Unfinished Business (18 page)

Nick and I say thanks at the same time then we bump into each other when we reach for the same chair—the one farthest away from everybody else.

A dim-witted, nervous laugh bubbles out of me as I grab a chair and sit down.

“So, honey,” my mom is saying to me but looking from my face to Nick’s, “what have you two been doing?”

Drinking schnapps on the side of the road.

My dad and all his friends are staring at me. “Um…we—”

“We just got here.” Nick sits then turns to my mom and smiles.

I nod idiotically. “Yeah and we, Nick and I, just got here. And, um, here we are.”

My mom giggles, and Duane Sod smacks his legs.

Parents are supposed to be standing in the kitchen yelling or seated behind the steering wheel. They are not supposed to be sitting around with their friends getting, well, tipsy.

It’s not natural.

Nick isn’t bothered by the disequilibria that has me off balance. He’s talking to my dad and the short man who’s holding his palms about four feet off the ground. Nick is shaking his head and laughing. “No way,” he says, between laughs.

I shift closer.

“I don’t believe it,” Nick’s saying.

I can’t help myself. “What? Don’t believe what?”

My dad tips his head toward the short, dark-haired man. “Emilio here is a rancher. And a promoter. He’s up from Cisco, Texas. Do you know where that is? Probably not. It’s a real small town”—he glances over at Emilio—“on the western side of the state?” After Emilio nods, he rambles on some more and I pretty much tune him out to stare at the people milling around.

In my mind, I’m rolling one hand over the other, wishing he would get to the point.
Hello! Dad. Come back on around to the land of people who make sense when they talk.

I check Emilio out. He has a mustache and is wearing a new-looking Tigers baseball cap. Texas explains the accent, I guess. What could this little man, who comes from a place called Cisco—in Texas!—be promoting that is so unbelievable?

“…to meet with the county fair commission. He’s been talking to people all around the Detroit area, him and some of the riders—your cousin, Rodney, went to college with one of them, you know—about his show and he wants to bring it, his show, up here for fair week and—”

I notice Nick staring at me. The corner of his mouth is curved up like he’s sharing a little secret with—himself? Holy shit, this place is making me paranoid already. My dad is grinning and Emilio is sitting up straighter with a proud tilt to his head.

“What?” I hear myself say.

“They ride the bulls,” my dad says, as though that explains everything.

He still isn’t making sense. “Who ride the bulls?”

“The midgets.”

The music must be too loud. “Midgets?”

Everyone, including Nick, nods. “From Mexico.”

“Mexican midgets?”
Are these people fucking crazy?

“Honestly, Hayley. I explained it all to you. Didn’t you listen to anything I said?”

When I speak again, my voice comes out very small, “Mexican midgets ride the bulls.”

Nick leans close and his elbow bumps mine. “Miniature bulls.”

Everyone is nodding and smiling, as though this conversation is acceptable, reasonable even. I swallow against the utter disbelief tightening my throat and speak again, frantically hoping I’ve got it all wrong. “Mexican midgets riding miniature bulls.”

“Yes, of course. That’s the show he’s promoting. That’s why he’s here to talk to the fair commission. To see if they want to include the show as part of the Bullmania rodeo we have every Tuesday during fair week. We all think it’s a great idea.”

Emilio raises his palm so it is about four feet off the floor. “The bulls are quito. You know, miniature.”

I nod and try not to let my face show that I think they are all fucking insane. “Excuse me.” I whisper to Nick, “I have to go to the bathroom.”

I offer a weak smile to everybody who’s looking and whimper away from the table.

Nick turns back to my dad and Emilio to say something I can’t hear. Good thing, because I probably couldn’t handle any more.

The band hasn’t started playing yet but the crowd isn’t waiting for them. The dance floor is already so full I have to zigzag along the edges to reach the bathroom door.

Once there, I lean against the lime green cement block wall and listen to the moms report on their kids and the younger women gossip about each other.

“OhmiGod! Hayley!”

The smile of the girl grabbing me is so frighteningly huge it takes me a minute to remember who she is. “Hey, Misty. What’s new?” I say lamely.

“What’s new! OhmiGod! I didn’t know you were coming! Your parents didn’t mention it!”

I unsuccessfully try to merge with the wall because the moms and their younger counterparts are all staring at Misty and me. To avoid their speculative gazes, I keep my eyes focused on Misty’s cheerful round face. “You still working at the fabric store?”

“Yeah. They’ve got me scheduled part time right now. I bet soon I’ll be back to full time. You know—with May and June right around the corner! Prom dresses, bridesmaids dresses”—she wiggles her thin eyebrows—“wedding dresses!”

Subtle isn’t a word that describes Misty. “Anything I should know?”

“You guessed it, girlfriend!” She holds out her hand so I can see the modest engagement ring sitting on her finger. Two of the non-moms lean over, warily checking out the rock. The moms smile at each other.

The glow in Misty’s eyes is pretty amazing. “That’s great,” I say. “When’s the big day?”

“June sixteenth!”

She grins at me for so long that I wish I could think of something else to say. ‘
Have you heard about the Mexican midgets?’
No. I need something nice. Pleasant. At least appropriate.

I eye her carefully. She’s happy and excited about her future. Confident. I bet she has long- and short-term goals.

“So”—she’s not put off by my silence—“are you seeing anybody seriously, Hayley?”

“Seriously?” I parrot back.

“Yeah, you know, anybody special? Anybody who might pop the question!”

She sees my face fall and slides into a rambling apology until I cut her off. “No, I’m not.”

She props her hand on her hip. “Well! What about the guy you’re here with? He’s a hunk.”

“His name is Nick and we’re just friends.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, we’re just friends.”

Why is she looking so doubtful? Maybe because I am.

Her grin splits even wider. “You won’t care if Karen asks him to dance then?”

“No, um, of course not,” I lie. “He’d probably—um—be glad to, um.”

She doesn’t even wait to hear the rest. She’s out of the door and zipping through the crowd.

By the time I get out of the bathroom, Nick is on the dance floor with Karen’s arms wrapped snugly around his neck. A disgusted scowl pulls on my mouth. It doesn’t seem right that any adult human would be able to arch her back like that. I don’t know which is worse, the way her breasts are shoved in his face or the fact that her crotch is flat against his.

I wipe all emotion from my face and peruse the hall. How many other single women are stalking my friend, waiting for their chance to paw him? How annoying. But he doesn’t look very annoyed. He’s got his hands resting easily on her waist and is laughing.

Grrrr.

“Hiya, Hayley.”

It’s Todd. He’s wearing a crisp, white shirt and a pasteurized smile. “Your new boyfriend looks like he’s having a really good time.”

“Like I said before, Nick isn’t my boyfriend.”

“Bet you’re glad Waylon isn’t here.

I shrug.

“Don’t you want to know where he is?”

I shake my head.

It’s his turn to shrug. Then he tells me there’s free beer over by the men’s room. I decide against the free beer then go out into the entranceway to get a Diet Coke from the machine. I stand there for a while, looking through the smudgy glass door, watching trucks roll around the parking lot and wondering about Nick.

Eventually, I get fed up with my own sulking and go sit with my parents. We talk about work, of all things, until finally, about the time my mom and dad head to the dance floor, the hometown girls give Nick a rest.

He spots me, grins like he did when he handed over that Hot Damn!, stuffs his hands into his pockets then swaggers toward me.

He smirks at my scowl and says, “Havin’ fun with the ’rents?”

I press my lips together and stare at him.

He points to the back wall where a fat man is still guarding the kegs and now some middle-school kids are leaning on the popcorn machine. “Popcorn? Hot dog?”

“Food sounds good.”

He strolls off, smiling at people along the way.

I watch him chat with the food dudes. They’re laughing like good ole boys. Nick hands me a bag of popcorn and says, “Check the label.”

I read the bright red print on the bag, “Hot ’N Fresh.”

He winks. “Yeah, just like you.”

“Shut the hell up.”

He laughs and hands me a hotdog with a neat swipe of mustard, then pulls up a chair, which he places right next to mine. “Whatcha been doing?”

I think of Misty and Todd. “Catching up with friends.” The emphasis I put on friends gets lost in a burst of someone else’s laughter.

He leans back in the chair, watches the action on the dance floor, and grins like he owns the place. The popcorn churns in my stomach.

“How long are you going to sit there like that? With that look on your face?”

I spin my head and glare at him. “As long as I want.”

“I don’t think so.” He pops to his feet and reaches for my arm. “Come on.”

I cross my arms, letting him know I’m not going anywhere with him.

He ignores my gesture and moves around to stand beside me. He wraps his arm behind my back and kind of shoves, kind of guides me to my feet. Next thing I know I’m heading outside.

“Where are we going?” I ask. I know I’m being petulant and petty and even a bit ugly.

“You’re better than this, Hayley.”

“I know. That’s why I moved.”

He leads me to his truck. “You’re better than this attitude thing you’ve got going.”

He swings open the passenger door then gestures to the seat. I climb in. He slams the door, goes around then gets in and settles himself. That fun, teasing mood we shared earlier in the cab is totally gone and has been replaced by some kind of weird tension. His bossiness and the way he dragged me out to his truck, it’s really not like him.

“What’s going on with you?” I ask.

“Me? Nothing.” But he sits there, his eyes fixed on my face as he watches me watch him.

I shift on the seat.

He watches that too.

He’s making me so nervous, staring at me like that, that I press my lips together then twist them. My heart starts to thump and my chest tightens and when he starts to lean toward me, I lean toward him. He kisses me, I kiss him back.

Then, just as he’s easing my mouth open with his lips, I realize how quickly he makes my body hum, how much I want him to make my body hum and it scares the shit out of me. I feel my spine stiffen and I guess he does too because he slows up and gradually lifts his mouth from mine.

“I’m not going to apologize,” he whispers into my ear, still holding me. “Because I’m not sorry. About this. Or that night.”

I know I should say something but I don’t. I look out of the window, skimming my gaze across the mud-coated trucks and beat up mini-vans filling the lot. Over in the far corner, I spot Todd, talking on his phone.

Nick bumps his shoulder against mine. “You’re one of them but it’s okay.”

He’s wrong. I turn to tell him so but he holds up his hands, smiles, then kisses me on the cheek. I turn my head and press my mouth against him and he kisses me back. It’s only a matter of seconds before we’re right back where we were, him pressed against me so tightly I can feel his heart thumping. I want to relax but the truth crawls its way up my spine and chills my heart. I push him away. “I—I—”

He leans in, ready to kiss me some more. “You don’t have to explain.”

Yes, I do. But the truth stays stuck in my throat and I can tell by the expression on his face that he knows something is hiding inside me. “Want to go back in and say goodbye to your parents?”

If I go back in there, I’ll start crying for sure. I pull out my phone. “I’ll just text my mom.”

“You ready, then?”

After I nod, he slides his keys into the ignition.

Chapter Twenty-Two

When Opportunity Doesn’t Knock

Tuesday at lunchtime, Josie, who’s visiting me at work, is howling as she crosses to my desk. “Those assholes canceled my sister’s piece!” Her fitted T-shirt with a huge picture of Wonder Woman across it is screaming too. It’s blaring—
look at me!

I push aside the ‘nice’ reminders I was supposed to send out last week but was just finishing up. “The one I was supposed to be in?”

She stops in front of my desk, her gaze is zigzagging around the room. “It was about how people are hooking up these days.”

Second try. “The one about your videos?”

Now she’s looking at me. “Yes. I can’t believe it. What fucking assholes.”

I don’t want to ask the obvious questions—‘Why the ax?’ and, ‘Who was the weakest link?’—because the answer may be, well…me. Maybe I was such a bore that I killed the whole thing.

“That stinks.” A truly generic comment.

“Stinks? It’s fucking absurd.” She’s pacing now, scowling at the tastefully neutral décor of the clubhouse. “They obviously don’t understand what’s going on these days. The editor is probably some loser who goes to 80s dance nights to pick up bleach blondes, stuffs them into his Saturn Sky, then takes them to his condo so they can have sex in his hot tub.”

“What did your sister say?”

“Oh, you know her,” Josie says, smoothing out her short, red skirt. “Always a professional.”

Since when?

Contradicting Josie on anything regarding her sister can be dangerous—and pointless—territory so I shut up while she goes on about what assholes they are.