Down 'N' Derby (13 page)

             
“Nixon and I,” He motioned between him and his phone obsessed friend, “we’re cousins.”

             
“Oh, that’s neat.  I don’t have any cousins.  My parents don’t have brothers or sisters.  But that’s cool y’all are friends. You said road trip—so you’ll be moving on soon?” 

             
I cannot believe you just said that Storey.  Why don’t you just get on your knees right here and ask him to stay a while?

             
He smiled and finished chewing and as he swallowed I watched the bob of his Adam’s apple—even that little motion caused my stomach to flutter.

Mad

Chapter 22

I’ve never wanted to hold and protect someone as much as I wanted to hold and protect her. 

             
We ping ponged questions back and forth across the table for hours.  Something was going on with Nixon but I chose to ignore it in favor of her laugh and her voice.  It matched her stature and beauty to a T.  I was listening to a pixie talk.  And the pixie was asking me how long I would be here. 

             
“No, um, I’m looking for someone and we think he might be here.  We have an address so we will see tomorrow.  But even if we don’t find him, I think we’ll just stay here for the rest of the summer.  I’m not really ready to go back yet.”  Nixon quick-glanced at me over his texting confirming he’d heard me and approved. 

             
She took a stab at a piece of beef and asked who we were looking for before she put it in her mouth.  I nearly forgot what she said.  Even the way she chewed was sexy. 

             
“Family member,” I answered.  I didn’t want to lay that dead dog at her doorstep yet.  In fact, I didn’t want to talk about myself at all anymore.  “What do you do when you’re not modeling?”

             
She smiled but this was different from the smile I’d seen on her earlier today.  There was a wicked way only one corner of her mouth rose and a naughty spark glinted in her eyes. 

             
“I skate a lot in between jobs and I am taking online classes to get a jump start on school. I used to be on a derby team but I got too busy.”

             
Well I’ll be a son of a bitch—not only had I managed to find a Coonass girl in Venice Beach, but she’s a Derby girl. What are the odds?

             
Nixon laughed around his bite of sushi and I joined with him.  Her eyebrows rose and then bunched together in confusion, like she had been excluded from the joke. 

             
“What’d I miss?” She tried to sluff it off but I could tell it irked her.

             
“We know some girls who play derby, that’s all.” Nixon excused himself.  I watched her reaction change but only slightly.

             
“Both of my sister-in-laws, they play.” I thought maybe that would impress her or at least score a few points but she continued with the onslaught of inquiries.

             
“So how many brothers do you have?” She asked and pushed her plate away.  She asked in a completely innocent manner.  And I’m sure it was a perfectly acceptable question in most general conversations but it threw me.  What did I say?  Do I say two or none?  Suddenly my appetite was lost.

             
“Um, I have two, Owen and Falcon.”  I answered as clearly as my throat would let me.

             
“So you know your Derby stuff?” she asked.  I saw her try to signal the waitress for the ticket on the sly but that wasn’t happening on my watch.

             
“Yeah, we go to every home derby match the girls have.  The whole family goes.  And Nixon here, well, Nellie and Reed have been training him to be a zebra.”

             
“Really,” she turned to face Nixon and my feet jerked under the table wanting to put an end to it—immediately. “Well, I can help you while you’re here.  Are you a pretty solid skater?”

             
His face reddened a little and I wanted to stab him in the hand with my fork just for a distraction from my jealousy.

             
“No, that’s why they’re helping me.  I suck.  Every five seconds they yell at me ‘Relax, bend your knees’.” With his statement she began a song of laughter which sounded more like a windchime’s response to a breeze rather than a girl’s response to my cohort’s attempt at comedy. It filled my lungs with its melody and strummed my ribs one by one.  And though no mirror was anywhere around me, I knew the look on my face.  It was the same expression Falcon got when I made Reed laugh.  And it wasn’t happy, not by a long shot.

             
They continued to talk about roller skates and the stigma of being a zebra while I calmed my nerves down one by one in a game much like whack a mole.  I watched her as she talked to him.  My head cocked in interest, an interest I’d never taken in anyone before.  I wanted to put her in a glass case and study her until I knew her better than I knew myself. 
No, that doesn’t sound like a stalker at all Mad.

             
The waitress slid the bill next to her on the table.  She was so enthralled with Nixon, she didn’t even see me slip some cash in the slot and hand it back to the waitress.  Their conversation finally dwindled down and I felt cheated.  It was petty.  Didn’t stop me from feeling it though.

             
We walked together to the parking lot after she huffed and puffed with her hands propped on her hips after finding out I’d paid the ticket anyway.  Nixon excused himself to answer another text message.  I didn’t know if he was telling the truth or just letting me have a shot at Storey by myself.  Either way, I was grateful. 

             
She unlocked the door of her car, a little red Mazda, and then looked back at me.  I took it as my cue, “Can I see you again?  Maybe next time without the stooge?” She smiled. 

             
“Well,” she started.  I braced myself for the let down. “That would be nice.  I didn’t get to talk to you very much at all.  I was too busy running my mouth about derby.  Let me give you my number.”  She took out a pen and reached for my hand and I jerked it back.  No, no, no, I couldn’t let her touch me.  I pulled out my wallet and dug for something, anything for her to write on.  It was Nellie’s bookstore’s business card—of course. 

             
She looked at me for an answer to my spaz-out but I could give her none—yet.  She wrote her number on the back of the card along with her address with a heart in the middle of the string of numbers instead of a dash.  Either I was losing it or I really had it bad already—‘cause damn that heart was really cute.

             
I tucked it into my wallet and opened her door for her.  I waited until her car started before moving.  She waved at me and then drove away.  I tried my damndest not to read too much into it but it couldn’t be helped. 

             
I stalked over to where Nixon waited for me.  He looked distracted. 

             
“What’s up with you,” I asked him sincerely. 

             
He showed me the screen of his phone, “I need you to take me to the airport.”

Chapter 23

Nixon

The recycled, refurbished, rubber smelling air on airplanes made me want to sprout wings and just—well—wing it.

             
I got the first text while Mad chatted up Storey.  I feigned the need to pee and fled to the bathroom, not wanting to alert them.  It was my Dad, and he said my Mom had been in an accident.  Also, it said to wait for more info.  Wait?  Wait?  How in the hell was I supposed to sit and wait for more info?  It’s like when the doctor gives you a test for an illness and then pats you on the shoulder and says, ‘we’ll contact you after the weekend with the results.’  I waited as long as I could in the bathroom and then went back to the table.  I might as well watch Maddox’s song and dance, maybe it would distract me. 

             
I texted him over and over until finally he answered.  She was driving not drunk as I expected but overdosed on lithium.  Lithium?  I didn’t even know why a person would take lithium much less why my mother would take it.  I booked a flight on the next plane out of LAX.  It left at midnight.  That way I didn’t wreck Maddox’s semi-date. 

             
I showed him my phone, not trusting my own voice enough to tell him what happened to my mom.  He took the phone from my hand and read the text messages, scrolling them up and down, re-reading.  And I knew my friend.  His reaction would be guttural and instant. 

             
“Let’s go.  We’ll pack up tonight and we can be home in a day or so if we take turns driving.”

             
He made a move to get into the passenger door but I put a stop to it.  “No, Mad.  You need to stay.  Find your Dad.  Hell,” I scrubbed the back of my neck furiously, not good at all with anything remotely mushy. “If nothing else, take the shot with this girl.  Who knows, you might actually get to first base.” I punched him in the arm at some lame attempt to lighten the situation.

             
“No man, it’s fine.  He’s probably not even here.  And Storey, well, it’s fine.  I’m not letting you go home by yourself.”

             
I rolled my eyes at him.  His eyes glazed over a bit as he said her name.  I could see what he couldn’t.  He was long gone.  “Nope, I already booked the flight.  Take me to get my stuff.  Keep the Rover.  I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer.”  He didn’t put up much of a fight, which meant I was right all along. 

             
We got in the truck and hauled ass back to the motel to get my stuff and then to the airport. I barely made it on time for my flight.

             
“Are you sure?” He asked one more time. 

             
“Yeah man.  I’m sure.  I have my other truck at home.  Just take care of her, okay?  She’s sensitive.” I patted the hood of my car.

             
That made him laugh and I left him there on the curb of the biggest airport I’d ever seen, alone to his devices.  I got on the plane and got one more text from my dad before I had to turn my phone off.

             
They’re taking her to Woodrow Sinclair Hospital.  Come home.

             
I didn’t know much about whatever my mom overdosed on or what it treated.  But this much I did know.  Woodrow Sinclair was the mental facility that people only whispered about.

Chapter 24

Storey

I think I’m a hoarder.  Not one of the gross hoarders that uses the bathroom in a bucket.  But the clean kind that simply loves to shop.  But everything is completely organized.  So am I a hoarder or a just a girl who likes clothes?
Oooh, I forgot about that yellow scarf.

              I got home and did that completely girly thing where I shut the door and collapsed against it in an estrogen fueled pool.  I let myself just sit there for a few minutes, purse spilling out onto the floor, keys digging a well in my palm.  I plunked my head back against the door a couple of times in pure excitement.  He was just so cool and calm.  And his eyes, I could spend a lifetime staring at one and then beg for another round just to gaze into the other one.  He probably thought I was challenged, bobbing back and forth between one eye and the other. 

             
I finally got up and changed into my pajamas.  And then it hit me.  I didn’t ask if he was seeing someone.  I didn’t ask how old he was.  Well, technically I asked but didn’t make sure to get the answer.  I was such a giddy mess, I blubbered on and on about skating and derby to his cousin when I should’ve been getting pertinent information about Maddox.  I made a vow to myself to find out the important things when I saw him again.  If I saw him again. 

             
I brushed my teeth and washed my face.  I checked the calendar and saw a shoot I’d forgotten about in Malibu the day after next.  I was so ditzy about appointments, I had to write everything down.  I’d forget my own ass if it wasn’t attached.

             
I smiled at the word Malibu.  I loved it.  On TV they portrayed it as some huge place with tons of people.  But really the only thing of real interest, other than the beach, was Pepperdine University.  It had some small shops and restaurants but all in all it was a quiet place. 

             
I got in bed but not before checking the other bedroom in the apartment.  Liza didn’t usually come home very often but I checked in her closet every night anyway, for creepers.  I opened the window before getting into bed and before I knew it, I was out cold. 

             
The next morning I was awoken earlier than usual by a text.  My heart jolted into my throat when I saw the phone number, immediately coming to the conclusion that it was Simon.  The area code was a New Orleans region code.  I clenched my pillow against my chest as I slid the bar across the phone and read it.

             
It’s Maddox.  Dinner tonight?