If Heaven Had Cheese Fries
Stephanie Staudinger
CONTENTS
If Heaven Had Cheese Fries
DEDICATION
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
ONE YEAR LATER.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Copyright © 2018 Stephanie Staudinger
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 9781790941537
DEDICATION
First and foremost, thank you to my wonderful father who once told me, “I don’t know how I’ll ever be prouder of you than I am right now, but something tells me I will be.” Hopefully this is what you meant.
To Andy who always supported my dreams even if it meant dealing with how crabby it made me.
Finally to Hudson, everything I do in life is just to make you proud.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under the copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without prior written permission.
For permission requests, please contact: [email protected]
Cover by The Write Wrapping
Printed in United States
CHAPTER 1
A bright white light filled my car, illuminating my features in the mirror. Features which seemed unearthly in a way. Except, this was reality and a red SUV was coming at me quickly from behind. The red lipstick I was holding fell from my hand, hitting the floor and rolling underneath my seat. I abruptly turned down the life insurance commercial that was playing and let the loud squealing noise of tires fill my eardrums instead.
At the last second, the SUV behind me changed lanes and zoomed around. Not before the driver leaned out his window, a cigarette dangling between his fingers as he shouted a single curse word at me.
“Bitch.”
I rolled my eyes and counted to three. It wasn’t worth the energy to yell back. At least, that’s what I had learned in the latest self-help book I had picked up.
“Breathe in, breathe out, and let it go,” I whispered to myself, remembering Chapter 1. I flipped up my visor and lightly tapped the gas to get moving again. Another beep from behind caused my heart to jump. I slammed my foot down forcefully, and both my car and neck jerked forward. Ouch. There was no time to think about the possible whiplash I had just experienced; my car was making a noise which was more concerning than my near-collision.
“Seriously?” I yelled as another car zoomed around, its driver flipping me off as he passed.
Breathe in, breathe out, and let it go. I again tried to focus on my new mantra, but I couldn’t. Not with the incessant grinding noise coming from below.
“Please be the car in front, please be the car in front.” As I drove forward half a block, it became painfully clear that it wasn’t. My old Buick was barely clinging to life.
“Please don’t go up in flames, please don’t go up in flames.” It was time to pray instead. Sure, I had always been dramatic but this was definitely not how I wanted to die. Not today, not now, and definitely not right after leaving a work shift from hell in downtown Menlo Grove.
I checked to make sure my doors were unlocked. I was fully prepared to jump out should my car catch fire, and I was ready to do it without my favorite lipstick which was stuck underneath my seat.
I waved frantically out the window to the driver behind me diagonally, hoping they would let me change lanes so I could pull off the main road. Thankfully, they did.
I took the last spot in a grocery store parking lot, which was packed full of Sunday shoppers. That was just what I needed, more people to witness my embarrassing luck. I took a deep breath and braced myself for what I was about to see as I bent over to look underneath my car.
Great. There was a large pipe hanging halfway off the car. I got down on my stomach and reached out to touch it.
“Ouch.” I instinctively put my stinging fingers to my mouth. That was dumb. “This isn’t happening,” I muttered as I lay flat, halfway underneath.
“Miss?”
Shit. I lifted my head, hitting it on the car’s undercarriage with a satisfying thud.
“Shit.” I grumbled out loud in pain.
“You okay?” A stranger crouched down next to me.
“I don’t know, but hopefully I will be.” I shimmied out from underneath the car and sat next to him.
“Mind if I take a look?”
I rubbed my forehead. “I don’t think it’ll bruise.” I tilted my head to the side so that he could get a good look at where I could practically feel the bump beginning to form, just below my hairline.
“I meant the car.” The stranger gave me a warm smile. “But that’s good news about your head.”
We switched spots so he was underneath. “Oh, that’s a doozy. Did you hit a pothole? I’ve been getting on the city’s ass about them recently.”
“No pothole.” I shook my head. “I accelerated when the light turned green and heard a loud crack.”
“Ah.” He slid back out from underneath and turned to face me. “Texting at the light?” He wiggled his eyebrows at me.
“Worse,” I said. “I was applying lipstick...” I trailed off, pointing to my lower lip and remembering that it was only halfway done. I laughed, and for a moment it was nice to forget the car troubles. “I’m a mess.”
“Well, miss—or mess, I should say—my name is Glen.” The stranger, who wasn’t really one anymore, chuckled as he stuck out his hand. I shook it.
He seemed nice enough once I got a good look at him. He was a little bit shorter than me, which was impressive considering my five-three height. That was where our similarities ended. Whereas I had more long blonde hair than I knew what to do with, he was balding with deep brown hair and round glasses. He was stereotypically average as far as I could tell.
He was, however, wearing an eyeglass chain, which was usually an indication of a gentle soul. I instantly took a liking to him, forgetting what I had been told about strangers eager to do good for seemingly no reason.
He was digging furtively through his wallet. “I know I’ve got one in here somewhere.” Finally his face lit up. “Aha!” He handed me a wrinkled business card. Some sort of coffee stain covered half the words. “Ignore that. The number is still good on there.” He tapped the business card quite forcefully, a habit that my dad had when pointing at something he was excited about, mainly solved crossword puzzles.
“My brother-in-law Burt is a mechanic. He’ll treat you real good if you
can get your car there. In the meantime, I should have something to help.”
He excused himself. I watched him zigzag between shoppers until I lost sight of him.
Thank God for good Samaritans. I turned toward my window and puckered my lips at my reflection. I attempted to rub off the deep red lipstick that was still on my bottom lip. It didn’t budge. “Damn you, Katianna Sole.” It was easier to blame lipstick than my own stupidity for me being stopped too long at a red light. If I had known it would have created this ripple effect of problems, I would have avoided the clearance rack it came from.
Glen was back a moment later, and this time he was holding a belt, a bungee cord, and a rope.
I must have looked a little shocked, because he laughed and gestured toward the car with a wink. “To tie your muffler back up.” He paused for a moment. “Not you.”
I smiled, somewhat relieved. Kidnappers didn’t usually say things like that. Right? I told myself that I’d be okay as I watched Glen slide underneath my car. I was safe for the moment, and that was all that mattered.
In what seemed like no time at all, he was back up and explaining my next steps. “That’ll get you home, but it will sound like you’re accompanying fifty NASCARs.” He chuckled at his joke. “You’ll want to get it into a shop ASAP. Looks like your exhaust pipe broke apart and was dragging.”
“You’re seriously an angel,” I said nonchalantly, making sure I tucked the business card into my purse where I wouldn’t lose it.
Glen’s hand was suddenly on my shoulder, giving me a tight squeeze briefly before he pulled back. He smiled. Was he expecting something from me?
I opened my purse once again, this time hoping to have something to give him for going out of his way to help. Despite being a waitress, I had no small bills on me at the moment. I couldn’t give him a fifty-dollar bill, which was all I’d made that day. I also seriously doubted that my gum wrappers, hair tie, or the “Hello My Name is Dylan” sticker that I had left over from a work meeting would suffice. Although, I almost considered the sticker, which was surprisingly in pristine condition.
I studied the name tag sticker for a moment before folding it in half, hiding it from Glen. My full name was Gwendolyn, but I have always gone by Dylan, and that was what was scrawled across my tag in my loopy handwriting. As nice as he was, though, I didn’t need a stranger knowing my name. With a quick zip, I shut off that glimpse into my life.
He raised his hand to show me he wasn’t expecting anything in return. “Don’t mention it. If you don’t have a mechanic in mind, just get to Burt’s shop. He’s a good fellow and will hook you up and hook your exhaust back up.” He laughed again, then flashed me a smile as if pleased with his ability to make wisecracks about cars instead of my misfortune.
And just like that, he was gone. I looked around the crowded parking lot, my eyes falling briefly upon a family pushing a car with a toddler screaming for a sucker. No Glen within eyesight. He sure moved quickly.
Unlike my car, which was now hobbling along with a loud roaring noise. I was more concerned about the looks I’d get making it home than with the safety aspect of the whole thing. I trusted that my new friend Glen’s little tie-up trick would work. Ten minutes later, I was pulling into the parking lot of my apartment. I breathed a deep sigh of relief as I put the car in park. It felt as if I had just run a marathon at a snail’s pace.
It has been one hell of a day and a bubble bath was desperately calling my name. I highly doubted that my landlord ever got around to fixing the drain on my tub, however. When it rains it pours, I guess, in all aspects of life. My everyday necessities were all breaking down at once.
My modest two-story red brick apartment complex only housed six families. I scanned all the windows, making sure no one was staring out and trying to figure out what the loud noise was. No curtains were fluttered by curious onlookers within.
When I decided the coast was clear, I made my way up the stairs to apartment number 5, my home for the past six months.
Several quick meows greeted me through the door.
“Dozer!” I said excitedly, throwing the door open and crouching down to give him a scratch behind his ears. He rubbed against my ankles for a few moments before plopping down right in the middle of the hall.
“Tough day, buddy?” He appeared to give me a side eye before lying back down. Dozer wasn’t much for movement, thanks to his 24-pound size. He’d been on a diet ever since I rescued him, and that might have explained his perpetual crabbiness. He and I were kindred spirits. I started a new diet every Monday, but Dozer had no choice regarding the days on which he’d have to eat healthy.
I dragged him inside the apartment, vividly remembering the day I got him. I was going through what I thought was some sort of quarter-life crisis at the time. I was watching the morning news and the local humane society brought on an overweight cat by the name of Dozer. I knew I wanted him before they even got into his back story of how he was rescued from a home with 10 other malnourished cats after their owner died. Dozer was not malnourished by any means, however. A real trooper to make it through all that and maintain his weight. I didn’t want to consider the notion that he had eaten another cat to survive.
The very day he was up for adoption, I went down to the shelter and waited in line for two hours in a sub-zero windchill before they even opened. I left shortly after with a very large cat, a small amount of frostbite, and a bag of “Taste the Earth” healthy weight kitty food.
And here we were, me filling up a measuring cup with the predetermined amount of cat food. Vet’s rules, not mine. Dozer gave an appreciative meow as he always did.
I took the time he was eating to reach above the fridge where I kept a wine jug with all of my loose change and smaller bills from waitressing. I sat down on the kitchen floor and shook every last bill and penny out. Dozer actually got up to half-chase a dime until it rolled under the fridge where neither of us could reach. He plopped back down next to his now-empty food dish and made a small grunting noise.
“One day you’ll actually taste your food instead of inhaling it,” I scolded him.
I was half tempted to go after the dime. I had no idea how much my car would cost to fix, and with rent due in a few days, I was already planning on breaking into what was previously known as my vacation fund. Deep down, I knew it would never see the sunny skies of a vacation. Before that, it had been my new makeup fund, which only lasted a few months before it morphed into my cracked iPhone repair fund. Honestly, I should just change the name to a ‘life sometimes sucks’ jar to cover all emergencies. Where was the fun in that, though?
My phone rang as I was almost done counting. I saw Sam’s name pop up along with a goofy picture of him and me wearing matching rainbow wigs that we took at a carnival right when we started dating.
“Hey.”
“Hey, babe. How’s it going?” he asked in a chipper voice which wasn’t yet tainted with the rotten luck of a day like mine.
I looked down at my measly pile of money and felt a lump rising in my throat. I had just finished counting the moment he called. There was sixty-eight dollars in various small bills and change staring back up at me. “Not good.”
“What’s wrong?” His tone switched to one of concern. “Need me to swing by?”
“Some pipey looking thing fell off the bottom of my car.”
“Pipey looking thing,” he repeated, as he often did when I didn’t use technical terms for things. He liked everything to be perfect, word choice included.
“Yes. Some nice man named Glen helped rope it up so that I could get home,” I told him.
“I’m coming over,” Sam firmly stated. “Leaving work now. I should be there in 10. Love you.”
He hung up promptly. Sam was never one for small talk on the phone, which at that moment I was grateful for. He was also one who, although he would never outright admit it, always had to be right. He’d been telling me since basically the day we met to start looking into getting a new
car. Each dollar I put into my car resulted in another fight until finally he said he was done giving me car advice, which lasted about two weeks, until my tire went flat...again.
Sam made it over in what seemed to be record time. That was the thing about Menlo Grove. It was a smaller city, not a whole lot going on, traffic included.
“I took a quick peek at your car,” he said, wrapping me in a warm hug when he arrived. “The piece that holds the muffler and exhaust up is rusted through. You must have hit or run over something that rattled it loose.”
“Ah yes, a pothole.” I nodded, remembering what Glen had said. I wasn’t going to tell him about how lipstick might really have been to blame. I already came clean once, and that right there was enough to clear my conscience.
“So how much do you think it will cost to fix?” I asked when I finally pulled away from his embrace.
“Hard to say. Could be up to a couple hundred or maybe less if they don’t have to replace everything. Or you could just bu-”
“Shh.” I cut him off and quickly pressed my mouth against his to stop him from finishing his sentence. It did the trick, and we kissed for a few minutes. I didn’t want to hear any car advice out of him right then.
“It’ll be okay,” he said as he ran his fingers through my hair, massaging my temples, which always helped to calm me.
“I’ll be able to pick up extra shifts to pay for it,” I said as optimistically as I could manage.
“That’s the spirit.” He bent down to scratch Dozer behind his ears.
Worrying was always my thing, whenever life was going right or whenever it was going wrong.
At least I didn’t get hit and killed by a car. The thought was still in the back of my head.
“You okay?” Sam asked as my shoulders slumped slightly under the weight of the day.
I smiled and took his hand, pulling him up from Dozer. “No, but I will be.”
CHAPTER 2
The next morning, my legs felt hot underneath the thick comforter. Sam had one leg wrapped around mine, and Dozer was lying on the other.
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