by Katie Hagen
Slowly, I dislodged my body from my mountain of pillows and sat up. “Hold on,” I told him and popped a couple aspirin in my mouth, chasing it with the nearly empty water bottle I’d brought to bed the night before. “Ok,” I continued, rubbing my temple with my free hand. “So, what is a package deal exactly?”
I heard some mumbling on the line and then a door slam. Carlie has left the building. Big personalities definitely ran in the family and my blond-haired, blue-eyed, and buxom sister Carlie wasn’t the kind of girl to enter or exit a room without an impact. The only thing that could stop her was possibly her hips as she squeezed them through the door frame. I rubbed my own ample hip in solidarity. Finally, Tom came back on the line.
“Tom, what deal?”
“Well…Kitty’s left you the shop.”
“The shop?” I felt my throat go dry. “In Glaney. On the island. In Washington. Kitty’s shop?” I stammered for the words that didn’t want to come.
“Yup. Miss Kitty’s Laundromutt is all yours Kitty Cat.”
“Nope. No. What, really? She left it to me?”
“Honestly, who else would she trust it to doll face?”
I looked around my sparse little apartment bedroom. A soft light filtered in through my blue curtains and illuminated my wine-soaked pile of clothes on the floor, exactly where I’d discarded them.
Ten years. I left Glaney at eighteen which meant that legally I was twenty-eight, though I still passed for twenty-six when I could. In all those years I hadn’t once considered moving back home. I still had a long way to drive on the road to success, but I was driving forward at least. Success to me, in all honesty, meant owning my own grooming shop. But all my wishes had been about a shop in L.A. Something fancy. Not a Laundromutt in Glaney, Washington.
Not Glaney. Never Glaney.
The Laundromutt was Kitty’s dream. Kitty, who had no children of her own but considered Carlie and I her own. Kitty the great defeater of thunderstorms and the tightener of threads when my heart broke apart at the seams due to a boy named Jordan Parker. The shop was her dream and she’d left it to me. Was I being selfish?
“Umm, Kitty Cat?”
“Oh, crap Tom!” I spat out and nearly dropped the phone on my lap. “I totally forgot you were on the line. Sorry. I guess I kind of zoned out there.”
“Well,” Tom chuckled. “It’s a lot to take in, that’s for sure. But don’t feel you have to rush on back here or anything. We’ve got things under control. Beverly’s still working on dogs and we’ve had Carlie doing some bathing and office work ever since Kitty got sick.”
“Carlie is bathing dogs?” I repeated in a bit of shock. Carlie was not a dog person. I couldn’t imagine that was going well. “And did you say, Beverly? She’s still…” alive? “working?” Beverly had seemed ancient ten years ago. I thought at least she would have retired.
“She’s still trucking along.”
“It’ll take me a few days to get things in order here.”
“Oh, I’m sure of that. You’ve probably real busy at that fancy shop of yours. I’m sorry we have to pull you away from all that.”
“Yeah well, it’ll be ok.” I was busy. But so where the fifteen other groomers working there. I wouldn’t be missed.
“Alright then! Just let me know when you need a ride.”
I needed a whole lot more than that.
It only took me a day to sublet my apartment and find storage for my car. I figured six months would be enough. I quit my grooming job. A high demand for good groomers meant I could always get a new job when I got back. I spent two more days soaking up the spring sun I would miss in rainy Washington, getting my hair and nails done and buying some new and hopefully impressive outfits.
Before I knew it, I was getting off the plane at Sea-Tac, the airport situated between Seattle and Tacoma, in a long-wrinkled skirt and a tied-up t-shirt. Before I even started walking, I threw on my long cardigan for warmth and shivered. Every window along the terminal showed me the same thing. Rain.
I was two glasses of wine in and regretting wearing heals, dragging my feet down the long corridor toward the impending doom that was Glaney, Washington when I saw him waiting at baggage claim. Jordan Parker.
My hand shot up to the side of my face with such force that I actually slapped myself.
When I’d recovered, I crept along the right wall, shoved my phone into my faux leather handbag and wondered how this could possibly be my luck. Ten minutes in the state of Washington and I was already running into the dreaded ex.
Cursing my ridiculous desire to need clothing that required a checked bag I wove through the thinning crowd and to the opposite side of the carousel and kept my eyes locked on the belt. I felt the seconds ticking away until my bag finally plopped down the chute. I glanced up just long enough to see Jordan watching the belt as well and reading the tags on the luggage. His sandy brown hair flopped down over his eyes and he pushed it back with his hand. Had he been on my flight? Why was Jordan Parker, the most small-town boy I’d ever known, the guy absolutely resolute in his desires to avoid travel of any sort coming from L.A.? He’d hate it there. Too many people. Too many cars. The beer prices alone would have him walking his Levi’s back toward Washington.
My bag crawled toward me infuriatingly slowly, so I took a second to lean forward and check the exit door for Tom’s car. If I timed it right, I could grab my bag and catch Tom at the curb before Jordan ever saw me.
Sedan. Truck. Suv. I kept leaning and realized that I had no idea what kind of car Tom was driving now. I just had to find something that looked like his kind of car. Something classic.
As I leaned, I looked across the carousal and watched Jordan pick up a bag, my bag. He then held it up and smiled directly at me.
That’s when I felt my beautiful, long skirt catch on the conveyer belt.
Panic struck as I envisioned myself torn to shreds in the machinery or worse, standing in my underwear in the Seattle airport, airplane drunk, and in plain view of my ex high school sweetheart.
I had to escape.
I bent down and began trying to pry the fabric from the death grip of the belt that didn’t seem to notice at all. “Is it moving faster?” I muttered to myself as I made quick shuffling side steps around the edge. After plowing through a couple travelers who didn’t see me coming, the rest of the crowd backed up to watch me. “Yep. That’s just perfect. Come out, come out, come out!” I screeched through my teeth.
I seemed to be drawing attention because I heard, “Hey, is that lady caught?”
“I didn’t even know that was possible!”
“Frank! Stop the belt!”
The now panicked airport staff called out directions over the growing crowd. My eyes darted around as we moved, the belt and I together, and several people pulled out their phones.
“Now is not the time to get famous, Kit,” I growled.
I felt sweat dripping down my thighs and across my cheeks. Or maybe those were tears. Either way, I was damp.
About halfway to the door, which was my exit plan, skirt or no skirt, the conveyer screeched to a halt and the sudden stop of my tipsy-heeled shuffle sent me flying into a barrel roll onto the luggage before me.
Applause erupted from the crowd and I looked up, teary-eyed and sweat-stained, my skirt torn free and hiked up to my thighs and my purse probably on its way downtown as Jordan reached out toward me.
Reluctantly, I took his hand and let him hoist me out of the conveyor belt. He set me down next to my bag.
I looked into his hazel eyes and said the only thing that came to my mind.
“Here to claim your baggage?”
Chapter 2
Jordan gave me a lopsided grin and a shrug before picking up my bag and walking toward the door.
“Wait! Where are you going with that?” I chased after him as the conveyor started back up behind me and an employee handed me my purse.
Jordan did as he was told and turned to face me. One eyebrow ra
ised on his forehead. “Umm, to the car?”
“You’re here for me?” The automatic doors opened and closed. I wrapped my cardigan around myself and crossed my arms over my stomach to fend off the damp Seattle air.
Jordan punched me lightly on the shoulder then seemed to pull back. He searched my face as though trying to put a name to it. After a while, he looked down at his faded black work boots and made a clicking noise out of the side of his mouth. It was as familiar as the scent of my pillow, that sound.
“Why else would I be at the airport?” He looked up at me again and the air felt suddenly colder. “Tom was working. He sent me.”
Typical. Jordan Parker, the most confusing man I’d ever known. If I’d been able to pass through that many emotions in the span of a minute, maybe I’d be able to quit grooming and go into acting full time.
Once we’d made it across the skyway to the parking garage, I started looking around for the beat-up old Jeep that he swore he’d never give up and tried to think warm thoughts. Riding on the freeway with a soft top wasn’t my idea of comfort. When I couldn’t find it, I looked at Jordan who motioned toward a black and white ’71 Dodge Dart Swinger.
I remembered that car. It was the one Tom had just got into the shop when I’d left for L.A. Back then it was practically a pile of parts. Now it was shiny and smooth and supremely cool. Tom must have sold it to him.
I walked to the car, slipped inside and cranked the heat up. Jordan shook his head. I knew he hated when I messed with the dials but that wasn’t really my concern. Not anymore at least. I’d made it past that little emotional hiccup long ago. I was curious about one thing though.
“So why would Tom send you?” I mean, he wasn’t exactly family.
“I’ve been working for him at the garage. Yeah, about eight years or so now. He didn’t tell you?” Jordan cranked his window down as he pulled onto the highway.
“What? Tom did not hire you. No way.” What else was I about to find out? Had that much really changed in ten years?
Jordan laughed. “Weird right?” he winked at me. Tom used to hate Jordan. Our relationship was really the only reason Tom and I ever fought. “People change, Kit.”
“Do they though?”
I tried to look at Jordan objectively. He was never, and still wasn’t what most would call handsome. He was a little short and had a bit of a broad face and a crooked nose. His skin always appeared textured, as though it were scarred though now a short beard hid most of it but even that looked less intentional and more accidental. Like he just forgot to shave for a couple weeks. I shrugged. He looked the same to me.
The freeway took us around Puget Sound and eventually past the smaller cities of Lynnwood and Everett, then to Mukilteo where we were ushered onto a huge white ferry boat. The ride to Whidbey was short, about twenty minutes and while Jordan made a phone call, I found time to sneak away to the upper deck and stand in the wind as waves crashed below me. It was something I’d done since I was little and one of the few things I’d actually missed.
I giggled with delight at least once when a spray of water misted my cheek and a gust fluttered my skirt. The beach houses on Whidbey Island passed by. When I was little, there was nothing but single-story cabins. Now only a few of the originals remained, the others long replaced by huge two or three-story mansions that were more reflective of the soaring property values. Most looked to be empty, probably owned by weekend warriors from Seattle or Bellevue already on the Sunday ferry back home.
I walked back down to the car when the boat began to dock and slipped into my seat just as Jordan was ending his call. He looked a little green.
“Seasick?” I asked and flipped down the vanity mirror to tame my hair.
“Something like that,” Jordan sighed and started his engine.
Though I wanted to go straight to Kitty’s and get settled into the apartment, Jordan insisted that he had to take me to my Mom and Tom’s place, about ten miles out of town, to get the key.
Kitty’s Place sat a few blocks off main street in the town of Glaney, an old fishing town on Puget sound that had long adapted from fish markets to high end mom and pop shops catering to the rich tourists that frequented the area. The town still held its old-world style however, and many of the buildings were still original. One step into Glaney and you felt like you were stepping back into time where men worked on the sea and women waited by the lighthouse with a bowl of stew.
It would be a long time before I’d see the fluorescent-lit glory of a Target. The closest Starbucks was nearly an hour North where amenities had been brought in to satisfy the Navy families that lived there, but even they only had a Wal-Mart. Glaney, for all its shortcomings was considered bustling compared to the wilderness that held my mother’s home.
My stomach growled as we pulled off the main road and headed down my mother’s long treed driveway.
“Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll feed you,” Jordan laughed as I crossed my arms harder across my stomach.
“Oh yeah, all you can eat miso rice and baked tofu, yum.”
We both laughed.
Jordan’s phone dinged in his pocket and he pulled it out as we stopped. After reading it he shook his head. “You think Tom can get you the rest of the way?”
“Sure,” I shrugged. Jordan leaned across me and opened my door from the inside. “See ya, Kit.”
With my bags at my feet, I watched him pull away then turned to look at my childhood home.
“Wow.” I’d become so accustomed to the city that I’d forgotten how beautiful the old log home was. Nestled in a grove of fir trees and surrounded by immaculate gardens already in their spring blooms the single-story house looked like something out of a fairy tale. A little stone path led to the glass front door. Inside I could see warm light and the eclectic colors of my mother’s décor coming through like a rainbow. The rain had eased up and light began to peak through the clouds even as the drizzle continued. Everything was so quiet. I could hear the squirrels in the trees and the water in the distance.
Tom passed by the front door then stopped and backed up. He leaned closer with his hand over his eyes and then waved enthusiastically, swung the door open and came jogging out to grab my bags.
“Oh, Kitty girl! You’re home!” We took the stone path one by one into the house, our arms linked.
Once he’d placed my bags by the door, we both went to the kitchen for some coffee. I planted myself on a stool at the big stone counter and had barely taken a sip when my mother walked into the room, dripping in silk robes and handmade jewelry, and completely and utterly bald.
“Mom! Wha..”
“She shaved it in solidarity,” Tom whispered before I could ask.
“But…Kitty didn’t go through chemo, I thought,” I whispered back.
“Nope. She didn’t.” Tom smiled and met his wife at the doorway, swooping her into his arms and planting a kiss on her cheek. My mother laughed like a schoolgirl. I stood and waited for her to notice me.
“Oh, Kit. Look at you,” she said once she was freed from Tom’s embrace.
I looked down at myself and didn’t know whether to slink off in shame or do a curtsy. I never had any idea what my mother saw. No one did. Not even Tom.
After a few tense moments of her looking at me with a wide-eyed, half smile she glided over and wrapped me in her arms. I smelled lavender in her hair and breathed it in greedily.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Oh, my girl. This whole thing. It’s just been terrible, hasn’t it? I just can’t believe she’s gone.”
“I know, Mom. I’m so sorry.”
“Oh, well, you know. It’s not just me,” she said, waving off my condolences. “You lost her too. She loved you so very much.” My mother let me go and moved to the kitchen. Before she had managed to slide onto a stool Tom was already pouring her tea.
I moved to a stool a few places down and slid my coffee toward me. Even bald she was a beautiful woman. Ethereal and delicate, her features fa
irylike. She fit the house as though it were made for her. She wore no makeup, but her lips were pink, and her skin as flushed as a lovesick teenager’s. A splotch of purple paint was dried to her cheek and her fingernails were caked with it.
“Were you painting?”
“Oh, just flitting around.” She took a delicate sip of tea and sighed. My mother was actually a quite accomplished artist though she’d never admit it. To her it was always just ‘flitting around’.
“Well. Here you are. So, are you off to Kitty’s then?” My mother was never one for small talk…or long visits.
I downed the rest of my coffee and stood, just as eager to move on. “Do you have the key?” I asked Tom.
He patted his hip pocket and kissed my mother again on the cheek before walking me to the garage.
When he flipped on the light, I wasn’t the least bit shocked to see a 1956 blue and white Chevrolet Bel-air sitting before me. Still, my breath caught for a second.
“She’s pretty nice, isn’t she?” Tom ruffled his moustache with his hand and looked at the car.
I walked forward and ran my hand along the side. “So, this is the new one. Hello.”
Tom ran a sort of classic car rescue. He didn’t tend to hold onto any one vehicle for long, always finding someone that was ‘perfect’ for it. As soon as one was sold another car would come rolling down the driveway on a tow truck and Tom would busy himself fixing it up.
I’d seen many cars over the years but this one was spectacular. With a huge grin I climbed inside.
Tom started her up and with a great rumble we were off. I watched the trees pass us as we headed into downtown Glaney. I told Tom to park in the back of the shop when we got there. Tom helped me as far as the stairs but headed back to his own shop on the other end of town after that.
It was Sunday, so Miss Kitty’s Laundromutt was closed but I wasn’t ready to go in the shop just yet. My plan was to take the back stairs to the apartment, take a bath, order takeout, and try to wrap my head around the fact that I was surrounded by Glaney and all the kids I’d gone to school with that hadn’t left town or had also migrated backwards. It was a choice they made, we all did, whether to stay or go. I’d left because the idea of staying felt like trapping myself in a nailed-up box.
