by June Shaw
“I did. I only kept them for any emergency.” She reached for the unopened package.
I pulled it farther away. “What emergency? Wanting a smoke?”
“Just give them to me.”
“You don’t need to keep temptation.”
She stretched toward my side. I lowered my window. I didn’t normally litter, but this was an emergency. Getting rid of poisonous things that tempted her felt like a dire need. I held the pack higher.
She lunged.
It appeared she came all the way across the front seat, although I doubt that was possible since she was strapped in.
“Watch out!” I screamed.
Bumps erupted beneath us. The car swerved. Stevie’s hand slapped mine.
Her Jeep jerked and stopped.
My heart stuck in my throat. I pried my eyes open.
A pine tree stretched in front of Stevie’s grill. At least we hadn’t hit hard enough to make her airbags pop open. She leaned back, eyes shut.
“You okay?” I asked.
Her chest rose with her deep inhale. “Yeah. You?”
“I’m good.”
“Great.” She cranked the motor, and it started. She backed slowly from the tree and over the curb. We lurched forward.
No cars had come near that I’d noticed. Nobody stopped to see if we were okay, so I didn’t think anyone had seen us get into the near-tragic accident.
I remembered the cigarettes. I wasn’t holding the pack. Didn’t see them on the floor.
Stevie, even right after this stressful situation, appeared more at ease than fifteen minutes ago. I didn’t search under her seat or check her bra, both places she could have stashed the smokes. I did believe she had yanked the pack from my hand when we lost control, but I hadn’t actually seen it. I could confront her about the dangers of smoking and the danger she’d just put us through, but would she care? Didn’t she already know?
What I knew was I needed to leave this place soon. I’d let her do whatever she wanted. She was a big girl. I gave myself a mental head slap for considering the meaning that came to mind. My cousin was old enough to take care of herself and live as she wanted. If she wanted nicotine so much she was willing to let it kill her, that was her choice!
Darn it, Cealie, where did that thought come from? I absolutely did not want her destroying herself anymore. If I could do anything to stop her while I was here, I would.
She remoted her garage open and drove inside. The door shut behind us. We slipped out of the Jeep.
Da-dunt, da-dunt, da-dunt.
Stevie cut me a glance as I kicked my feet to “The Mexican Hat Dance” and grabbed my phone from my purse. “Hello, Cealie here.”
“Yes, I know.”
Gil’s baritone voice made my feet stop. My legs weak.
“You okay?” Stevie reached the door for her kitchen but eyed me as I slumped against the garage wall.
“I’m fine.” I waved to shoo her away.
“Yes, you are,” Gil said. “But you don’t normally brag.”
I laughed at him and grinned at Stevie, who kept staring. Then she went in the kitchen and shut the door.
“You probably know this, but I was talking to my cousin,” I told Gil.
“I remembered you’d mentioned her once, although she didn’t look too much like you described her.”
“She’s changed an awful lot since the last time I saw her. I guess I have, too.”
“Your hair changed quite a bit since I saw you, which wasn’t long ago. But it sure feels like it was.” I heard what I figured was a smile when he spoke about my hair. And then the last part sounded like he missed me. I didn’t want to miss him.
“So,” I said playfully, “you liked my hair?”
“It’s different, just like you.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Good. I’m sorry we had a little problem tonight.”
“I wanted to tell you our waiter didn’t make a mistake. Stevie and I had finished eating almost every morsel on our plates.”
“I know.”
“You do? Then why did you send out more food?”
“I wanted to keep my most important customer around as long as I could.”
I blushed—all the way down past my belly button.
Down, Cealie. Leave him alone. You’re woman. He’s just a man…
“I never know how long my best customer will stay. I try to keep her as long as possible before she disappears.”
I was flattered. Confused. I wanted Gil—no question about that. But I also wanted freedom. I needed to travel, to see all the places I wanted to go and do the things I might enjoy during my lifetime. I had only one life to live and no idea how much time remained in it. I couldn’t be tied down right now.
End of thoughts of making love with Gil.
“It was time for us to go,” I said.
“I see.” Disappointment tinted his tone. “I hope you’ll come back soon. Unless you want me to come there. I’m free now.”
“Sorry, it’s a little late. Maybe we’ll eat there again before…”
“Before I leave town?” he said.
“Or I do.”
“I get it. Cealie’s going through her avoid-Gil time again.”
“No, it’s…a lot more complicated than that.”
“I’m a simple man. If you want to see me again, I hope I’ll be here.”
“Right. Well, we’ll probably see each other again real soon.”
“I hope so. Good night, Cealie.”
“Good night.”
What did he mean, he hoped he’d be here? In Gatlinburg? Or available for me?
I went into the house pouting, glad I didn’t see Stevie. The door to her weird room was shut. Also the door to her bedroom. I could get to bed without having to speak to her.
Going in my bedroom, I shut the door and changed into my nightgown. I chose to wear my sheer red gown with spaghetti straps. Just because.
I headed for my space in bed, deciding I’d only frustrate myself by dressing like this tonight. Especially after my near argument with Gil. Especially after realizing I may have just been responsible for finishing all of my sexual encounters with him.
I was letting out a sound similar to a growl when I headed to bed. My toe struck my shoe. I picked up my shoes and carried them to the closet, shoving aside a stack of sweaters on the floor. A magazine fell out from between them. I picked it up. Maybe I could read some of it instead of the latest cookbook I’d bought to put me to sleep.
Mmm, a guy on a beach graced the cover. I’d never seen this magazine. Tightened Buns. What a title. The nice-chested guy was way too young. But maybe he’d brought his dad.
I flipped the page, carrying the magazine to my bed.
Nope, Daddy wasn’t on page two. But maybe farther along.
Men showed off their buns. Most had arm and leg muscles resembling ropes. I thought they looked too knotty. I thought—My cousin buys these things?
I put on my bifocals. Some of the guys faced the camera in little jock-strap thingies. And Stevie bought this?
Shocked, I studied the magazine to learn more about my relative. She might really need help if this was what she was reading.
I also wanted to get to sleep. I shut the cover and closed my eyes.
Thought of Gil. Envisioned tight buns. Pictured his.
I recalled times we’d been together, me feeling his buns. Him feeling mine. Him tossing my nightgown to the floor. I smiled, the happy thoughts of me and him joined together not about to let me drift into sleep.
* * *
I awoke during the night, surprised to realize I’d slept. The happy scenes returned, Gil and me, sometimes naked. Sometimes not. We made each other happy in various ways.
You do not want to make him happy, I told myself. And you don’t want him doing that for you.
I shoved myself up. What, was I stupid? Why wouldn’t I want to be happy?
I do. But not now. Not in t
hat way.
Gil knew what he wanted from his life. Not me. All I wanted from the life I’d had going was a permanent relationship with my husband, Freddy. Then that stroke stole him from me. Immediately, I was no longer a complete person.
Then who was I? Where was the Cealie I’d known, the confident woman who struggled for years with her husband to eventually create a smashingly successful business?
I was learning to be more than half a couple again. I couldn’t need support from a man to be the person I was meant to be. I couldn’t do that again! I’d seen countless self-confident women who didn’t lean on a man. I was on my way to rediscovering Cealie.
Sure, I’d like to travel with Gil. But he’d been almost everywhere, and now his travels were mainly to cities where he opened restaurants.
No problem with that. But suppose he wanted to go to a Cajun Delights grand opening in Boise—right when I yearned for Amsterdam? Or koala bears and kangaroos in their natural habitat?
Or maybe I wanted to become a deep-sea fisherman, and he wouldn’t want to leave shore. I didn’t want to fish at the moment—but what if? I needed my life open to possibilities.
So Gil? Yes, he was extremely important. But so was my feeling of self-worth and discovery of self-knowledge.
Glad to discover I’d been able to sleep after entertaining visions of Gil naked, I slid out of bed for the bathroom. I stepped into the dark hall, dreading what I’d find. Stevie, again locked in that room, chanting?
Or maybe she’d left. The Stevie I knew had jumped out of bed at two a.m. and gone to work out at a gym four nights a week. Afterward she’d shower and sleep for a couple of hours before getting up for work.
Thinking about her schedule wore me out. I considered the schedule and was sure that with Stevie’s size, she didn’t jump out of anywhere anymore.
I gave my cheek a light pat for my wayward thoughts.
Reaching the extra bedroom, I found the door locked. No light across its bottom. Still, she could be in there with candles lit. I sniffed the door. No candle smells. I pressed my ear against the door, listening.
No sound except my breathing. I breathed quieter and listened. Silence. Maybe she’d fallen asleep with the candles lit. I sniffed against the door. And heard crunching.
“Are you catching a cold?” Stevie asked.
I whipped around. She wasn’t in the hall but sat across in the dark at her dining room table. A small rectangle of light came from her laptop computer.
“I’m okay,” I said, walking closer. “What are you doing this late? School work?”
“No, we’re almost finished for the year. Most of my school work is done.” She sighed. Ate a chocolate-chip cookie and held out the bag. I shook my head. “This is only entertainment. Trying to find answers to what bugs me. And maybe find a man.” She gave me a weak grin.
Stevie wanted a man?
“What does bug you?” I asked instead of the question about a man.
“Lots of things. Foremost is who or what killed Pierce Trottier.”
“Right. What are you learning?”
“I did an online search for his name.”
“Great idea. What did you find?”
“Only this.” She handed me a printout. The only mention of his name was to advertise his accounting firm in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, unless that was some other Pierce Trottier.
“Did he live there before he came here?”
“How would I know? I told you, I didn’t know the man.”
“And I believe you.” Was that true? Just in case, I slid my left hand into my right palm and pinched, reminding myself to stick to the truth. “Did you find out anything else?”
She shook her head.
“Maybe we can discover whether anyone connected to him lived in Tuscaloosa before coming here.”
“How are we supposed to know any people connected to him?”
“Good point.” We did, of course, know those who’d wanted to quit smoking with him. But since Stevie so vehemently denied ever seeing him with them, I chose not to bring up the subject.
Her inbox list was onscreen. The subjects were mainly political views from unreliable sources and offers to match her with men. She was about to click on Free Cartoons. “These might make me laugh.”
“I don’t think so.” I pointed to the sender—neatopornflicks.
“Oops, hadn’t noticed that point.” She looked seriously at the others. Eat pizza and lose weight. Lose thirty pounds this week. Better yourself. Someone wants to meet you. Help, my children and I need money. Be happy now.
She wasn’t deleting any of them. I couldn’t imagine she was seriously entertaining info from these places. “You know this isn’t the way to happiness or to help people or meet a guy, if that’s what you want.”
She stared at me.
“This is mostly spam. Why don’t you get it blocked?”
She snapped her mailbox off the screen and shut her laptop.
“You didn’t have to do that. I didn’t know if you realized you could stop that junk from coming in your inbox.” Did I really need to apologize?
“I am an intelligent person. I’m a teacher,” she said, like her profession made her brilliant.
“Do whatever you want.” I went to the bathroom.
Going back to my room, I noticed no light from the dining room. Only a glow beneath the shut door to Stevie’s bedroom.
What was her problem? Did she really want to read all that junk from obscure sites that probably weren’t reliable?
And what did I know? Maybe those twenty or more sites were exactly what she needed.
What I needed was to get away from her. First, however, I or someone else had to discover how Pierce Trottier died. I’d get on that task again first thing in the morning.
My second thought might have been wise, maybe not. I scribbled a note and left it on the kitchen table.
What would Stevie think when she read my note suggesting that if she still worked out at a gym, I didn’t want to stop her from going? I offered to work out with her.
Lying in bed, I shook my head. There was no way I really wanted to work out. She surely didn’t anymore. I fell asleep, imagining my waistline and behind spreading wider with each meal I ate here.
* * *
In the morning I thought better of what I’d done last night. If Stevie hadn’t read the note yet, I’d throw it away.
Reaching the kitchen, I smiled, seeing a single page on the table.
Only one word was printed on this page. OKAY.
Uggh, she’d taken me seriously.
“Stevie,” I said, walking through the house. Her bedroom door was open, her bed made, bathroom door open. Door to the spare bedroom locked. No smell or sound suggested she was inside. Her car was gone.
It was Sunday, not a workday for her, and she’d left me without a word. Well yes, she did leave one word, but that was the wrong one. I guessed I’d ticked her off with my comments about her spam and sent her away, maybe for the day.
Pierce Trottier may have lived in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, I remembered. Today’s newspaper might have his obituary. I grabbed the paper from the countertop and checked. I wanted to learn about his family. I felt connected to the man and wanted to attend his services to pay my respects.
A short list. He wasn’t on it.
I flipped through pages, hoping I wouldn’t find any article about an out-of-towner falling on him.
Grateful, I didn’t find one. Stevie gave me a printout with information about him last night. Trottier’s name was unusual. It would seem odd for two men with that name to be doing the same line of work. The printout didn’t give a phone number for Accounting by Pierce, Pierce Trottier owner.
I grabbed my cell phone and called Information. Asked for Tuscaloosa, Accounting by Pierce. The number was no longer in service.
I asked for Trottier, Pierce. Nothing listed.
Not ready to give up, I pressed 0 and spoke to a real person.
“Sorry, the
re’s no listing for Accounting by Pierce or the name Pierce Trottier,” she said.
“Can you tell me when the accounting firm’s phone number shut down?”
“Sorry, I don’t have that information.”
“How about Trottier with any other first name?”
No luck there, either. I wasn’t sure what else to do now except eat breakfast. I checked the pantry. Powdered donuts. Sugar-coated Pop-Tarts and cereal. Sugar for the coffee.
I looked in the fridge. Texas-sized biscuits with butter flakes. Condensed milk. My mind’s eye saw my waistline expanding as wide as my behind.
I ate one slice of toast with a pat of butter and drank a half-cup of milk. Even so, I felt my hips carrying two extra pounds as I passed the forbidden room. I returned to its door. Still locked. I sniffed. No lit-candle odor. I checked walls for fire extinguishers and found only a couple. That wouldn’t do. I tossed on clothes and drove to a nearby mart.
I bought five smoke alarms. Two large fire extinguishers. I piled stacks of paper plates, cups, napkins, and throwaway cutlery in my buggy. Then added food. I grabbed fresh peaches and apples and pears. Going for grapes, I spied a woman who looked familiar. Attractive. Dressed well, and slender with fashionable blond hair. I picked up a package of green grapes. She was choosing purple ones.
“Hi, I’ve met you,” I said, “but can’t figure out where.”
She stared at my face a full minute. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember.”
“I’m Cealie Gunther, visiting in town with my cousin Stevie Midnight.” Maybe she knew Stevie. I tried to recall our connection. “Oh, you were at Cajun Delights. You’re the daytime manager, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Babs Jacobs. Hi.” She gave me her slim hand.
“So we didn’t meet. I just saw you around the stage.” I remembered all of the circumstances. She wasn’t smiling then. Her replacement, Jake, had probably arrived late. Stevie guessed Babs was scared to drive at night. Stevie and I both guessed Jake liked her and was too shy or didn’t think he stood a chance with her. “That nice evening manager told all of us your name. Who is he?” I pretended I was thinking.
“Jake Bryant. He is pretty nice.”
I watched her expression while she mentioned him. She seemed to be speaking about a co-worker, not a love interest.
