by Heather Gray
The van pulled to a stop, and the driver, who had remained quiet during the entire drive, got out and opened the sliding door for them. “I need to go pick someone else up. Haul your luggage in with you so I’ve got room for the next group.”
Looking from the two suitcases, oversized duffel bag full of snacks, and case of bottled water back to the driver, Avery lifted her eyebrow and said, “Perhaps you could assist us?”
“I gotta go take a whiz before my next pick-up. You’ll have to get your bags yourself.”
Closing her eyes, Avery counted to ten. Then fifteen. Then thirty. By the time she had counted high enough to feel calm again, she opened her eyes only to see Eli had already moved their luggage into the small outbuilding and was holding the door, waiting on her.
Avery stomped her way along the dirt parking lot to where her son waited. She vowed to remember every tawdry detail of this trip so she could hold it over Mitchell’s head for years to come.
An entirely insincere smile pasted on her face, Avery took a deep breath and tried to relax her shoulders as she stepped into the miniature office. “Hello,” she said. “I’m Avery Weston, and I’m here to pick up a vehicle. The reservation was made by Mitchell Jones, or might be in the name of the Albuquerque Times.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Weston,” the short blonde behind the counter said. Avery didn’t bother to correct her. Maybe it would help get the process moving along if the woman thought there was a Mr. Weston who might come knock some heads together if things didn’t go smoothly.
“Unfortunately, there’s been a problem with your reservation,” the woman said, not looking the least bit sad about it.
“I know there was a problem. You went to the wrong place to pick me up. As a result, it’s no longer morning, but rather a quarter after twelve. Nevertheless, I’m here now, and I’d prefer to collect my vehicle so I can get out of here and on the road.”
“Yes, well, because you weren’t where you were supposed to be this morning, we had to give your reserved vehicle away to someone else.”
She did not just say that, did she?
“Okay, that’s fine.” Stay calm. Don’t yell. Catch more flies with honey. Blah, blah, blah. “Then please give me another comparable vehicle.”
“Well, that’s the thing, see,” the woman, whose glaringly pale hair had to come out of a bottle, said. “We don’t have anything left in the SUV class.”
“I’ll settle for a large sedan. That’s fine.”
“We don’t have any.”
“A medium-sized sedan then.”
Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say it.
“We don’t have any.”
Avery closed her eyes and began counting again. One, two, three. Four, five, six. Seven, eight, nine. She would ask the question as soon as she calmed down.
“Can you tell us what you do have?”
Her eyes popped open in time to see the blonde smiling at Eli.
“Well, young man, it so happens we have a brand new cherry-red Zeon with less than two hundred miles on it.”
Avery slapped her hands over her ears as her son hooped and hollered. If he does that fist pump thing any harder, he’s going to dislocate his elbow!
“No!” Both Eli and the blonde gaped at her as if she’d been gushing over how beautiful the company logo was. They clearly thought she’d lost all touch with reality.
“But Mrs. Weston, this is quite an upgrade for you, and we won’t charge anything extra at all.” Avery was finally able to get past the reflective tinge of the woman’s hair to notice the two-inch long fingernails. Each painted a different color. With designs on them. Working here can’t pay well enough for nails that extravagant, can it?
“I understand it’s an upgrade, but a Zeon is out of the question.”
“Is it a convertible?” Eli asked, his eyes glowing with excitement.
“It has the removable top panel so it can be easily converted to topless.”
I’m going to throw up here and now on her office floor.
“A Zeon is not an option. I assume you have other selections for us to choose from?” Through force of will, Avery managed to make it sound like a polite question rather than a drill sergeant’s command. What kind of woman uses the word topless when speaking to a teenage boy?
Eli and the woman stared at her.
“What exactly are you doing with a Zeon here, anyway? This isn’t a high-end car lot, if you don’t mind my saying so.” Good. Get the voice back under control. Don’t yell.
The petite woman stood an inch or two taller, thrust out her chest, and put her hands on her hips. “I’ll have you know, we have rental facilities in different locations across the city. We rotate vehicles between all of them, and the Zeon happens to be here today.”
“Right. With less than two hundred miles on it, it got sent here to this lot. What’s wrong with it?”
The woman’s mouth snapped shut. Then she pivoted on her heel and stomped her way into a back room, slamming the door behind her.
“Mom, what’d you go and do that for?”
I haven’t heard that whine in his voice since he was eight years old.
“Eli, there’s no way we can fit three people and all our luggage into a Zeon. We already had this conversation. It can’t possibly come as a surprise to you that I said no.”
“You’re crushing my dreams. I’m going to be in therapy for decades because of this, you know that, don’t you?”
“That’s fine. Do me a favor, though, and wait till you’re paying for your own insurance before you have the mental breakdown, okay?”
He rolled his eyes at her and then threw himself into the one chair in the small waiting area. The drama of his little fit was ruined when, with a loud snap, the chair leaned drunkenly to the side. Eli’s momentum forced the chair’s tipped pose into an all-out flip, landing him on the floor with the chair above him, pinning him into place.
How on earth did it manage to flip over like that? Without hitting a light fixture?
The back door opened, and the woman returned. Her hair was the same unrealistic color as before, and her nails were still too long for her to hold a pen. At least her chest isn’t sticking out as far this time. Okay. Maybe I’m being catty now.
With a big sigh and a lower lip that stuck out comparable to a two-year-old’s pout, she said, “We have one other car that might fit your needs. Follow me.”
She didn’t bother waiting for her customers to accompany her. Instead, she exited out a door on her side of the office counter and was gone before they could do anything. “Stay here with the bags,” Avery shouted over her shoulder as she sprinted out the door they’d come in and ran around the building trying to find the woman.
I wouldn’t put it past her to key the car and blame me for it!
When she caught up to the woman, she scowled at the virtually vacant lot. “Okay, so where’s our car?”
“There.” The woman pointed. With her two-inch long fingernail.
“No, seriously. Where’s our car?”
The woman’s chin jutted out, and she shook a finger at Avery. “Now see here, Mrs. Weston. You weren’t where you were supposed to be, and this is the best I can do. It’s either this or the Zeon. This one’s at least been around the block enough times you know it works!”
Avery lifted her hands in the air and backed away. “Okay, okay. Didn’t mean to ruffle any feathers. This one will be fine. I need to get on the road. As long as it runs and can seat more than two people, I’ll find a way to make it work.”
A few minutes later, they were back inside and filling out paperwork. She shot a quick text off to Mitchell: I haven’t heard from Gavin. Where am I supposed to pick him up? BTW, you’ve earned my undying promise of revenge.
When the woman shoved the papers across the counter for her to sign, Avery scanned them. Around the block a few times – she wasn’t exaggerating! The car had over a hundred thousand miles on it according to the paperwork. Lord, please let t
hat mean it’s reliable. At least give me that much here.
“Get the luggage out the door,” Avery told Eli. “I’ll go grab the car and bring it up here so we don’t have to haul the suitcases.” Then she took a deep breath and went to collect her assigned vehicle, praying it would start without any trouble.
When Avery returned to where Eli stood, she tried to force her lips into a positive grin as she got out of the car to face him. She caught sight of her reflection in the office’s front window. Ugh. That looks more like the grimace of a woman in labor than it does a smile.
Thankfully, her failed attempt at a smile was lost on her son. He couldn’t take his eyes off the car. Circling, he examined it from every angle. Then he walked around it again, shaking his head. By the time he lifted his eyes to look at her, Avery’s palms were sweaty, and her heart was racing.
“You got us a decade old hatchback with less room in it than the Zeon would have had. It’s so old the white paint looks faded. How can white paint fade? Does this thing even have seatbelts, or does it predate them?”
“Okay, I admit it. It’s awful, but we’re stuck with it, so let’s get the luggage loaded. We need to leave.”
She got a return text from Mitchell. Gavin’s at the coffee shop on Central between Edith and Arno.
Clicking her fingers on the phone, she sent another message. How will I know him?
He’s sitting outside. Grey stocking cap. With luggage.
A short while later, Avery was pulling their car up in front of the coffee shop. Only in Albuquerque would a coffee shop be painted the color of terra cotta and have dried chile peppers hanging from the ceiling.
She got out of the car and gazed at the front of the coffee shop. It was the twenty-third of December, but even in New Mexico, there was no more than one man brave enough to endure the weather outside. A nip in the air had encouraged all other patrons to enjoy the indoor atmosphere of the establishment.
Avery took note of the man as she approached. He was younger than she’d expected. With the stocking cap pulled down low, she couldn’t get a look at his hair to see whether or not it had any grey in it. The scruff on his cheeks and chin was black as night, however, with no indication of aging. She couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but he had an angular face, a strong chin, and… he was drinking a fruit smoothie.
A bright yellow frozen beverage. At a coffee shop. In December. I’m going to have to make allowances for his artistic temperament. I get it. But is this necessary, God? Sticking me with a man who goes to a coffee shop and doesn’t order coffee? You’re laughing at me, aren’t You?
Pulling her it’s-okay-if-you-don’t-love-coffee smile out of storage and dusting it off before putting it on, she approached the man. She held out her hand and said, “Mitchell sent me. Ready to go?”
The man put down his blindingly bright beverage and ran his eyes up and down her figure. His sunglasses kept his eyes concealed, but his perusal still made her uncomfortable. When he made no move to shake her hand, she began to wonder if she had the right person. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Gavin,” he said. “Who are you?”
Eyeing his luggage, she took note of the oversized backpack and two large hard-sided cases she assumed held camera equipment. This has to be Gavin, but what if it’s not? What if this guy murdered Gavin and stuffed him in an alleyway, then sat down in his spot to lure me into a false sense of security so he can do away with us, too, at his leisure? Homicidal tendencies might explain the yellow drink.
Before the man had time to sneeze, Avery whipped out her cellphone, took a snapshot of him, and texted it to Mitchell. Is this him?
She imagined the man blinking his eyes in surprise behind his dark glasses. Artsy isn’t exactly the first word that comes to mind here. He was wearing black jeans, a grey jacket hanging open to reveal a like-colored sweater underneath, and a grey scarf wrapped around his neck a couple times. I thought artists wore lots of color. Guess that’s what I get for assuming. He makes me think of a beatnik.
Avery’s phone chirped at her, and she glanced down at it. Yep. That’s Gavin.
Again frowning at the man’s fruity beverage, she tried to shake off the feeling of dread swirling through her stomach. Straightening her shoulders, she held out her hand for a second time and said, “Hi Gavin. I’m here to pick you up and head to Nowhere.”
He cracked a smile this time and said, “Heading to Nowhere – isn’t that a country song?” Then, looking behind her, he asked, “Where’s Avery?”
She stole a look behind her at the white car. What was he expecting? A limo? She gave him a puzzled look, brows drawn together, and said, “I’m Avery. Avery Weston.”
Gavin jumped up out of his wrought-iron chair, knocking it back. “You can’t be. Avery’s a man.”
Avery scratched her head and said, “I’ve been accused of a lot of things, but that’s not one of them.”
He turned the tables on her then, taking her picture with his phone, presumably to verify her identity with Mitchell.
Eli, evidently tired of waiting in the cramped confines of the car, climbed out and said, “What’s the holdup? At this rate we won’t make it to Nowhere till two in the morning. Come on, people, daylight’s burning!”
Gavin glanced from her to Eli. Then his phone vibrated, and he peered down at it. The part of his face she could see through the pseudo-beard flushed. His hand clenched around the phone in a death grip before relaxing.
“I don’t travel with women. I thought I was riding with a man named Avery and his teenage son.”
Eli’s eyebrows shot up. “You thought Mom was a man? That’s awesome. Wait till I tell Grandma and Grandpa! They’re going to love it!”
Avery watched as Eli immediately began texting. Great. Now I’m a topic of gossip between my son and parents.
She returned her gaze to Gavin and said, “Sorry. I’m not a man. We still have a job to do, though, and we need to get going. If you’re going to refuse, tell me now so I can leave without you. I’m sure between the two of us, Eli and I can get plenty of pictures with our cellphones. We’ll gladly give you all the credit for the shots when the article runs.”
His jaw clenched.
Maybe I shouldn’t poke an angry bear.
“It’s nothing personal, but I don’t travel with women.”
“Why? If you think I’m going to be a bad driver, you’re welcome to take your turn behind the wheel.”
“I’ve had way too much trouble in my life with women thinking they could get a leg-up in their career by warming my bed, so I made it a rule. I don’t travel with women. Period.”
Of all the condescending, chauvinist, egotistical things to say… Avery’s foot began to tap out a harsh staccato beat on the sidewalk as she crossed her arms. Her temperature went from cool to frigid faster than a flea jumps. “One, I’m not some sweet thing hanging on your every word, and you’d best not forget it. Two, you will watch what you say in front of my son. Three…”
Gavin raised his hands and shook his head. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong. I—I’m a little edgy I guess. Can we forget I said that?” Then he glanced over to where Eli leaned against the car and back at her before adding, “But for the record, it’s not like he’s four years old here.”
Her jaw clenched. She glowered at him for a good long minute before she jerked her chin in the direction of the car and said, “Load your equipment up, and we’ll get out of here.”
Eli opened the hatchback and Gavin considered the small amount of space remaining for his equipment before saying, “There’s no way this is going to work.”
Avery started drumming her nails on the rooftop of the car. “This is as good as it gets. They gave away every other vehicle. Make it work, even if you have to take up part of the back seat.”
Not even a token protest came from Eli as the bag of snacks and Avery’s suitcase got shoved up into the seat next to him. Some careful rearranging allowed Gavin to cram everything else in
to the tiny space called a trunk.
Eli, watching with interest, pointed to a gauge on one of Gavin’s camera cases and asked, “What’s that for?”
“It’s called a dry box,” the photographer answered. “It’s designed to control and monitor humidity inside the case.”
Eyebrows raised, Eli asked, “What for?”
“Changes in temperature and humidity cause condensation in the lenses and can lead to fungus and other problems.”
“Aren’t cameras designed to prevent that?”
Looking at Eli through the still-lifted hatchback, Gavin said, “Sure. Good equipment should be water-tight, but nothing’s ever a hundred percent. Why take chances? Prevention is easy and fairly cheap compared to the alternatives.”
“Huh,” Eli commented before turning back around in his seat. “Who knew?”
Gavin, who had to be at least six inches taller than Avery’s five-foot eight-inch frame, closed the hatchback door, and climbed into the front passenger seat. He managed to squeeze his legs into the space under the dashboard but was muttering under his breath the whole time. She thought she heard him say, “Could you have gotten a smaller car?”
“Is everything alright?” she asked, plastering a smile on her face.
“Just peachy,” he replied, his tone dry.
When she pulled back out into traffic heading away from the freeway rather than toward it, he started to ask, “Where…”
“Dude,” came the voice from behind them, “I forgot the charger for my MP3 player.”
Avery gave her son The Look via the rearview mirror. “Eli, this is Mr. Eastly. His name is not Dude.”
Gavin reached awkwardly behind him and shook Eli’s hand. “You can call me Gavin, and I feel your pain.”
“You have no idea,” Eli said. “The rental lot wanted to give Mom a Zeon, and she refused.”
“You turned down a Zeon for this hunk of junk!” Even the sunglasses couldn’t hide the incredulous look on Gavin’s face.
Great. If a tire blows, it’ll be because of the weight of all that extra testosterone filling up the car.
