Driving With the Top Down (11 page)

“Will Lew come and get you?” Colleen asked.

The woman scoffed and then straightened up. “No. Lew’s … out of town. So I was … taking my own little vacation. Headed for a spa or something to take a few days to myself.”

Wow, Tamara thought with a raised eyebrow, she was a terrible liar. Not that the truth could possibly be that interesting, because the lies sure weren’t. But society ladies like this would probably say anything just to protect their reputation, whatever it was. If she had a stain on her skirt, she’d probably claim it was the work of a fancy new designer.

Tamara had no patience for liars.

Fortunately Colleen didn’t seemed fooled. Points for her. “You were just driving off aimlessly for a vacation with no destination?”

The woman’s face colored. “Yes,” she insisted. “If he can go off and do … his own thing, then why on earth shouldn’t I? If he wants to hang with the boys, let him.” She looked down.

Maybe her husband was having an affair with a younger woman. That happened. It was certainly the kind of thing a person would lie about.

“So you just took off by yourself? No girlfriends or anything to keep you company?”

“Oh, no. Not this time. I really just wanted some time alone to get my head together.” She gave a dry laugh. “Guess I didn’t do a very good job, though, given that I was so absentminded, I got myself robbed.”

Colleen’s face softened. “Well, all isn’t lost. Just a few hours. You can still salvage your trip, especially since you’re flexible about it.”

“Yes.” Firm nod. “I’m going to finish what I started. I just need to find another way.”

“Hm. Maybe we can give you a ride to the next big town or airport or something, so you can rent a car,” Colleen suggested. “I doubt there’s a place here, and if there is, it’s probably not open right now. Which way were you headed? You must have some idea where you wanted to go, right?”

“South,” the woman answered, though it sounded like she was talking more to herself than to Colleen or, obviously, Tamara. “To … Florida. Though I was open to anything interesting along the way.” Again, it sounded like a bullshit answer without serious planning behind it, but if she was pissed off at her husband and his blond floozy mistress and showing him two could play at his game, then maybe it didn’t matter to her where she went, as long as he was left wondering. That was kind of understandable, actually.

“No kidding! We’re going to Florida!” It was obvious that the words flew out of Colleen’s mouth before she’d really had a chance to stop and think. By then it was obviously too late, and the words just kept coming: “Why don’t you just hitch a ride with us? The police have your number, right? Come along, and if you see a stop you prefer to Florida, just rent a car.”

The woman balked immediately, much to Tamara’s relief. “No, no. Thank you,” she added, though it seemed like an afterthought, “but I don’t want to impose.”

“It wouldn’t be an imposition—we were good friends once.” Colleen’s voice had changed, but it seemed to be working back toward supportive. Sincere, anyway. She was obviously a chronic savior. “Some strange coincidence brought us both here tonight at the same time. I don’t know how long it’s been since you were here, but it’s been years for me—”

“Me too.”

“—so maybe it’s fate.”

“Or hunger,” Tamara tried. She didn’t want to ride in that little car with this woman for God knows how long. Awkward conversation with Colleen was bad enough; she couldn’t even imagine adding this particular brand of discomfort to the mix.

“Hunger.” The woman met Tam’s eyes, and for just a second they were probably on the same page. “Like you said, when you see the exit for Henley, it’s impossible not to remember and I just needed a piece of this pie to fortify me for the road.”

“So let’s get you back on it,” Colleen said. “We’re going to stop in a couple of hours for the night anyway. If you prefer, we can stop in a bigger town so you can find a Hertz or something.”

The woman looked hesitant, but more than that, she looked ragged. Worn down. Beat up, without the bruises. She didn’t have any fight in her. She didn’t look like she ever had, actually. She looked how Tamara imagined herself to look after most conversations with her dad. So it wasn’t a huge surprise when she gave a limp shrug and said, “Thank you.”

Tamara’s heart sank, and she took a moment to think worse of herself for having such an uncharitable reaction to someone who was obviously as fucked over as she was. At least in some way.

“Good,” Colleen said, and it was obviously her Mom Voice. “Then it’s settled. We’ll pay up here, hit the road, and aim for—what, do you think? Rocky Mount? Farther, if we feel like it. But at least Rocky Mount. I’d hoped to stay only in little bed-and-breakfasts, but our day got hijacked, and at this point I’d welcome a bed in a Hampton Inn.”

“What happened to your day?”

Tamara was more than willing to answer that one. “We were driving, and this truck driver pulled up next to us and—”

“He was driving very aggressively,” Colleen interrupted, throwing a pointed look at Tam. “It felt threatening, so I took the first exit that felt safe, which was Henley.”

“Ah, so you are the coincidence here. I came for the pie, but you were just escaping.”

“I might have stopped for the pie too, though.”

The woman smiled, and for the first time, Tamara could see how she could be pretty. Or maybe once was. If she’d ever had any sort of meat on her frame instead of just looking like skin stretched over a plastic skeleton. She was what people meant when they said that skinny didn’t equal hot.

“The pie was always worth it.”

“We should get some for the road.”

Tamara’s mouth watered at the idea. They weren’t leaving the good food behind now; they were taking it with them. Truth was, this beat the hell out of easy mac or canned spaghetti or anything else she ate on a regular basis.

“Coconut cream to go?” Colleen asked, looking to both of them.

Both agreed, though Tam did it louder and with more urgency.

Colleen called the order out—it was that kind of place—and the waitress said she’d box it up.

Another one of those pregnant pauses stretched between them.

“So,” Tamara said, unable to quell that old instinct to fill it. “I’m sorry, but I’m not really sure what you want me to call you … Mrs. Camalier? Or—?”

“Bitty,” the woman interrupted. It was the strongest her voice had been the entire time they’d been talking. “My name is Bitty Nolan.”

Wasn’t she Wilhelmina Camalier a minute ago? Whatever. “Cool. Bitty. I’m Tamara. Or Tam.” She took the nickname she had somehow gotten from Colleen and used it. Lame as it was, it felt good to have one, and she wanted to use it.

Wilhelmina-slash-Bitty wasn’t the only one who maybe didn’t want to be herself tonight. Tam liked the idea of taking a break from being a screwed-up teenager and, instead, maybe just being a normal girl.

With a nickname.

Why not? It wasn’t like she was ever really going to see this woman again. She probably wasn’t even going to see Colleen again after this trip was over. That’s how it was in Tamara Bradley’s life—people didn’t stay. They didn’t even come in on purpose, but if they found themselves there, they left as soon as possible.

So why not be whoever she wanted to be in the meantime?

CHAPTER SEVEN

Colleen and Bitty, the past

“I just don’t see us fitting in that car. All of us? No way.”

“Oh, Bit,” said Colleen, looping an arm through hers and resting a head on her shoulder. “Don’t be such a worrywart—we’ll be fine. We’ll fit.”

Bitty shook her head. “It’s not safe. We should get another driver.”

“There is no other driver! Tom’s the only one willing to stay sober, so just relax.”

“I could drive.”

“Hell no—I don’t know one of us who needs a drink more than you do.”

Bitty sighed, and Colleen rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

“What seems to be the problem here, ladies?”

Blake Leon, always in busted-up jeans and a backward hat, stepped between the two girls and put an arm around each of them.

Colleen reached for his wrist, which dangled over her left shoulder, and said, “Bitty here is worried we won’t fit in the car. So she wants to get another designated driver and car.”

Blake stepped away, pulling his arms from around them, and placed a hand on each of Bitty’s shoulders. “I didn’t want to have to tell you this … but I happen to be a
Tetris
master.”

Colleen snorted with laughter and sat on the thigh-high cement wall they stood in front of.

“And I don’t mean to brag,” Blake went on, “but my clown-car work has been featured in magazines. I’m pretty popular for it.”

“Oh yeah, magazines like what?” Bitty cocked a head, playing along as Colleen continued laughing.

“Uh, jeez, where do I start?” He scanned the sky for names. “There’s
Clowns Weekly,
obviously. And
Car Crammers
—that one described me as ‘dashingly handsome,’ but that’s pretty subjective. And, you know, a few others. Guinness wanted me for its world records, but I”—he paused and let out a long breath—“well, I didn’t want the press.”

Bitty’s jaw clenched with repressed laughter. “Well, then I guess I have no choice but to trust you.”

Blake sighed, his face frozen in a resigned expression. “I didn’t want to have to work on the weekend, but I’ll do it for you, Miss Bitty.”

He went back to the group of guys waiting for Tom a couple feet away.

Colleen stood and went to Bitty with a look that said,
So, is he not as hot as I said?

“He’s pretty cute,” Bitty confirmed, clearly reading Colleen’s expression.

“Pretty— Oh, Bitty, you’re a fool. He’s adorable as hell, and he’s a good guy. I don’t understand your constant trepidation.”

“I just don’t date that much.”

“Um, yes, I know this. I’m your friend, remember? I see you sitting around Not Dating all the time.” Colleen shook her head. “I can’t wait till someone pulls you out of your shell. And I feel like Blake just might have the right amount of disarming charm to do it.”

Tom pulled up in his crappy Corolla, no doubt as tiny as Bitty had feared it would be, and the loading in began. First the guys filled up the backseat; then Colleen crawled over the laps onto one of the guys. Bitty followed as you might if you were about to slowly lower yourself into an ice-cold pool. First a toe, then the foot, then finally waist deep, until finally she was all in, but still trying to keep her face and hair dry.

Colleen was laughing about something with one of the guys already, and Tom had some loud punk rock band turned up.

Bitty sat on Blake’s lap, him readjusting her when her rear end trenched into his thigh. “You’re all bones, girl.”

She stared out the window, avoiding Colleen’s
Oh my God, date him—you guys are too cute!
gaze, but Colleen noticed a small smile playing at Bitty’s lips.

Blake thought she was hot; he’d already unabashedly admitted so to Colleen. He was a straight shooter. She knew it was going to be hard to get Bitty to loosen up—she was always slow to feel comfortable. Of course, when the two of them gabbed, Bitty would be uninhibited and not nervous at all. But get her in front of a group of people, and she retreated, like a hermit crab scrambling back into her shell.

They finally got to their destination—down the highway, into the woods, where you would never expect to find a bar, and inside Woodchuck Couldchuck. A band was playing, and now that they were newly twenty-one, Colleen could finally force Bitty to go out and do some things.

They spilled from the car, Bitty straightening her white miniskirt and black blouse, and Colleen pulling her Daisy Dukes down a little and straightening her belt.

“It’ll be fun,” Colleen promised, shoving her a little with a shoulder as they made their way inside.

Once there, all of them getting a hand stamp that said they’d shown the ID proving they were twenty-one, Colleen walked straight up to the bar and ordered two Sea Breezes and two shots of whiskey.

It was the age of not minding if she drank two completely separate kinds of liquor, and of not paying for it in the morning.

She handed the shot and pretty pink drink to Bitty. That was one fun and unexpected thing about Bitty—she came off like something of a priss, but the girl could throw back a shot of rail whiskey without batting a lacquered eyelash.

They took the shots, and Colleen grinned at the look of surprise on Blake’s face when he watched Bitty. His eyes shifted to Colleen and she gave a small shrug, one that said,
Yep, my pal is awesome. Told ya so.

The band started in, and not long after, Bitty had already loosened up. She was getting chatty, and had those rosy cheeks that always proved she’d had a few drinks.

Colleen couldn’t hear what Bitty was saying to Blake, but judging from the way she stood with one hand stirring her drink by the straw, her hair swept to one side, and wearing a challenging smile, she would place good money that her friend was flirting. And judging by the raised eyebrows and intrigued grin Blake was returning, he was enjoying it.

“I’m such a good little matchmaker,” Colleen said to her semi-beau, just to call someone else’s attention to the cute scene before them. She didn’t know why she was always so determined to set people up. She’d been burned doing it more often than not, inevitably breaking up with her boyfriend while her friend continued on with his friend, putting her in an icky position of heartache and jealousy.

But she was a romantic soul and maybe something of a control freak, and so she liked to be the one responsible for helping two poor lonely souls find each other and true love.

This, however … This might have been her biggest challenge yet. Bitty wasn’t an easy sell, and she definitely wasn’t a pushover. She was shy and picky and hesitant and skeptical all wrapped into one pretty package.

But by the time they loaded back into Tom’s car, hours later, Bitty wasn’t hesitating. She had climbed into the car and sunk down into Blake, allowing him to put his arms around her.