I let out a smal , awkward cry and looked around me for the closest thing to put it out. There was nothing, just me, the paper towels, the sink and the toilet.
I didn’t want to run out of the washroom and cause an alarm, though. The last thing I needed was a coffee shop ful of panicked people.
Think, Perry, think.
I had an idea.
I turned on the tap, took off my right shoe and fil ed it with water.
It wasn’t my first choice, but in the name of saving face, it was my only choice.
It only took two refil s before the fire was out and the garbage can was reduced to a wet, smoldering pile. I peered down at it, afraid to touch the mess, wondering how the hel the fire got started in the first place. It’s not like I threw a cigarette into the bin. It had been a paper towel, and a wet one at that.
It was beyond weird but I couldn’t devote too much time to worrying about it. There was a knock at the door and I was holding a toilet-water soaked shoe in my hand. I had bigger issues here.
“Just a minute,” I cal ed out, trying to sound calm, like everything was fine in bathroom land, and stuck my shoe under the dryer while I soaked up the inside with more paper towels. When it wasn’t as sopping wet, I put the shoe back on my foot, wincing at the cold, squishy dampness.
Ugh.
I took a step, the water seeping into my sock. Double ugh.
I unlocked and opened the door to see a patron looking at me strangely. She eyed the bathroom suspiciously before stepping inside. I must have been making some pretty odd noises in there. Also, there was a trail of water dripping behind me.
I walked careful y back to the counter, trying to lessen the squish, squish, squish of my footsteps. I smiled broadly at Ash and took my place beside him, ready to man the machines.
“Perry, what, uh…”
“Don’t ask,” I told him, and turned to face the rest of my shift.
~~~
The next morning was grey, dreary and mild, as per usual for the Pacific Northwest. I didn’t have to work, so I laced up my running shoes and hit the trails down by the Columbia River. Aside from the first few weeks of December, when I gorged myself on Christmas cookies and eggnog in order to restore some feeling of happiness in my body, I’d actual y been pretty active and working out almost every day.
Stil , the weight that I had shed from my bootcamp sessions in November came back on. It was only about five pounds or so, but on a short body like mine, I could tel the difference. My ex-trainer and one-date wonder, Brock the jock, cal ed me a few times wanting to go out again, but aside from my heart and mind being too fragile, I felt like I would have just disappointed him if he saw me. It’s such a girl thing to do, to not be interested in a guy but stil want them to be interested, but it’s the truth.
At least running cleared my mind and made me feel a lot more energized. Ever since Seattle I’d been dealing with the restlessness I used to get, that nagging urge to be anywhere but here. I felt lost and directionless and my mind always wanted to go back to the happier times, the times when I felt everything was possible. But it wasn’t that way and I had to keep my eye on the prize. I needed to move out, move far away, and start finding myself al over again.
My life had reverted to the way it was before I met Dex in that lighthouse. Though, perhaps I was a bit wiser.
After I left the river bank and hit the long street that led me back to my house, I slowed, then stopped and stretched my muscles by a row of roadside bramble. I was surrounded by bare oak and cherry trees and the dul , frosted mint color of grass in late winter. My neighborhood consisted of family homes and retirement ranchers with an overal Victorian vibe and almost everyone, my house included, had at least a half acre of land or more. My lot was simple since my mom wasn’t much of a gardener, but some houses had beautiful y intricate gardens, while others had swimming pools or even chickens. One neighbor had a bunch of pigs, thanks to the generous zoning laws.
I was bending over for my toes in a compromising position when the neighbor with the pigs walked past with Cheerio, her gorgeous chocolate lab. I smiled at the dog with my head between my legs and waved awkwardly at his owner. I was pretty sure the dog smiled back, looking as happy as ever. How could he not be happy; he lived with a bunch of pigs.
I straightened myself up slowly and walked along the road toward my house, watching for any signs of exercise-induced dizziness. It was when I was almost at the start of my parents’ long brick driveway when I noticed a car idling on the side of road, facing the opposite way. It didn’t look out of place, as it could have been someone waiting for Ada, or just someone who had taken a wrong turn down our street (people often got lost on their way to the mountains).
It could have been anything and anyone but my legs stopped moving and my heart slowed with a lurch. My body recognized the car before I did.
It was a little hatchback and though I couldn’t see who was in the car, I could smel the person, the cloud of pot smoke and perfume that emanated from the half-open window. The car turned off and my heart thumped anxiously at the sudden silence. The door opened and long legs clad in camel-colored breeches and black leather riding boots swung out and landed on the asphalt with a faint echo.
I stood there, red-faced, sweaty and confused, as Rebecca Sims got out of the car and gave me a shy smile.
I could only blink. So I blinked some more.
“Hiya Perry,” Rebecca said, shutting the car door, causing the cloud of smoke to dissipate in the damp air. I expected her to approach me but she just leaned against her car and looked around her at the sprawling acreages and spacious yards. “You’re almost in the country here. It’s lovely.”
I stil couldn’t say anything. Part of me wanted to throttle her, even though what happened with Dex and me wasn’t her fault. If anything, she had dropped hints that perhaps hooking up with him or tel ing him my unrequited feelings wasn’t the best idea. I’m glad now I only did the former, and not the latter. I would have never recovered my pride.
She smoothed her glossy black hair behind her ears, showcasing a row of diamond skul earrings that went surprisingly wel with her elegant ensemble, and turned to me.
“I know I shouldn’t have just shown up like this,” she explained in her smooth British accent, “but I didn’t know how to get a hold of you. I tried cal ing you.”
“I changed my number,” I said, my tongue loosening.
“And I tried emailing you.”
“I got a new email.”
A smal smile teased her magenta lips. “Wel , anyhow, Ems and I are here for the weekend just visiting her folks.
They live in Beaverton. I thought I’d escape from her mother and come see you. Hope that’s al right.”
I folded my arms and let out a short breath of air.
“No. It’s not al right, Rebecca,” I told her, looking her straight in the eye. “There’s a reason why I didn’t want anyone to get a hold of me.”
“I know. I figured. And I understand, I real y do. I’d do the same if Emily…wel , I just wanted to see you.”
“Wait,” I said, holding up my hand. “How did you know where I lived?”
She dropped her eyes to the ground. “A little birdie told me.”
A giant flame of anger erupted deep inside my chest.
“Is he here!?” I exclaimed, my voice shooting through the morning calm. My fists automatical y curled up into tiny, hate-fil ed bal s and I craned my neck at the car to see if anyone was sitting in the passenger side.