A Real Goode Time

by Jasinda Wilder

  I frowned at her. “You’re a beautiful eighteen-year-old girl hitchhiking down a rural freeway?” Kettle, meet Pot, I know, but still.

  She had a large purse made from quilt patchwork stitched together with pieces of leather, canvas, flannel, and a dozen other materials, with a drawstring opening and handles repurposed from what looked like an old timey medical bag or carpet bag.

  She fiddled with the handles. “I can handle myself. And I like to think the world isn’t as horrible and scary as the news makes it out to be.” A bright grin. “There are good people out there. Kind, wonderful people.” She reached into the bag and pulled out a beautiful antique camera. “And I’ve taken photographs of quite a lot of them, on the way up here from Manhattan.” She replaced the camera. “I’ll take my chances out in the world. How else am I supposed to find all the art I’m meant to make?”

  My little sister Poppy had grown up in more ways than one.

  LA was everything I expected it to be, and more. There were thousand-dollar bottles of champagne on the flight from Ketchikan to LA, and a pair of limousines waiting for us on the tarmac. The glam squad—who saw us in a salon on Rodeo Drive, included a whole team of people. They trimmed my hair back several inches, tutting over the dead ends, did some sort of treatment to it, and I don’t even know what else. Then it was off to the resort where we got massages and manicures and pedicures, all the while sipping drinks and talking nonstop.

  I got to know all the other women, and they were all, as Mom said, warm and welcoming and funny and inappropriate. And the wonder of it all was that Mom was just as hysterically inappropriate.

  It was amazing, and almost took my mind off of Rhys.

  Poppy got hell from Mom over the nipple piercings, and when it threatened to boil over into a real fight, Poppy yanked off her shirt in the hotel room in front of all of the gathered girls and removed both piercings.

  “There. If you care that much, I’ll take them out, just for you. But I’ll put them back in the moment this trip is over. It’s my body and I like them.” Poppy stood topless in front of Mom, bold, unapologetic. “I don’t see the big deal, but I don’t want to fight with you, so there, they’re out.”

  Mom stared her down. “I’ve never been a fan of body piercings, you know that. My friend in college got a belly button ring and it got super infected and she was very sick. But, if you feel that strongly about it, I won’t say another word. It is your body, and it is your choice. I just don’t agree with it.”

  Poppy put her shirt back on. “You just don’t like it because it means I’m an adult and you’re just now really realizing it.”

  Mom laughed. “Actually, if you want the truth, it’s more because I’m of a certain age and I have hold-over ideas about body piercings.”

  “Fair enough.” Poppy grinned. “You are old.”

  Mom laughed. “Oh shut up, I’m not that old.”

  Mara, once the silence threatened to go on too long, raised her hand. “Does anyone else share a sense of extreme inferiority, after seeing Poppy’s ridiculously amazing eighteen-year-old titties?”

  “Ooh, ooh,” Claire said. “Me, me! But I feel inferior to all of you in that department, so it’s not new. It’s just not fair that she has melons the size of my goddamn head that are that fucking perky and that high and that tight.”

  Poppy shook her head, snorting. “God, would you all stop about my boobs? I didn’t do anything, they just grew like that and I had nothing to do with it.”

  “And grew, and grew, and grew, and now it’s a wonder you don’t fall over like a Weeble-Wobble,” Dru said, laughing.

  “You realize women pay tens of thousands of dollars to get what you have naturally,” Eva said. “My mother, for example.”

  Poppy shrugged. “I’ve thought about a reduction, actually. I had a friend who was a senior last year, and she got one and said it made her life a lot easier. But then, she had, like, double E’s or something.”

  Dru winced. “Yikes.”

  “Yeah, she reduced to a triple D.”

  Claire snorted. “That’s bullshit.” She cupped herself. “I barely have an A-cup.”

  Once upon a time, Mom wouldn’t have let that go so easily. Liberated and open minded, indeed.

  A lot of the conversation revolved around men, and sex, and babies, and love…and that made it impossible not to think about Rhys.

  And then, once we were back in Ketchikan, three days later, Lexie and Myles got married.

  The wedding took place on the roof of Badd Kitty, and the officiant was a monster of a man with the body of an Olympian god who was, apparently, Myles’s drummer, and who had gotten his license online just so he could perform this ceremony.

  The wedding march was played acoustically by Canaan, Corin, Aerie, Tate, and Crow, a quintet of two guitars, a ukulele, a cello, and a mandolin.

  There were white twinkling lights strung by the thousands overhead in a brilliant lacework of golden light. The space was decorated with white orchids and lilies and daisies and roses—hundreds of flowers.

  There were children all over the place, laughing, playing, making noise, and if anyone tried to shush them Lexie just told them to let the kids play, it was not a formal event but a celebration so they should have all the fun in the world.

  Lexie read a poem she’d written for her vows, and there wasn’t a dry eye in the place when she was done.

  And then, because he was that guy, Myles played a song he’d written for his vows, and people were sobbing. Mom, loudly so.

  When Jupiter, the appropriately named drummer and officiant, announced they were legally married and would you please kiss the bride already you dumb knucklehead, Myles lifted the veil—an actual, over-the-face veil—and kissed Lexie until people started whistling and clapping.

  And that was the beginning of a week-long reception. Party after party, endless amounts of food, and even though neither Poppy nor I were of drinking age, no one really asked and we didn’t make a big deal of it.

  It was an amazing wedding and an incredible celebration. I just wished Rhys had been here. I really missed him, and I only thought about him once or twice…every hour.

  The receptions eventually ended, and things in Ketchikan settled down somewhat. Although, it quickly became clear that this clan made regular get togethers a quasi-religious thing. Every Sunday, they all gathered somewhere. And during the week, someone was always doing something. I found myself painting a house that Zane was remodeling, and the next day I was filling in as a waitress at one of the bars, and then I was spending a day with Eva, being taught how to paint, and then Poppy and I were borrowing Mom’s car for a trip down to Seattle. I got roped into posing for Poppy, who turned the black-and-white photo of me into a stunning and ethereal piece; I spent a lot of time helping Zane with the remodel, and it turned out getting dirty and building things was quickly becoming my favorite thing to do, and I gradually spent more and more time working with, and eventually for, Zane, working on houses.

  And that, of course, made me think of Rhys.

  Then I got a letter from him, an actual snail-mail letter—a little over two months after he left:

  * * *

  Torie,

  * * *

  I disconnected my cell phone, and I’m too chicken to call you from the shop landline because hearing your voice would make me miss you even more than I already do. I’m making arrangements. I can’t really say much more so I don’t jinx anything, but just be watching out your window. One of these days, you just might see me.

  * * *

  You know how they say absence makes the heart grow fonder? It’s true. I just wish that phrase could express how much it hurts to miss someone this bad.

  * * *

  Love hurts.

  * * *

  I’m on my way, Victoria.

  * * *

  ~RJ

  * * *

  RJ. He signed it RJ.

  He was coming? He was on his way?

  Victor
ia? No one called me that unless it was Mom when she was either angry or joking.

  But I liked it, from him.

  The moment I read those words, I rushed to the window of Mom’s guest room where I’d been living…but there was no one out there in the parking lot.

  My heart was pounding, though.

  He was on his way.

  The palpitations became butterflies, and then I was soaring on the wings of hope.

  Rhys

  It was unexpected, when it all came together.

  One of my competitors, one of the only other guys in two counties who specialized in engines the way I did, came to my shop one evening. We’d had beers together a few times, but it was always a bit tense, because every job I got was one he didn’t, and vice versa. He was older than me by about ten or twelve years, a guy named Rog—just that, Rog, soft G sound.

  He ambled in the open bay door late one evening while I was under my Ford F-100, putting the new exhaust in. I saw his boots, and knew it was him. I finished the bolt I was working on, and then slid the creeper out from under it.

  “Hey, Rog. What’s up?”

  He had a six-pack of local beer and two cigars. “I was hopin’ I’d find you in a good mood.”

  I wiped my hands on a rag. “Eh. Honestly? Struggling with some things.”

  He eyed the exhaust parts strewn on the floor. “Havin’ issues with the catback?”

  “Nah. More personal stuff.”

  Rog—same height as me but beefy, burly, and black, with an easy smile and thick, scarred hands—nodded. “Well, what I got to say may help, may not.”

  I moved to sit on a tire, wiped at my forehead with the back of my wrist. “What’s on your mind?”

  “I’ve had good business lately, real good. And I’m findin’ myself thinking about expanding.”

  My heart did a weird flip. “Yeah, I’ve been…streamlining a bit, taking on fewer clients, I guess.”

  “Well, I can’t really expand my current setup. And I was wonderin’, maybe it’s a long shot, but I was wonderin’ if you were willin’ to sell.”

  “Sell?” I gazed around. “I…”

  I stood up. I’d taken on no long-term jobs since I’d left Alaska. I’d reduced my hours on Jeremy’s crew, and stayed on the finishing end of things. I had completed my realtor classes, but hadn’t applied for a license in the state of Connecticut. I could, without this place and this business, pick up and start over…in Ketchikan.

  It would be heading off into the unknown. Off plan. No assurance that I could start my business over, up there. No assurance that things with Torie and me would pan out as I hoped. No assurances, period. But maybe it was time to go off plan.

  Out of the blue, I had an offer on this place.

  “I’d give you what you paid for it, plus ten percent.”

  Shit—that was a sweet offer.

  “I can’t sell everything,” I said. “I’d need the tools and some of the equipment, some select parts from the salvage.”

  Rog got up off the tire he was sitting on, leaving his beer on the floor. “Tell you what—I got an old enclosed hauler I don’t need no more. It’d hook up to your old Ford there nice and easy. I’ll give you that as part of the sale. Pack up whatever you need, leave what you can’t take, or don’t want to haul. If you got clients on the hook, I’ll take ’em—we both know I’m pretty well-known around here.”

  “So you’re offering what I paid plus ten percent, the trailer, all my tools, and my pick of salvage?” I hesitated. “Is the trailer gonna fall apart before I get where I’m going?”

  He laughed. “Nah, man, it’s good. I’ve taken care of it. I brought my shop up here from Virginia in that thing. It’s got some miles on it all right, but it’ll hold.”

  I sighed. “It’s a sweet deal, man, that’s for sure. I just…I’ve put so fuckin’ much work into building this business.”

  He nodded. “I don’t offer lightly. You do good work, and I got a lot of respect for you.” He eyed me. “You goin’ after a woman?”

  I nodded. “How’d you know?”

  “You got the look.” He grinned. “A man says personal problems, that means it’s a woman, and you look lovesick, my friend.”

  I nodded again. “You got it in one.” I sighed, because it was not really even a decision. I held out my hand. “Deal.”

  He grinned wider, handed me a cigar and a clipper, and we lit up. Cracked open the beers, and clinked. “To big engines and good women.”

  I laughed, feeling lighter, now. “Big engines and amazing women.”

  We sipped, and he jerked his chin at me. “So. Where you headed?”

  “Ketchikan, Alaska.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Torie. Victoria Goode.”

  “So when I said good women, I was more right than I knew?”

  I cackled at that. “Damn, dude, I hadn’t thought about that, but yeah.” I sighed. “Man, now that we’ve got a deal, I feel better. I been trying to figure it out for two damn months, and you come along and fix it for me in one evening.”

  “Part of me wishes we could go into business together. I’d love to get into a big ol’ V-8 with you, sometime. But, my old lady and I got a kid in middle school and another in elementary, and this deal is gonna help me put ’em in new school clothes. I got more jobs lined up than I can take on my own, and my cousin is gonna move up and start workin’ for me.”

  “Well, good luck to you,” I said.

  “You too, man.”

  We sipped beer and smoked the stogies, and talked about women and trucks until the wee hours, and then I crashed.

  The next morning I wrote a letter to Torie, stuck it in the mailbox, and started packing.

  A month later, I had my engine hoist, creeper, all the tool crates and tool boxes and rolling carts and everything else all loaded in the trailer, along with various other things like compression testers and spare parts, and a few of the best of the salvaged parts, plus all my personal belongings. Most of that fit in the bed of the truck, which wasn’t a hundred percent restored, but good enough to make the trip.

  I’d signed the contract for the building and all the agreed upon property, got paid, and hit the road—but not before stopping by a certain old diner to say goodbye to Marty. He gave me a big bear hug, told me to love her like he’d loved his Jenny, and gave me a big old burger for the road. God, I would miss that man.

  Here I was, driving to Alaska, again. This time, I was on my own, and I had my whole life with me.

  I stopped at the post office on the way to check my P.O. Box, and arrange to have all my mail forwarded to Ketchikan. And there was a letter for me.

  From Torie.

  * * *

  RJ—

  * * *

  Or should I still call you Rhys? You signed your letter RJ, so I wasn’t sure. I like you calling me Victoria.

  * * *

  I’ve missed you more than I can say, and I understand about you not calling me.

  * * *

  When I say I’ll be standing at the window watching and waiting, I’m not kidding. If I’m home, I’ll be watching for your arrival.

  * * *

  I hope it’s not too forward to sign this letter this way…

  * * *

  I love you,

  * * *

  Your Victoria

  * * *

  Holy hell. My heart leapt like a trout in a river. She loved me.

  I mean, hearing it when I was with her was one thing, but to read it in a letter after three months apart? That was something else entirely.

  I left New Haven with that letter in my back pocket and a grin on my face.

  I made it to Ketchikan in record time, considering I was hauling a trailer and driving a ’49 F-1. I stopped to sleep in my truck in a truck stop twice, and only for a few hours at a time, preferring to keep driving, needing to be with Torie as soon as possible.

  I arrived in Ketchikan at two in the morning. I parked in the ba
ck of her mom’s condo lot. Locked everything, grabbed my backpack and went for the door.

  I buzzed her mom’s unit. “H’lo?” Lucas’s deep rumble, sleepy and annoyed.

  “Sorry to wake you, Lucas. It’s Rhys.”

  “RJ.” It was said with a laugh. “She ain’t here.”

  “Oh.” My heart sank.

  “Don’t sound s’down hearted, son. She’s got her own place. I’ll come down and tell you how to get there.”

  A few minutes later, a sleepy Lucas emerged from the front door wearing a pair of shorts and nothing else. He gave me directions to her place across town, and another one of those claps on the back that shook my teeth.

  “She’s been workin’ her tail off, that girl,” he said.

  “Oh? Doin’ what?” I asked.

  “Working for Zane, helping him and Liv flip houses. She’s right handy with a circular saw, that girl, and knows her way around a paint roller like nobody I seen. Got a real eye for colors and such.”

  “And she’s got her own apartment?”

  “Apartment, hell. She’s got a rent-to-own house from her ma and Zane. One of the ones they flipped—part of her wages is payment on it, and her mom did her right by it, Liv bein’ Liv. Cute little place.” He nodded, grinned. “She’s got a fire under her ass, shows up early, stays late, learns everything she can. Walks around with her own tool belt and hardhat. Three months, and she’s already Zane’s top employee, and he don’t favor her none.”

  “Wow.” I was impressed, but not surprised. “Construction, huh?”