Better Than the Best

by Amabel Daniels

  “Do you even know what this stuff does to your LDL?”

  “My what?”

  She squinted to the sky. “Cholesterol.”

  “I’m barely past thirty. I’ll worry about it when I’m an old man. Right now, I’m a growing man. I need my nourishment, baby.”

  “In the form of lard.”

  “This here is beef, baby. What are you, some kind of hypochondriac?”

  “Well, I was a nurse.” She turned a brochure over to start a list. “Randy said I could fix up some stuff at the apartment and take it out of my rent. Wanna help me on the porch tomorrow?”

  “Sure,” he said. “Aren’t you going to be busy working here and for Alan?”

  “I like to stay busy. It’ll be a DIY quickie. They keep saying this place will be swarming with more tourists, but I’ve only rented out two boats all day.”

  “It will be. Give it a week and it’ll be packed. You left nursing to come here? What were you making up there in the city?”

  “Isn’t that kind of a personal question?”

  He hopped off the counter. “I’ll tell you how much I make and then we’ll be even.” He entered the hut to throw his trash away.

  No. Please no. She assumed the obvious. He had to be making diddly squat in a petty small town. She didn’t want to embarrass him. “You’re not supposed to discuss income among friends.”

  “Are we friends now?” He bumped his shoulder to hers.

  “We could be if you stop looking at my boobs.”

  “I pulled in sixty-eight last year. Now what did you leave behind?”

  “Sixty-eight? Here?”

  “Supply and demand. We’re the only garage in town, smack in the middle on Main. Where else are they going to go?”

  Her eyes widened. “Huh.” Not shabby for a mechanic. Maybe Clay wasn’t a doofus to stay local after all. “Eighty-five. I was ER.”

  “You gave up eighty-five a year to work for Roger?”

  She didn’t want to rejuvenate the defense of why she chose to do whatever the hell she chose to do. She didn’t know why herself, but for the blood, guts, tumors, poop, pee, pus, attitudes and criticism. The sorrow of patients dying, family members worrying and grieving. Nursing had fit like a wrong shoe. Knowledgeable and skilled, she still loathed those harshly lit hallways of the ER department. And after Norbert, she knew she didn’t belong.

  “Yes. I can say it absolutely made me unhappy.” Hell, if her best friend hadn’t also been her coworker, she would have quit years ago.

  “Everybody hates their job at some point.” He cleared his throat. “Junior says somebody died on you.”

  She looked to the water. “A lot of people did.”

  “And someone came after you?”

  She slapped her hands to the counter and straightened. The questions were only going to keep coming. “We admitted an older man. A basket-case of medical issues, a workaholic. His girlfriend was trying to act as a will of power, but his estranged daughter still had the say. I contacted the daughter and convinced her to stop by to see her dad. They reconciled, everyone was happy. He was recovering a bit. At our shift turnover, my intern gave him a drug which interacted with his blood thinner. He died. His daughter came and approached me with a knife. The intern hung herself after the shift.”

  She faced Clay’s stare. “I should have been there to check the meds. They kept saying I did nothing wrong. I wasn’t negligent. I know the next shift had just come on, but if I had checked a minute earlier, then…”

  “No one’s perfect, baby. Mistakes happen.”

  Heather’s exact words. She cracked a bitter laugh. “I’m far from perfect. I wasn’t even good enough for my husband.”

  “What happened with him?”

  “Divorced.”

  “Couples therapy couldn’t patch it?”

  “I didn’t even want to try. I know myself well enough that I’d never forgive and forget.”

  “You came down here heartbroken?” He grabbed her free hand as she continued to write a list with her other. “I can make you forget all about him.”

  She shook his hand off without looking up. “I don’t need your help in that department. I figure you can fit all this stuff in your truck better than I could in my car, right? I mean you may as well be the one to pick up supplies. I don’t even know where a store would be.”

  “Haven’t found a boyfriend in town yet?” He smoothed his thumb over her knuckles.

  She shook her head. “I thought we could do the railings. Nothing major. I only gave Randy a couple months upfront, and he said I could make a dog door for Eddie.”

  “So is there a girlfriend?”

  She focused as she added to her list. “And some cleaning supplies. I didn’t notice any mold in there, but better safe than sorry. Get the antimicrobial disinfectant. The other stuff is useless.”

  “I don’t believe it. You’re too sexy to be so hurting and sad, baby.” He spread his palm further up her forearm.

  Kelly sighed and set the pen on the counter. “For the last goddamn time, stop calling me baby. You’re not Austin Powers. And I’m not going to be a broken record. Not interested. Take a note, will you?”

  “Trying to help you out,” he murmured.

  “Look. You’re decent company most of the time. We might be friends. Really, I think I can manage to not want to strangle you in the middle of the night. But I’m not sleeping with you.”

  “Why stop at friends? I can take care of you, ba—sugar.”

  “Treat me like a sister, okay? I don’t want to have to hunt for another apartment already. This one is conveniently cheap.”

  “I’m an only child. I don’t know how sisterly stuff works.”

  She shook her head and he caressed her palm. It would have pissed her off but he’d been harmless so far. Persistent, but he seemed to catch on to her boundaries once he pushed enough buttons. “Aren’t you supposed to be sated?” she asked. “The reincarnation of Anna Nicole Smith dropped you off at the garage this morning.”

  He grinned. “She was hours ago. You can’t blame a man for trying. I’m partial to beautiful women.”

  “Do you drink catalytic fluid at the garage to turbo-charge your balls or something?”

  He snorted. “You need to get laid.”

  “Thanks. I’m hardly taking advice from you.”

  “Get laid and get wasted. You’ll be whole again in the morning.” He finished it off with a wink.

  “Wow. Is that truly all you guys do down here? What, are you sixteen?”

  Clay smirked at her, finally losing the bedroom eyes. “No. But I like to let loose and have fun. Nothing wrong with living a little. You should try it sometime.”

  Simple pleasures for a simple mind. Like Eddie. “Does anyone have ambitions down here? Goals?”

  “Just because you’re some smartass city girl doesn’t mean we’re all idiots. I might be small-town but I’m not a small man.”

  She pursed her lips for a beat. “That’s another reference to your dick, isn’t it?”

  He gave her a smile dripping of seduction. “Want to check?”

  She smacked his shoulder. “Look, I’ll make a promise to you, alright? I promise I will never, ever want to have sex with you. Case closed.”

  “Never say never.”

  “When I’m the last woman and you’re the last man on Earth”—she said and held her hand up when he opened his mouth—“in the universe, I still won’t have sex with you.”

  “What are you, a prude?”

  She didn’t know why she was wasting her time arguing with him. Cognizant of the fact she would be seeing him often, she took one last stab at an explanation.

  “Clay. What’s the last book you’ve read?”

  His raised his brows. “Is this an interview?”

  “Answer.”

  “My Sports Illustrated came in yesterday.”

  She gave him a condescending smile. “I can’t have sex with someone I’m not intellectual
ly drawn to.”

  His eyes widened she hoped she was getting across to him. “Nobody said we’d have to discuss philosophy.”

  “Forget philosophy. There’s no chemistry here, Clay. You, horny. Me, uninterested. Bide your time patiently for the next loose woman who walks by. You’ll survive the momentary drought.”

  “You can come along.”

  “You’re disgusting.”

  “And you’re pretty bitchy. Who are you to judge the way I live my life?” He shoved off the counter and returned to the garage.

  With a deep sigh she set her elbows on the counter and her face in her hands. Massaging her forehead, she groaned.

  And this is what happens when I open my big mouth.

  He was right, of course. Who the hell was she to judge him? She had never been a snob to judge and scold others and the fact she just had depressed her. No matter to whom it was, no matter where she was, she would always be caustic.

  Is that why John didn’t want me anymore?

  After a moment of commiserating, she sat up and opened her eyes. She blinked at the brightness and raised her brows at Clay’s return.

  “Want a hug?” He pulled his hands out of his pockets and came into the hut.

  “Are you going to cop a feel?”

  “Do I have permission?” He stood behind her and wrapped her in a tight bear hug.

  “Over my dead body.”

  “I told you I was an only child.”

  “You did fine.” She patted his crossed arms. “Bickering is one of the things I do best with my brothers.”

  “So we’re working on the porch tomorrow?” He nodded at the list in front of them.

  “Are you available?” She smiled at the resumption of her plans.

  “Now we’re talking. Your place or mine?”

  She elbowed his ribs and he let go with a grunt.

  “Yeah. He’s got his head up his ass again.” Clay took the list from the counter and rubbed his side.

  Kelly assumed the person in reference was Clay’s boss. Judging by the frequency of his complaints, Clay was not on good terms with his employer.

  “Well, good thing he’s human enough to let you have a day off.”

  “Human?” He shook his head. “Not anymore, he isn’t. This is it?” He waved the list at her.

  “Yeah. Don’t forget to ask for pressure-treated wood. Let me write it down.” She reached for the list.

  “Pressure-treated. I’ll remember.” He shoved the list in his pocket. “I’m going to love taking orders from you.”

  Chapter 5

  It had been a long time since Emily had flitted from town to town, from steal to steal. Before Number Thirty-Nine, she had limited herself to simple steals. Every steal had the sole purpose of proving she was the best. She would be chosen. But sometimes she’d make a steal with a bonus of drugs. An escape from boredom. Spite. The thrill. But when she found Thirty-Nine, she saw dollar signs.

  She’d nearly had all the easy money. Emily hadn’t anticipated bitch Kelly to fuck it up, though. No one ever usurped her plans.

  “Well, they always hire seasonal people.” The blonde in line in front of her gabbed on her phone. “I don’t know. Probably boring. Churchston? It’s a lame little town.” Giggles. “At least this way I’ll have room and board, right?”

  Emily perked at the name. She studied the new identity. Heels could meet the difference in height. Protein would fatten her to the other’s build.

  Emily leaned over and snatched a hair dye kit. Brown colored contacts. Makeup.

  A single young woman expected in town. No one would question her arrival. No one would suspect why she moved to town. No one would have reason to doubt her, to speculate about her presence, to analyze her actions. Most importantly, no one would wonder what happened to her.

  Emily was the transient variable. No one could follow her. But invisibility posed a difficulty for her to convince an established community. People would notice. People would question. It had always been a pain in the ass to keep her head up above her lies and make sure she was untraceable. Years ago she had learned identities were easier to maintain when she took a body and kept the name.

  Exiting the gas station, Emily followed the young woman down the highway. Staying behind until traffic thinned, Emily waited for the opportune scene to hide the woman’s car. All she needed was her name. Ditch the body. Ditch the car.

  Murky dark water reflected the rising moon’s shine in the coming dusk. With a calculated calm, Emily sped up and smashed the woman’s car off the road, sending it careening off the pavement.

  Blood trickled from Emily’s forehead and she hastened before someone drove by. She shouldered her door open and rushed to the woman’s door. The identity gasped for air, her face smothered in the air bag.

  “What, what happened—?”

  Yanking on her collar, Emily pulled her out of the car.

  “Who—? What is—?” The woman staggered on her feet, confused, maybe due to a concussion from the impact. Emily needed her info, needed her to answer questions. She smacked her up the face and sent her sprawling to the grass. Emily grabbed the purse from the passenger’s seat, then led the woman to her car. The other car slipped down the slope.

  Coming to, the woman started to panic. “Let go of me! Who are you—? What is—?”

  Emily opened the trunk to her car and considered the face she was going to make her own. “I’m you.” A head-butt knocked the woman out and Emily shoved her in. Back in the driver’s seat, she reversed and rammed into the identity’s car a few times until the pond water hid it.

  Emily wiped the blood from her vision as she drove into the next nameless town. With the skill of a seasoned pro, she stole a new car after wiping down the last. After transferring the woman’s body into the trunk, Emily riffled through the purse as she drove for a motel.

  When she returned to the car after paying for a room, the woman woke up in the trunk, screaming, crying for help.

  Emily kept her in the trunk until she quieted to a sob at the realization she had been abducted. To Emily, it signaled her surrender. She had met and accepted her fate.

  Emily allowed a small smile. A hopeless body was easier to torture information from.

  ***

  Will regretted his decision to finish his run downtown the second his shoes hit the raked sand of the public beach. Claws of fear and worry scraped at his spine, escalating to a full-blown panic attack. Laughter, chatter and playful squeals clashed into a roar of distraction to the point he couldn’t even hear the waves which typically calmed him. And it wasn’t even tourist season yet.

  Aware he wasn’t ready or willing to reenter society, he had kept his runs close to home and his interactions with townsfolk to the level of a hermit.

  Deciding to run on the beach at noon was the most idiotic choice he’d made in a long time. People were everywhere. Strangers who were visiting and the locals who were permanent fixtures. He could feel their stares on his back, their judgments hovering over their heads. Will knew he wasn’t welcome and didn’t wish he could be. He had never fit in, and never would.

  “Oh my God! He’s drowning. Someone’s drowning!”

  He couldn’t tamp the instinct to look up at the scene around him, the happy peppy people suddenly concerned with a commotion at the water’s edge. Beneath the shade of his hat, he squinted at the blonde who ran past him, sprinting for an older man bending over at his knees and grabbing at his neck—assuming he had a neck somewhere under the rolls of fat.

  “Someone call 9-1-1!”

  Will found it ironic the white painted tower of the lifeguard stand was vacant. Past its vertical presence, he saw Clay shoveling his tongue down the throat of a scantily-clothed lifeguard. So much for his mechanic catching up on cleaning the garage. Will trotted closer to the foamy slop, remnants of the last wave.

  “My husband’s drowning!” A waif of a woman wailed next to him as he stopped completely to catch his breath.

 
In a blue bikini, a petite blonde stood behind the man and tried to wrap her arms around the wide girth of his chest. “He’s not drowning,” she protested as she struggled to hug him from behind.

  “What are you doing?” The wife shrilled and wrung her hands. “He needs CPR! Don’t you know what you’re doing?”

  “Please shut up,” The woman winced while she tried to connect her hands around the blubber.

  “You’re going to kill him.” The wife wheezed in a desperate breath from her yells. “He needs CPR.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Will muttered and strode the couple feet into the water. He shoved the blonde away from the man, who was obviously choking, wrapped his arms around him, and tried to perform the Heimlich maneuver.

  “Is that—Will? Will Parker? No.” The wife slapped at his shoulder. “Don’t you touch my husband, you…you murderer!”

  “What the hell are you doing?” The blonde pulled the wife away as he jerked the man to his chest, like hoisting a buffalo.

  He scowled at the blonde. “What do they even hire you for if you can’t do the job?”

  “My job? This isn’t my job! It’s not my fault he’s morbidly obese.” She adjusted her baseball cap and held the wife back.

  “What is he doing?” The wife carried on. “Can’t you people see he needs CPR?”

  “He doesn’t need CPR because his head wasn’t in the goddamn water! He’s suffering from acute aspiration of a foreign object in his trachea.”

  Will grunted at another jerk towards his chest, then turned to face the blonde. Haven’t I seen that hat before? Blue bathing suit and tank top, not the standard lifeguard red. She was simply a diligent bystander. Her elaborate jargon had stalled the wife, as she gaped like someone trying to understand a foreign language.

  “A cute what?” the wife asked.

  Blondie rolled her eyes and threw her hands up. “He was choking on a damn hot dog while he waded in.”

  “Don’t you swear at me.” The wife put her hands on her hips.

  Will felt the man gasp after the obstacle flew into the lake. Heaving for precious air, he wobbled forward on his own pudgy legs. Will straightened his cap and stepped back to let the spouse baby the Moby Dick as he recovered his breath.