But, as I stared at it in my hand, I prayed it was her cell phone number I’d unceremoniously stolen.
Then, while I sent arbitrary prayers to a God who was too busy to listen to my silliness, I added that I’d also like it if she answered.
I took a deep breath and touched the green spot on the screen that said send.
Again, I waited.
It rang. Once. Twice. Then three times.
It clicked over and I thought she’d answered, but then realized it was her voicemail.
“Hi. You got me. Leave a message. I’ll call you back. If it’s an emergency, and you need my dad, call our after hours number. Three one five. Six three three. Nine one. Nine two. Talk to you later.”
Beep.
Hesitation hit me, but after a few seconds, I began to speak.
“Hi, O’Fallon. It’s Vaughn. I was just seeing what you were doing. I thought maybe I could buy you a beer for all of your help. I mean, I owe you more than a beer. I owe you a lot actually. Well, anyway, I was just thinking if you weren’t busy we could see each other. I guess I’ll just talk to you later. Now you have my number. Give me a call.”
I hung up absolutely sure I sounded like an ass. Chicks always dig guys who ramble and leave thirty-second voicemails that don’t really say shit except, hey, maybe you want to get a drink with me.
I didn’t want to get drunk. It was a Tuesday. We both had to work the next day, but it was still pretty early. And who knew, if she was like me, maybe she liked having a few cold ones after a long workday.
Yet, another thing I wanted to know about her and didn’t know why.
I hopped inside the Astro, gave it a pump, and turned it over, the smell of exhaust heavy inside. That couldn’t be a good sign, but it always smelled like that right after I started it up.
I threw my phone in the handy cup holder in the middle console, fastened my seatbelt, and looked behind me as I moved the gearshift into reverse. A feeling of disappointment crept into the passenger seat and left with me.
Oh well. You know what, if she was busy? No big deal. Now she had my number, and if she didn’t call, or stop by anymore, I’d get the hint.
I turned onto the lane and slowed at the yield, and then my phone rang.
The number was unknown, but having looked at it only a few minutes ago, I recognized it.
She called me back. Quickly.
I stopped the van and put it in park.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Vaughn. It’s … me. I got your message. Sorry I didn’t answer, I had a big bastard on my line and couldn’t pick up. I got him though.”
A big bastard? I wasn’t sure what she was talking about, but I also didn’t give a fuck.
She called me back.
“Yeah, I didn’t need anything really. I was just going to see if you wanted to get a beer or something.”
“I’m already having a few, but I could always use a few more.” Her voice was playful and she sounded happy to hear from me.
I wasn’t sure if it was her or the whole town, but the people here were so friendly. So accommodating. So kind. They were often pains in the ass, but it was all in jest.
All of it was very nice, but when you were trying to figure out a woman and, more importantly, if she was interested in you or not, it was a little confusing.
Was she into me or was she just nice to everyone?
“Want some company?” I asked, knowing it was possible she already had some.
Say yes.
Say yes.
“Sure. I have about four beers left, if you want to grab a few more, I have room in my cooler.”
My thoughts drove off into the gutter where “room in her cooler” sounded like an innuendo, but I fought the urge to flirt like that.
“Ha. Room in my cooler,” she said, laughing. “That sounded pretty bad, didn’t it?”
“Actually, it sounded good to me.” Okay, I was going to flirt like that. She did it first. Maybe it was being around her so much, but my filter wasn’t catching much these days.
“So where are you? Home?”
Yes, I knew she wasn’t at home. Clearly. I was at her home, but she didn’t need to know that.
“I’m down at Johnston’s Chute, fishing. Do you know where that is?”
No.
“Yeah, I think so.” I laid my head on the steering wheel. Why couldn’t I just say no?
“Oh, well. Okay then,” she said and paused for a second. I’m sure trying to figure out how the hell I knew about Johnston’s Chute. I looked at the phone to see if the call had dropped.
Then she went on. “Okay, it’s only six. You can still buy beer at the truck stop or Willard’s. That’s the grocery store. I’ll tell you, though, it’s colder at the truck stop.”
Fun, trivial facts like that were exactly some of the reasons I always wanted to live in a small town. The beer is colder at the gas station. Always good to know.
“All right. Do you need anything else?”
“Yeah, I need the radio station to play something new. I’m sick of the same fifteen songs on repeat. Sunny must be napping on the job.”
That was a lot of information. And how in the hell could I get the radio station to play anything else? I’d need to work on that.