mom—did she even know what a quickie was?
No.
Nun material. Poor Mom.
Helen, however, sure did. “A quickie is a pie that only takes three minutes to make. Can you believe that? You use a graham cracker pie shell, instant vanilla pudding, a little milk, a can of cherry pie filling, and some frozen whipped topping. I might make one tomorrow.”
Note to self: Have other dinner plans.
I kissed Mom and Helen good night and went back out in the cold. As I stopped for a red light, I caught a glimpse of something just behind me in the rearview mirror. For a moment, it seemed as if the warm exhaust from my tailpipe had morphed into a gaggle of wispy white geese, waddling behind me in the frigid air.
That was what I wished I had seen.
Otherwise, how could I explain the figure in the white hoodie and dark jeans that tumbled out the door of a pickup truck as it turned left from the alley onto the street? The ghostly figure got up on hands and knees and crab-walked to the sidewalk. The hood fell back and I could see that it was a young woman. A scared young woman.
“Leave me alone!” I heard her yell.
When my light turned green, I didn’t go forward. Still looking in the rearview mirror, I fished around in my purse for my cell phone, just in case I needed to call 911. I locked my doors.
The truck fishtailed to a stop. The driver got out, stomped around the front of the truck, then walked around to slam the passenger door shut.
The girl staggered up from the pavement into the dark shadows just out of the streetlight’s weak glow.
The driver, a stocky young man in jeans and work boots, lumbered back to her, yelling, “Shit. Shit. Shit!”
But she had a head start. And then a light came on in the second-story window above Bliss Honeymoon Travel, right above her. The curtains parted. The angry man looked up, then seemed to change his mind, coming to a swaying halt.
“You asked for it, bitch,” he bellowed, raising his fist. “You asked for it.”
He wheeled around, still unsteady on his feet. He kicked the tire a few times. “Bitch! Bitch! Bitch!” he yelled, almost falling over with the third kick. Then he threw himself in the truck and slammed his dented door shut. He gunned the engine and peeled off down the street, laying a zigzag patch of rubber across the two-lane bridge to Lockton.
The light had gone red, then green again, but I still waited. Luckily, every sane person was home and warm on this cold and dreary night in January.
I could see the girl, holding her stomach with one arm, limping toward my car.
Her face was turned away from me, but I saw the dark stain blooming on the front of her white sweatshirt. There was also something in the way she held her head up, as if wounded pride was even more painful than any physical harm. I knew that girl.
I rolled down my window.
“Get in, Jett. I’ll take you to my house.”
Later, as she sat with a bag of frozen baby peas on her swollen eye and tissues stuffed in the nostril where her nose ring had been, I poured her a cup of creamy hot cocoa, stirred with a stick of cinnamon. The tiny marshmallows that bobbed on the top almost made her smile.
Although I bundled her up with blankets and pillows in front of my parlor fireplace, she still shivered. I had cleaned her up as best I could, offered to take her to the emergency room and call her mother. I tried to get her to talk.
“Did you know that guy?” I asked.
“Stupid Sean. The peas are starting to thaw,” she said, handing me the semi-frozen bag.
I went back to the kitchen, threw the peas back in the freezer, and rummaged around for something else. Mixed vegetables. How I hated those except in a spicy chicken chili I had yet to make this winter. But they would do.
“So you do know him,” I said, handing her the mixed vegetables.
We stared into the fire.
“Maybe we should report this to the police. He could try it again, you know.”
But she was adamant.
“It’s just a black eye, Neely.
No.
Nun material. Poor Mom.
Helen, however, sure did. “A quickie is a pie that only takes three minutes to make. Can you believe that? You use a graham cracker pie shell, instant vanilla pudding, a little milk, a can of cherry pie filling, and some frozen whipped topping. I might make one tomorrow.”
Note to self: Have other dinner plans.
I kissed Mom and Helen good night and went back out in the cold. As I stopped for a red light, I caught a glimpse of something just behind me in the rearview mirror. For a moment, it seemed as if the warm exhaust from my tailpipe had morphed into a gaggle of wispy white geese, waddling behind me in the frigid air.
That was what I wished I had seen.
Otherwise, how could I explain the figure in the white hoodie and dark jeans that tumbled out the door of a pickup truck as it turned left from the alley onto the street? The ghostly figure got up on hands and knees and crab-walked to the sidewalk. The hood fell back and I could see that it was a young woman. A scared young woman.
“Leave me alone!” I heard her yell.
When my light turned green, I didn’t go forward. Still looking in the rearview mirror, I fished around in my purse for my cell phone, just in case I needed to call 911. I locked my doors.
The truck fishtailed to a stop. The driver got out, stomped around the front of the truck, then walked around to slam the passenger door shut.
The girl staggered up from the pavement into the dark shadows just out of the streetlight’s weak glow.
The driver, a stocky young man in jeans and work boots, lumbered back to her, yelling, “Shit. Shit. Shit!”
But she had a head start. And then a light came on in the second-story window above Bliss Honeymoon Travel, right above her. The curtains parted. The angry man looked up, then seemed to change his mind, coming to a swaying halt.
“You asked for it, bitch,” he bellowed, raising his fist. “You asked for it.”
He wheeled around, still unsteady on his feet. He kicked the tire a few times. “Bitch! Bitch! Bitch!” he yelled, almost falling over with the third kick. Then he threw himself in the truck and slammed his dented door shut. He gunned the engine and peeled off down the street, laying a zigzag patch of rubber across the two-lane bridge to Lockton.
The light had gone red, then green again, but I still waited. Luckily, every sane person was home and warm on this cold and dreary night in January.
I could see the girl, holding her stomach with one arm, limping toward my car.
Her face was turned away from me, but I saw the dark stain blooming on the front of her white sweatshirt. There was also something in the way she held her head up, as if wounded pride was even more painful than any physical harm. I knew that girl.
I rolled down my window.
“Get in, Jett. I’ll take you to my house.”
Later, as she sat with a bag of frozen baby peas on her swollen eye and tissues stuffed in the nostril where her nose ring had been, I poured her a cup of creamy hot cocoa, stirred with a stick of cinnamon. The tiny marshmallows that bobbed on the top almost made her smile.
Although I bundled her up with blankets and pillows in front of my parlor fireplace, she still shivered. I had cleaned her up as best I could, offered to take her to the emergency room and call her mother. I tried to get her to talk.
“Did you know that guy?” I asked.
“Stupid Sean. The peas are starting to thaw,” she said, handing me the semi-frozen bag.
I went back to the kitchen, threw the peas back in the freezer, and rummaged around for something else. Mixed vegetables. How I hated those except in a spicy chicken chili I had yet to make this winter. But they would do.
“So you do know him,” I said, handing her the mixed vegetables.
We stared into the fire.
“Maybe we should report this to the police. He could try it again, you know.”
But she was adamant.
“It’s just a black eye, Neely.
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