Crazy Sweet Love: Contemporary Romance Novella, Clean Interracial Romantic Comedy (Flower Shop Romance Book 3)

by Marisa Logan

  He took in her heavily loaded bags, a grim look on his face. “It looks like you didn't get far without running into trouble. Why don't you head home, try to patch things up with your mother?”

  Jenny vehemently shook her head. “No. Hell no. We're way beyond that.”

  “Did something happen?” He stepped closer and lowered her voice. “Did she do anything to you?”

  Tears filled Jenny's eyes, but she shook her head. “She didn't hit me, if that's what you mean. But she broke my heart.”

  Hank sighed. “You're putting me in a difficult situation, Jenny. What should happen now, is I should take you down to the station to fill out a full report. You're old enough that I wouldn't have to call your mother, but then again, who else could you call? Or do you expect me to just leave you here by the side of the road?”

  Jenny looked over Hank's shoulder at the handcuffed man. “And what if I don't press charges?”

  Hank studied her for a moment. “That's your right. And I'm sure this 'gentleman' would be quite happy to drive away without being arrested today. But that still leaves the question of what to do with you.”

  She shrugged, looked him in the eye, and said, “If you're heading north, I could use another lift.”

  Chapter 14

  Officer Hank drove her to the end of his stretch of the highway and dropped her off with a few stern warnings about the kind of trouble she could get into hitchhiking. She walked for awhile, too afraid to try hitching another ride after what had happened earlier. But she was starting to get tired, and hungry, and she knew she needed a better plan than putting one foot in front of the other.

  She left the highway, walking through the suburbs with no real destination in mind. She passed some strangers here and there: a young couple, walking hand in hand; a mother pushing a baby in a stroller, while an older child trailed along behind her; a couple of joggers in sweats, listening to music on their iPods as they passed her by. None of them paid her any attention. She was just another girl to them. Not a runaway. Not a lost soul. Just a stranger. She wondered if any of them would take pity on her, or offer her the money for a warm meal. But as hungry as she was, she couldn't bring herself to beg. Not yet.

  She bought a bottle of water and a sandwich at a small deli, then sat on the curb, counting the last of her change. She would have enough left for dinner, but that was about it. And even though she'd been on the move for hours, she knew she wasn't even close to being out of Georgia yet. Philadelphia seemed so far away.

  After she ate, she kept walking, keeping her eyes on the ground. Cars drove past her without stopping. She thought that maybe she could try to catch a ride. Though just when she was about to stick her thumb out, the traffic started backing up. She looked up ahead to see the reason for the sudden jam.

  A few blocks ahead of her, a train was rolling past, while flashing red lights warned the cars to keep their distance.

  She walked to the end of the road and watched the train as it drove past. The cars stretched into the distance ahead of her and behind, over a hundred she was sure. Most of them were covered in graffiti, and many of the box cars had open sides.

  She chewed on her lip, considering it. The train was moving slow enough, at least for now, that she thought she could hop on. She knew these trains slowed down when driving through suburban areas, for safety, but would get up to fifty or sixty miles per hour once beyond the town. And the train was heading north.

  She started following the train, and she was almost able to keep up with it at a brisk jog. She watched the cars move past her, looking for an opening. Her bags weighed her down, and she thought about tossing them into a car before jumping, but she was afraid of losing all of her things if she missed the train and it sped off with her stuff inside. She pushed herself to run faster, wishing she had better running shoes. The train was nearing the edge of the town and heading off into the woods beyond. She clenched her teeth and ran as fast as she could, then grabbed the ladder hanging alongside one of the cars.

  Her arms were yanked forward so hard she feared they'd be ripped from their sockets. She clung to the side of the train, screaming, her legs dangling below as she tried to find purchase.

  A few tree branches smacked into her, tearing at her clothes and hair. Trembling from head to toe, she pulled herself into the open box car and collapsed onto the floor, panting. Her face felt warm, and when she touched her fingers to her cheek, she found blood. She had several cuts from the tree branches that had whipped her, there were twigs caught in her hair, and one of her shoes had fallen off.

  She moved into the corner and clung to her bags, shaking and whimpering. The train picked up speed as it moved past the town and headed north. Before long she was riding along at high speeds, leaving Georgia behind forever.

  * * *

  Jenny woke in the middle of the night, cold, wet, and miserable. She'd forgotten to pack a jacket, since it had been a nice warm day when she walked out the door. But the temperature at night had dropped down low, and it had been raining for a couple of hours. The open doors of the box car let the rain in, and even huddled back in the corner, she couldn't manage to keep herself dry.

  She had been drifting in and out of sleep, unable to really rest. Whenever the train jostled she woke back up. Her entire body ached, between the sore muscles from walking, the cuts and bruises from when she'd hopped onto the train, and the constant shaking of the floor beneath her. She wanted to rest. She wanted to be back in her nice warm bed at home. Except that every time she thought about home, she remembered what her mother had done. The way she'd treated her like she was a dirty whore.

  She was on the verge of sleep again when the train started to slow down, then rolled to a stop. She peered out the open doors. She was in a train yard, with other sleeping trains lined up all around her. Bright lights shone not far off, bathing the night-shrouded train yard in a cold yellow light. Voices sounded from up ahead, no doubt the men working to uncouple the train cars.

  She climbed down out of the train, clutching her pepper spray in her hand. The voices from up ahead grew closer. She moved in the opposite direction, keeping close to one of the silent trains. She had to walk slow, her bare right foot aching with each step across the gravel that covered the ground. She saw flashlight beams up ahead, and she ducked between two train cars to keep out of sight.

  “Hey,” a voice called out. “Come check this out.”

  Jenny peeked out around the corner and saw two men shining their flashlights into the car she'd climbed out of. One of them reached in and picked something up: Jenny's bright red Crimson Star wig. She gasped and checked her backpack, finding a large hole in it where the zipper had torn open, no doubt caused by the trees scraping against her when she hopped onto the train. Some of her clothes had fallen out, along with a couple of her comic books.

  “Let's take a look around,” one of the men said. The two men started patrolling the yard, searching for her. She didn't know what they might do to train hoppers, and she wasn't much inclined to find out.

  She limped through the yard, keeping low to the ground. Her heart was racing. She could barely see in the dark, and she didn't dare move closer to the lights. Her hands shook, and she clutched her backpack to her chest, trying to hold it closed so nothing else would fall out and give her away to the train men.

  She reached the edge of the train yard, but found it blocked by a tall chain-link fence. She started following the fence back into the darkness. She knew it couldn't go on forever. She heard more voices calling out, followed by a dog barking. She clenched her teeth, picturing a massive dog running her down and chewing her up. She could see the news reports, calling her Jane Doe, an unidentified homeless girl caught trespassing.

  She was crying by the time she reached the end of the fence. She hurried past it, into the dark woods. She ran until she tripped over something in the dark, falling flat on her face. She scrambled back to her feet and kept moving. Her bare foot landed in squishy mud puddles, sticki
ng to things she'd rather not think about. Wet leaves slapped her in the face. The cold wind chilled her to the bone.

  Eventually she stopped and collapsed, leaning against a tree, still clutching her backpack to her chest. She dug into the bag and pulled out a couple of spare shirts, pulling them on, trying to keep warm. Then she remembered her Crimson Star costume. It was still tucked in the bottom of the pack. She pulled it on, struggling in the darkness. The warm leather hugged her tight, making her feel safe once again.

  Once her tears dried and her breathing settled, she looked up through the trees, watching the stars. She started to laugh at herself. She pulled out her Crimson Star sunglasses and put them on, painting the sky in hues of red.

  “It's an adventure,” she whispered to herself in the darkness. “Stop being afraid, and start taking charge.”

  She got up and found a way to fasten her backpack shut, then slung it back over her shoulders. She kicked off her one remaining shoe so she wouldn't have to walk lopsided. Then she straightened her back and started moving, heading towards the city lights she saw off in the distance.

  She figured that she was halfway to her new home, and after coming this far, she wasn't going to let herself fail.

  Chapter 15

  Jenny slept that night in the shelter of an abandoned car wash, then in the morning found a hose that was still working and used it to wash herself off. She scrubbed the cuts on her face and feet with cold water, and did the best she could with her tangled hair. She ended up pinning her hair up, knowing that brushing it out was a lost cause.

  She walked to the highway and stuck her thumb out, confident that she wouldn't be taking any crap from any sleazy guys in dirty pickup trucks. She felt like a badass in her black and red leather, and she channeled that feeling into her stance, keeping her spine straight and her head held high.

  The first person to stop was a woman in a minivan. She had a kind, worn face, and she smiled at Jenny as she rolled down the window. “Where you heading, sweetheart?” she asked.

  “North,” Jenny said. “As far as you can get me.”

  The woman looked around, possibly checking for cops, then unlocked the door. “All right, come on in.”

  Jenny climbed into the van, tucking her bags down by her feet. The woman looked her over and asked, “Whatever happened to your shoes?”

  “Lost them.” Jenny shrugged.

  “Well, that's no good.” The woman pouted. “If I had a spare pair, I'd offer them to you. Though I do have the next best thing.”

  She reached into the back seat and grabbed a small square box, about the width of a CD case. She handed it to Jenny.

  Jenny opened the box and was greeted by the warm smell of apples. “Pie?” she asked, not quite sure how pie was the next best thing to shoes, but she was hungry enough not to argue.

  “That's right,” the woman said, grinning. “I'm heading to the county fair. I baked four dozen pies. I always loved baking. My mama always said I should open up my own bakery, but I don't know about all that. They sell like hotcakes at the fair every year, though. Dig in!”

  Jenny thanked the woman and scarfed down the pie. It was so good she licked the tin when she was done.

  They chatted for a bit while they drove. Jenny learned the woman's name was Marjorie, that she was a widow, and that she had three kids who were all grown up and moved out. While she told stories about her youngest daughter, who had just moved out for college, Jenny felt a swell of guilt building up in her chest.

  “Did you and your daughter ever fight?” Jenny asked.

  “Well, all families fight,” Marjorie said. “But nothing as bad as all that. The usual growing pains, you know? How late she could stay out, which boys she was allowed to date, that sort of thing.”

  “You let her date?” Jenny stared at the woman in mute shock.

  “Well, not until she was fourteen. I had to set some boundaries, you know.”

  “Huh.” Jenny stared out at the road, thinking about what her mother would have said if she'd tried to start dating when she was fourteen. She couldn't even imagine how that conversation would have gone.

  “You'll forgive you mother, one day,” Marjorie said, giving her a knowing smile.

  Jenny kept her gaze focused on the window. “How did you...?” She sighed and shook her head. “I don't know if I'll ever be able to. We never got along my whole life.”

  “Mothers and daughters rarely get along, dear. It's just one of those facts of life.”

  “But why? Why does it have to be like that?”

  Marjorie drummed her fingers on the steering wheel and thought it over. “I think it has to do with weddings.”

  “Weddings?”

  “Yup. You ever watch that TV show? The one about the girls trying to find the best wedding dress?”

  “I don't really watch TV,” Jenny said. Her mother had been rather strict about the kind of media she was allowed to view. Only religious programming, and only during certain hours of the day. The only time she'd managed to watch any mainstream media was when she snuck online to watch videos, or borrowed DVDs from the library and watched them while her mother was at work.

  “Well, most of the time what happens,” Marjorie said, “is the girl who's getting married has one idea about what kind of dress she wants. And her mother has something else in mind. Usually the mom's old wedding dress, which of course is way out of style by then. And the girls can't ever just stand up to their mothers and tell them, 'Hey, this is my wedding, I want it my way!'”

  “But why should the moms care? It's not their wedding.”

  “Because every woman has this idealized view of what her wedding day will be like. And...well, it pretty much never works out the way you plan it. My wedding was supposed to be this beautiful outdoor event.” Marjorie got a dreamy look in her eyes, lost in memories of her past. “We had buffet tables set up, and the ceremony took place under this beautiful flowery arch. We had a candle that my husband and I were supposed to light together, to show how the flame represented our burning love for each other.”

  “Sounds wonderful.” Jenny smiled, trying to imagine what her wedding might be like one day.

  “It was supposed to be.” Marjorie laughing, waving a hand. “But that was before it started raining.”

  “Oh no.”

  “Yup. The wind picked up so much that the arch started to fall over. Two of my husband's groomsmen had to get up there and hold it in place. And we couldn't get the damn candle lit.” She shook her head, smiling and laughing.

  “You must have been devastated.”

  “Oh, at the time I was. But the thing is, looking back on it now, I realize I didn't need that perfect ceremony. We went back to the hotel where most of my relatives were staying, and we held the whole reception in the lobby. Even invited the hotel staff to come dance with us. And people were coming down from their rooms, total strangers, to join the party!”

  Jenny laughed, covering her mouth with one hand. She tried to imagine what it would be like to be at a hotel and find out there was suddenly an unplanned wedding party downstairs. “You weren't mad about them crashing?”

  “No! The more the merrier!”

  Marjorie took a deep breath, calming her giggles. “But the thing is, even if you don't get rained out, lots of women don't get the dream wedding they want. Either they don't have enough money, or their family members start arguing and cause a scene, or the cake is the wrong flavor. Something goes wrong. Heck, I have a friend who almost lost her mind when the man she was marrying dropped the ring while they were at the altar!”

  “Oh God.”

  “And the thing about having daughters,” Marjorie said, “is some women see that as the second chance they never had. For most women, you only get one wedding day. But if you can relive it at your daughter's wedding, you can try again. Try to get everything perfect. And it's not just weddings, either. I have a friend who wanted to be in the ballet, but she couldn't make it. So guess what her daughter d
oes?”

  “She's in the ballet.” Jenny snorted and shook her head.

  “Yup. Every woman's daughter is the second chance at the dreams she never got to fulfill. It's the same with you and your mom, I'm sure.”

  Jenny thought back on her past. On all of the restrictions. The strict religious upbringing. Being kept inside, sheltered from strangers. Being forced into a chaste life and hidden away from all boys.

  “My mom got pregnant with me when she was like seventeen,” Jenny said. “And my dad...he was a great guy, but I guess he was kind of a playboy or something. I heard that before I was born, before he was with my mom, he got another woman pregnant. Like, his boss's daughter or something. And had to find a way to help her get money for an abortion.”

  “So your mother looks at you,” Marjorie said, “and she sees a child who she doesn't want to see getting pregnant so young, or getting married before she's ready.”

  Jenny hunched up in her seat, wrapping her arms around herself. It was stunning to realize how all of her mother's actions, the way she'd sheltered Jenny for her entire life, could have its roots in something so simple. “I guess I never thought about it like that.”

  “Most people don't.” Marjorie shrugged. “I don't know you from Eve, dear, but I do know that whatever your mother did, however she wronged you, she thought she was doing what's best for you. I'm not saying she was right. Some people get their minds all twisted up trying to find the right thing to do that they forget what 'right' really is. But one day you'll look back at all of her mistakes, all of her flaws, and realize that she was just a woman struggling to figure out how to keep you safe. To keep you from repeating her mistakes.”

  Jenny remembered her mother's expression when she'd shown up at the hotel and found Jenny holding a box of condoms. She could imagine her mother having flashbacks to her own teenage years. Seeing her daughter repeating her mistakes. Jenny couldn't accept the way her mother had reacted, the way she'd tried to control her. But maybe she could accept that her mother had been trying to stop her from ruining her life.