Rough and commanding.
I ignored it. This was my baby. Willow was safe, but my Schwinn spent the night in my garage and nowhere else, except, of course, outside Raid’s den. But Raiden didn’t sleep at his den anymore, so now it was the garage and the garage only.
“That would mean I’d need to leave my Z in town overnight, and Rachelle will let me keep my bike in her back room.”
“We’ll leave the Jeep in town and drive your Z home. We can pick it up tomorrow.”
This idea was a good one so I agreed to it. “Okay, sweetheart.”
“See you there,” he told me.
“Right. ‘Bye, sweetheart.”
“Later, babe.”
I stopped dashing around, which meant I had plenty of time to make the perfect flip-flop choice.
I did this, locked up the house and moved to the garage to get my Z.
*
“Yo!” Rachelle greeted on a shout when I walked into her café and the bell over the door rang.
I had failed to note that Rachelle’s Café looked like it had been torn off the island of Nantucket and planted in Willow, Colorado. Of course, I’d never been to Nantucket, but I’d seen pictures, and Rachelle’s Café was it. It had tables all through and a long counter ran down one side. The rest was all serene colors and breezy décor, and trust me, décor could be “breezy”.
It was awesome.
Rachelle was behind the counter with her Mom in front of her.
“Hey,” I called.
“Hey there, Hanna,” Mrs. Miller called back.
I smiled and moved to them.
Needless to say, Raiden and I now living together, and regardless that he was out of town quite a bit, us having actual time together under our belts, we’d been to dinner at Mrs. Miller’s house.
I knew her all my life, liked her all that time, and after going to dinner at her place I liked her better. She was as she always was: nice, friendly and easy to talk to, but I discovered she was also a good cook.
I also got to know her boyfriend, Gazza, better. Gazza was English, as in actually from England, but, like he’d been a mountain man his whole life, he incongruously carved logs into totem poles or eagles and the like. He did this for a living, selling them out of the front yard in his house up in the foothills.
He was a good guy that everyone liked. Mrs. Miller and Gazza didn’t live together, but they’d been together for years and they somehow made being together in separate places work. It was also known in town that it was Ruthie Miller who wanted her own space and Gazza loved her enough to accept her as she came, which, of course, made everyone like him more.
I thought it was even cooler, knowing now that she was a woman who had a man who was not all that great, so she only accepted life and love on her terms, but put the effort in to make it work.
Then again, I was learning the Millers (notwithstanding Mr. Miller, wherever he was) were cool all around.
I stopped and Rachelle asked, “Dinner or flyby for a coffee a la Rachelle?”
“Raid and I are going to the double feature at the Deluxe tonight, but he’s running late so quick dinner, not a flyby.”
For some reason, this statement made Rachelle roar with laughter, but Mrs. Miller’s face grew bright.
“Dog Day Afternoon and French Connection?” she asked excitedly.
“Yep,” I answered. “Kickass 70’s Movie Night at the Deluxe, though they missed a great marketing opportunity by not naming it that and instead calling it 70’s Masterpiece Theater at the Deluxe.” She smiled big, and having taken in her earlier expression I offered, “Do you want to join us?”
She shook her head. “Love to. Plans with Gazz. Another time.”
I nodded, looked at Rachelle and smiled through my hopefully not too nosy question of, “Can I ask why you were laughing?”
“My son,” Mrs. Miller started to answer the question I’d asked her daughter, so I looked back at her, “was never a kid who sat around watching TV and playing video games. He also didn’t go to movies. He climbed trees. He raced around on that skateboard of his, without a helmet, I’ll add, no matter how often I got on him about that. He’d disappear into the woods or the foothills and be gone all day doing God knows what. Him sitting through a double feature is out of character,” she explained, but it was not really an explanation for why that would be funny.
Then Rachelle gave me the explanation that Mrs. Miller was too well-mannered to give.
“Not even for his bitches back in the day did he sit his ass in a theater. If they didn’t tramp through the woods with him or…” he eyes slid to her Mom, “whatever, they were toast. So it’s hilarious seeing my big, scary, badass brother so… totally… whipped.”
My mouth dropped open, but Mrs. Miller’s snapped loudly, “Rachelle!”
She grinned unrepentantly at her mother and made a whiplash noise.
“I’m not sure Raiden is whipped,” I shared, and Rachelle looked at me.
Then she laid it out.