“I’ll stay right here, in case you need help.”
Emma hoisted herself into the vehicle with ease. She settled into the seat and flipped the visor down. The light from a nearby street lamp was just bright enough that she could see her horrendous hair in the tiny mirror. At least the Jeep had the top on, so it wouldn’t get any worse. She tugged a few curls back into place and then gave up. Looking pretty wasn’t the goal for the evening. Brad shook his head slightly before tossing the stirrup into the foot well and slamming the door. When he climbed into the driver’s seat he was grinning. “I’m impressed. You passed the test.”
She flipped the visor up. A test. Nice. She hadn’t studied. “What test?”
“I never date a woman who can’t get into my Jeep.”
“We’re not on a date. Remember? This is a business meeting.”
As they drove across town only a few, small bits of polite conversation interrupted the low whine of the chunky tires rolling over the pavement. The Jeep’s top was made of canvas. The buildings and cars they passed by were distorted by the ripples in the flexible, clear plastic side window. It felt like they were traveling through a dream world. Would it be a fantasy or nightmare after they arrived at the restaurant? Brad pulled into a strip mall and parked in front of a storefront with a red awning printed with Josh’s Tapas. “Here we are. It isn’t fancy, but Josh is a fantastic chef.”
Emma hopped out of the Jeep before Brad made it to her side to help her out. “I’m sure we can find something delicious to munch on while we talk…about business.”
After they were seated at a table in a quiet corner, Emma studied the menu. When they pulled into a generic strip mall she hadn’t expected to find such a sophisticated restaurant. The place offered a dizzying variety of dishes. Brad explained that the small plates of food were meant to be shared. If each person only took one or two bites, diners could sample many things without spending a fortune.
Soon the table was covered with brightly colored plates. As she munched on grilled calamari rings and spicy sausage with caramelized pears she was careful to keep the conversation on dessert ideas for Brad’s truck. She speared a wrinkly, oil-cured black olive with her fork and asked, “Do you want to just offer one dessert a day or would you like to give people a choice?”
“I haven’t thought about that yet. If the dessert sandwiches are easy to produce I don’t see why we can’t offer a couple options, just like the regular sandwiches.”
“You could do quick bread sandwiches, like banana bread with a cream cheese or chocolate filling as well as the sandwich cookies. If you used the frosting or jam as a filling those could be made ahead and all you would need to do is hand them out. Also, don’t forget fruit soups. What about an apple soup with lots of cinnamon and nutmeg, topped with an oatmeal crumble? You could call it Hot Apple Crisp Soup.”
The waitress arrived with an array of plates tiled up her arm like fish scales. As she cleared away empty plates Brad nodded his head in agreement. “I like it. Do you have a degree in marketing? You have so many great ideas that have never crossed my mind.”
Emma stuffed a lamb meatball in her mouth so she wouldn’t look like a grinning goofball. The compliment made her unreasonably giddy. “No, I went to art school for a year, before my scholarships ran out and I had to quit.” The admission that she didn’t graduate vaporized her good mood. He probably had a degree from a prestigious cooking school. Giving him suggestions for his business was ridiculous. Why had she agreed to do this?
The rest of the evening was spent nibbling on the steady stream of new offerings that were delivered to the table. Emma switched to iced tea after her second glass of wine. There was no way she’d be able to fall asleep at a reasonable time. She knew the evening would replay in her mind like an unforgettably bad movie, so a bit of caffeine wouldn’t hurt. Whenever Brad tried to steer the conversation away from desserts, she guided it back on track. Every time she wanted to get lost in his dreamy, blue eyes she forced herself to think of her mother. She conjured up images of some of her mother’s seedier boyfriends and superimposed their leering faces over Brad’s.
The self-administered barrage of creeps worked. They ran out of business topics to discuss. Brad paid the bill and they drove back to the colony in silence. He parked in front of the main entrance and offered to walk Emma to her studio. She shook her head and sprinted to the door. Her whole body was trembling so violently she could barely slide her security card into the lock’s slot. She was trapped in her own personal horror movie. She needed to be alone, whether she wanted it or not. When she finally made it into her apartment she collapsed, face down, on her bed.
Emma rolled onto her side. The aspirin needed to kick in soon or she would never get any sleep. The meeting was supposed to be a pleasant break from sitting at the workbench, but the resulting stress only made her shoulder muscles ache worse. Her muscles felt like rubber bands stretched to their breaking point. The luminescent face of a woman stared at her from the wall beside the refrigerator. Daisy had given her the painting for Christmas. The spooky image was rendered in clear, glow-in-the-dark paint which wasn’t visible on the abstract painting in the light. At first the effect gave her the creeps, but now staring at the diaphanous woman was a kind of ritual. She often fell asleep while looking at it, like a child turning to a night light for comfort.
Her cell phone sprang to life. It vibrated and skittered across the night stand like a giant water bug. She flipped it over to look at the display. Her chest muscles contracted, forcing all of the air out of her lungs. It was her mother.
“Mom, do you realize what time it is? Why are you calling me in the middle of the night? What’s wrong?” The questions tumbled out of her mouth while her mind became a tornado of scenarios, none of them good. Her mother hardly ever bothered to call during the daytime. The after midnight attempt at communication was bound to be trouble.
“Emma, honey? I’m sorry I woke you up. I just didn’t know who else to call. Your momma is in a bit of a pickle.”
Her mother was the queen of poor judgment and bad decisions. Situations that would freak most people out, sending them running or into hiding, didn’t even affect her anymore. It was like she had become immune to sketchiness. Something truly awful must have happened to bring on the late night admission. “What? What’s going on? Are you hurt?”
“No…no. The only thing that’s hurt is what little pride I have left. I’m at a hotel in Grantsburg. My date left two hours ago to get a pack of cigarettes and he hasn’t come back. I’m stuck here because I left my car back at a bar in Flint. It should only take you about half an hour to get here, I think. Could you come save your stupid, old momma, sweetie?”
Abandoned at a cheap hotel in the middle of nowhere after a one-night stand. This was a new low for her. Maybe she would learn a lesson if she had to pay for a long cab ride back to her car, but she probably didn’t have enough money to do that. Then she’d end up calling again, asking to borrow money. Emma switched the lamp on and searched for a notepad and pen in the nightstand’s drawer. It would be easier on both of them to just take her back to her car instead of trying to teach her a lesson. She had certainly never learned how to attract decent men, even after hundreds of failed attempts. “What is the hotel’s address? I need to get dressed and put some gas in my car, so give me an hour or so to get there.”
She scribbled down the information and then hung up, before her mother could say anything else. She couldn’t listen to the pathetic excuses and explanations that were sure to come. They always did.
Half an hour later she was driving on I-75, heading north. The little car was old and faded, but more trustworthy than her mother. The gas tank was almost full after a quick stop at the gas station near the freeway entrance ramp. A giant, insulated cup filled with sugary coffee sat in the cup holder. The emotionless female voice of a GPS app called out directions from her phone, “In twenty miles take exit 25.”
Emma’s eyes darted back a
nd forth, checking the perimeter of her headlight beams for the reflection of animal eyes. The headlights from an oncoming car in the other lanes appeared as she rounded a curve. A jolt of pain sizzled behind her eyes. It would be a miracle if she made it through the night without wrecking her car or developing a migraine. She chugged the coffee, hoping the caffeine would chase away the fledgling headache.
The coffee was gone by the time she pulled into the gravel parking lot of the small hotel. It wasn’t the kind of place that catered to business travelers, so there were no other cars around on the early Thursday morning. She parked in front of the only door with the porch light on. Tiny moths swarmed around the bare, white bulb. Emma got out of the car and stretched her arms over her head. A bug brushed across the back of her hand. She shivered. Was the reaction because of the bug or the sleaziness of the rundown hotel? The door to the room swung open. Her mother rushed out, flapping her hands to shoo Emma back into the car. “No need to stick around and chat. I’m ready to get out of here,” she said as she opened the passenger side door.
Emma collapsed back into the driver’s seat. Her mother was wearing a tight, red vinyl mini skirt and a black satin, low-cut halter top. She looked exactly like the type of woman that would frequent that hotel. The place probably charged by the hour. Emma gripped the steering wheel with both hands and said, “I was hoping to use the bathroom before I started driving again.”
The rhinestones on her mother’s dangly earrings glinted as she shook her head. “Stop at the gas station up the road. I don’t want to stay here another second…and you really don’t want to use that bathroom.”
What was the hurry? Emma pulled her door shut and started the engine. Hopefully the gas station had fresh coffee as well as a clean bathroom. If her mother thought the one in the hotel room was bad, it had to be disgusting. Household cleanliness wasn’t a priority for her. Emma exhaled as she pulled back onto the road. It was going to be a long time before she made it back to bed.
After stopping at the surprisingly clean gas station for a bathroom break, she turned back onto the freeway. Her mother stared out the side window and chewed on her fingernails. It was a childish habit that Emma was happy not to have inherited. Of course, endlessly going from one man to another was more disgusting than ragged fingernails. What would she be like now if she had been raised by a normal mother who baked cookies and read classic novels at night?
“I hope you’re doing better than I am in the man department.”
The man department. Leave it to her mom to compare dating to shopping. Men were like disposable razors to her. At the first sign of dullness she tossed them away and picked up another one.
“I’m not seeing anyone right now,” Emma said.
No response. Just a rhythmic thumping as her mother tapped her foot on the floorboard. Emma swallowed. The sky was a chalky gray as the sun started to rise. She stared at the road ahead. It had been almost 24 hours since she had gotten any sleep. She gasped when her mother touched her shoulder and said, “Good for you. Maybe I didn’t screw you up as much as I thought.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ve never been able to live without a man in my life. It’s an addiction and, sometimes, I’m afraid it’s going to kill me. You’ve obviously already figured out how to live on your own, without a man to lean on.” She pulled her hand away. “I’m proud of you for being a strong, independent young woman.”
The sign for a rest area appeared in the headlight beams. Emma tapped the brake pedal. She needed to stop. There was no way she could keep driving. She steered the car into a parking space and shut off the engine. She rested her forehead on the top of the steering wheel and asked, “If you know it’s bad to act like this, why do you continue to be such a slut?” She closed her eyes. What kind of daughter called her own mother a slut? “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
“You don’t have to apologize for the truth.”
She kept her forehead on the wheel and stared at the dark splotches materializing on her white sweatpants. She had forgotten to wash off her mascara. Now it was mixing with her tears, turning them into dark raindrops.
Her mother exhaled loudly and then coughed. “Because I can’t stop searching, hoping I’ll find someone who will treat me like your daddy did. But I’ve never found him and I’m sure, at this point, I never will.”
“What are you talking about? You’ve always told me you don’t know who my father is.”
“I’ve lied.” She grabbed a handful of platinum blonde hair and yanked off her wig. Her real hair poked out from the nylon skull cap like dark spikes. “Your daddy was the best thing that ever happened to me, but I screwed up. When he caught me with another man, that was the end. By the time I found out I was pregnant with you, he was long gone. I’ve never been able to find him, even though I’ve tried and tried. So I keep searching for a replacement. Someone who will treat me like he did, before I drove him away.” She grabbed Emma’s hand and squeezed. Her sharp, acrylic fingernails dug into Emma’s palm like razor blades. “Please promise me, when you find a man who loves you as much as you love him, hold on tight. Don’t let him slip away. I don’t want you to end up like me.”
- Part 3 -
Daisy knocked on the door. There were no sounds from inside the apartment. She knocked again and then inserted her key into the lock. Maybe Emma was out running errands or had her headphones on. It never hurt to check. That’s why they had exchanged keys. Why interrupt your friend’s work when you can just let yourself in and save them the bother?
Daisy pushed the door open a few inches. “Hello. Anybody home?” Emma wasn’t at her workbench and the bathroom was unoccupied. The studio was silent. Could she have spent the night with Brad and not gotten home yet? Probably not. The new, chastity-quest version of Emma wouldn’t allow that no matter how awesome Brad was. “Hello?”
There was a legal pad on the workbench. It’s yellow paper glowed in the morning sunshine. She’d just leave a note for Emma to call when she got home. Her phone was going to voicemail, so she must’ve forgotten to charge it again. All of her art supplies were organized by color and her apartment was spotless, but for some reason the queen of neat could never remember to put her cell phone on the charger. Daisy plucked an ink pen out of a fabric-covered tin can filled with colored pencils and markers. She began scribbling the message. A loud snort ripped through the room. She froze. Was that a growl? Had Emma adopted a dog last night for some reason? She spun around. A large lump shifted position under a pile of blankets on the bed. A shock of dark, curly hair peeked out from under the edge of the afghan. It could be a Cocker Spaniel, but was most likely Emma. If it was her, something was wrong. Emma never slept past 9 a.m. She was the super-annoying morning person who woke up before dawn whether she needed to or not.
“Emma? Are you okay? Do you have another migraine?”
“What? Daisy? Oh god, what time is it?” It was definitely Emma. She threw back the blankets and ground her fists into her eyes. “I have so much work to do. I shouldn’t still be in bed.”
Daisy sat on the edge of the mattress and patted Emma’s leg. “Calm down. Technically, it’s still morning even though the sun is up. You’re not that late. I’ve only been awake for an hour or so.”
“I’m so tired. I wish I could sleep all day,” Emma said as she curled back into a ball and shut her eyes. This was not normal behavior for her. What had happened last night?
“Do you want me to leave? Or, better yet, I can make you some coffee and you can tell me about last night. If you’re this tired it must have been a very long night.”
Emma groaned and pulled the blanket back up to her neck. “Coffee, please, if you don’t mind. I can’t stay in bed any longer.”
“Okay, I’ll make some, but you have to tell me what happened last night to make you so tired this morning.” She hopped off the bed. “Inquiring minds are going insane with curiosity.”
“No coffee, no talky,” Emma mumbled
.
“Fine.” At least Emma had one of those fast, single-serving coffee makers. Daisy banged open the cupboard door and selected the biggest mug from the mismatched collection. She filled the coffee maker with water, popped in a container of dark roast coffee and turned the machine on. Emma definitely needed a super-strength, high-octane brew. “Coffee’s coming right up. Now spill it. What the heck happened with Brad last night to leave you looking like a zombie this morning?”
She turned around and leaned against the counter to wait for the answer. Emma didn’t move. Maybe she had fallen back asleep. Or she was just trying to ignore the question by playing dead. The coffee maker hissed. It was done brewing. She shoveled sugar into the mug, gave the steaming liquid a quick stir, then added another spoonful. For good measure. Caffeine and sugar. That should do the trick.
“Here you go. A big cup of joe.” Daisy carefully set the mug on the wobbly nightstand. She hopped onto the mattress again and bounced up and down. “Now talk, girlfriend.”
“Do you have to be so annoying?”
“Now you know how I feel when you show up at my apartment all happy and chipper at the ass crack of dawn.” Emma rolled onto her back and pushed herself up to a sitting position. Daisy handed her the coffee mug and said, “Did you go back to his place or did he just leave here a while ago?”
Emma took a sip of coffee and closed her eyes. If she fell asleep holding onto the coffee mug and then spilled it, the second degree burns would wake her up. Daisy took it from her again, as a security precaution. Just in case the cup tipped her direction. She didn’t need to be wearing scalding coffee, either. Finally Emma took a deep breath and said, “It was just a business meeting with Brad. I was back here, alone, by nine o’clock.”
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