LIV
It’s Saturday afternoon and the happy newlyweds have just returned home. This week flew by in a flurry of work, writing, parenting a toddler and self-love every night when I crawled in bed. I don’t think I masturbated as much in my life as I had this past week alone, from simply being in one man’s presence for all of three minutes.
Mama called and asked us to come to dinner tonight, but I declined. Tucker and I missed her and Pop like crazy this week, but they just got home from a long trip. They both need time to unpack and unwind before we barrel in and take over her house, which we do unintentionally.
Mama also mentioned Pop wanted to see his granddaughter this evening. I never heard when his son made it to town, and I suppose everything went alright, or Mama would’ve said something otherwise.
Since we’re home for the evening, I decided on pizza for dinner. The closest pizza parlor is in Rosewood, a twenty-minute drive from Coyote Creek. It’s a bummer, having to make that drive, but tucked away here in the bluffs, we have quite a drive to get anywhere.
Tucker throws a fit, not wanting to put on clothes or shoes, but he reluctantly let me put on his shorts after changing his diaper.
“Let’s get shoes on, and we’ll go get our food.”
He wails, in the way only a two-year-old can, throwing back his head and crying huge crocodile tears, “Nooooooo.”
These toddler tantrums are becoming annoyingly familiar, so I’m well versed on how to divert his attention.
“Peanut is coming with me. Are you sure you don’t want to go? I can get a babysitter for you.”
His tears dry when I mention Peanut and he responds with an immediate nod of his blonde head. His feet slide into his shoes without another peep and he lifts his arms, so I can put a shirt on him.
Simultaneously sighing and mentally high fiving myself at the small victory, I call for Peanut. Tucker takes off running down the hall yelling for her.
In the short time it takes to grab my purse and the leash, both of which have a home on the entrance table just inside the front door, Tuck returns with a sleepy pup on his heels.
Hooking the leash to her collar, I get her ready to go, as Tuck bounces in excitement.
“Peese,” he holds his hand out for the pink leash.
“Yes, you may,” I smile at his manners and hand it over, confident he won’t have any problem walking her to the car.
They both do just fine as we slowly walk down the path to the driveway. Tucker has a firm grip on the leash and Peanut prances right next to him, ignoring the world outside of her boy.
Getting them settled in the car, I double check that I have my wallet and we leave for Dino’s.
They both fall asleep before we ever make it out of town.
Pulling out onto the highway, my phone rings over the Jeep’s speakers and I scramble to turn it down before answering.
“Hang on Em,” I greet my best friend quietly.
She chuckles without saying a word.
Turning off the Bluetooth, so I don’t wake Tucker, I lift my phone to my ear, “Hey.”
“Hiya doll, what’s going on?”
“Going to Dino’s to pick up pizza. What are you up to?”
“I think someone finally bought the house next door,” she tells me, referring to the small house whose backyard connects with hers. “Have you heard anything? Has Nana said anything about it?”
I chuckle. I love that nosey old woman.
“No, she hasn’t. I’ve seen her multiple times this week and she never said anything, so I doubt she knows about it.”
“Well whoever it is, I hope they aren’t assholes like the last ones,” Em grouches. “I’m ready to buy the damn house myself and be done with it.”
Fairly certain she’s serious, I don’t question her.
Transplants from St. Louis, her previous neighbors came down here to get away from it all. It didn’t take long to figure out they were not small-town people. They bitched about Em’s dog being on their side of the yard, bitched about how loud her Blazer was and how she played her music too loud. They hated everything about Coyote Creek and not one person here was sad to see them go.
“If they’re assholes, I’ll chase them out myself,” I promise her.
“Thanks babe,” she pauses. “Hey, I’ve got a client calling. I’ll call you later this week. You still need me to keep Tuck Thursday?”
“Yes, if you still can.”
“I gotcha covered. Talk later, love ya.”
“Love ya, bye.”
I disconnect and throw my phone in the cup holder.
It’s that time of year again. She’s coming up on the anniversary of Tommy’s car accident. She’ll throw herself into her work hard core for the next few months, drink too much for a few weeks after that, then she’ll sober up and lock it away again until next year. It’s far from healthy, but she copes the only way she knows how, and after being friends for twenty years, I know there’s nothing I can do for her, nothing she will let me do. She’s got to work through the pain and be free to grieve at her own pace, while I sit on the sidelines, ears ready to listen and keys ready to pick her up when she calls me for a ride home after drinking too much. I’m just thankful she still allows me to do that much, and I don’t dare mention it when she sobers up either.
Ten minutes outside of town, there’s a train stopped on the tracks, which isn’t uncommon in our area. It should only take a few minutes to get it moving. There’s already a short line as I pull up behind an old two-toned, blue Ford.
Shifting the Jeep into park, I roll down the windows while we wait. The weather is great today, the humidity low and unseasonably cool for June in Southern Illinois.
Taking my phone back out and pulling up Instagram, I enjoy the breeze as I catch up on social media, for the first time in nearly a week.
I vaguely hear music coming from the truck in front of me, not really paying attention until I hear the opening notes of All over you by Live. It’s a twenty-year-old song, but it’s one of my all-time favorites. I smile, nodding my head to the beat while I stare at the screen of my phone,
As the song kicks up, I lift my head, my eyes taking in the Ford in front of me. I don’t recognize the truck, and all I can see is the back of a dark cap.
The lyrics begin to pour from my mouth and I can’t help but dance in my seat.
The driver must see me in his mirror because, as my arms raise, the volume gets significantly higher. The music is loud coming in my window, but neither Tuck or Peanut are bothered.
I smile ear to ear as I sing, bobbing my head and wiggling my hips. My arms wave with the beat, like they do every time I hear this song and my signature punch move makes an appearance.
I laugh, remembering the first time I did my boob shaking, air punch. Emma and I were dancing together at Prom when I busted that move out. She looked horrified and amused all at the same time. Even now, she still gives me nine kinds of hell for it. And, although she won’t admit it, she secretly loves it when I cut loose.
All too quickly the music is ending, and the last notes fade, as the train clears the crossing. Had we been sitting here longer, I would’ve asked Mr. Blue Truck to play it again.
The line of cars begins to move and I point toward the driver seat of the truck, giving a thumbs up, grinning, and mouthing Thank you for the music.
As the Ford pulls away, a colorful, muscular arm comes out of the window, giving a fist pump in return.
Both amused and excited by the unknown man’s indulgence in my car karaoke, I squeal out a laugh.
“Yes!”