needlepoint so closely. It was a conversation starter, for sure, but she didn’t strike me as a crafts-lover. Her shorts were so short, I stared in envy at her cellulite-free thighs. The ponytail on top of her head pulled on her eyebrows so much I wondered if she’d started Botox injections or if that was just the effects of the hair pulling so tight. She was stunning, really. But then again, so were Hazel and Lenora. All different in their own way, but gorgeous girls. Comparison was rearing its ugly head and I needed to shut it down.
I tugged on the hem of my floral T-shirt and wondered yet again what they were doing here with me.
“Girl. I like you.” Amelia spun away from the needlepoint and sauntered over, her eyes taking in my face, my outfit, and my house as if not one detail missed her attention.
“Thank you?” My voice shook a bit, which was weird.
Amelia plopped down in the chair I’d gotten on consignment in The City and smiled at me like we shared a little secret. She looked vaguely familiar, but again, I couldn’t seem to latch on to her name. I really did need to be more social.
“I do not spew profanities. I enunciate them clearly like a fucking lady?”
“Amelia!” Lenora chastised her.
I laid my hand on Lenora’s. “No, it’s okay. She’s just reiterating my needlepoint phrase.” I shrugged. “Being a lady and cursing is not mutually exclusive.”
“I have to agree. You gotta teach me how to do that. I’d love to make some clever needlepoints like that and put them up at the hotel.”
The knot in my stomach eased and warmed. “You bet. It’s really easy actually if you have a pattern.” I furrowed my brow. “Are you talking about Hell Hotel?” It was actually Hill Hotel, but the font used on the big sign out front make it look like Hell with an E and the nickname stu
ck.
“Yep, Amelia is the manager of Hell Hotel. One of these days she’ll open up her own B&B and watch out, world!” Hazel proudly explained Amelia’s profession and I could see the love these three had for each other.
I thought back to the other day when I drove into town to Coffee. “Wait. Are you responsible for the sign in the parking lot of the hotel?”
That glint in her eye increased in wattage. “Why, yes, I am.”
I burst into laughter. “I fucking love reading that sign!”
Amelia smiled full out, those red lips of hers daring you not to smile in return. She bent at the waist and bowed.
“At your service.”
Last week it was something about meth heads and tiny dogs in purses not being welcome. This week it was “Imaginary friends stay free.” I couldn’t wait to see what she put up next.
When our laughter died down, Lenora looked around the room and squeezed my arm. “You have a lovely house, Lucille. Are you renting?”
“Oh, no. I own this house now. I mostly grew up here, actually, but my mom put the house in my name a while back.”
The place I called home was a single-level house with three bedrooms and two bathrooms and a postage stamp backyard. Standard, but functional. I was slowly putting touches of my personality around the place, making it more mine than my mom’s. I’d grown up here, but I was a full-fledged adult now, which meant I needed to feel like I’d moved into the place. Taking over the master bedroom had been a huge leap, one that only happened after she came back to town sometime last year in between trips and physically moved my stuff into the larger bedroom. The place needed renovating, but I’d get to that once my clinic was well established.
“Wow, that’s sure nice! I wish my grandma would do that.” Hazel pouted.
I shrugged. “Sure, it’s nice to own, but I still have to do a ton of maintenance on it and my mom’s not around Auburn Hill much anymore. She travels extensively. I mean, I’m happy for her, but sometimes I wish she were around more, you know?”