7. Angel #2
So, for the next few hours, she tells me about what happened to her and moving to Oklahoma to start a new life.
My favorite part was when she lit up talking about Owen coming home for Christmas and gifting her a Remington Nylon 66 .
22 caliber rifle. It’s a plinker gun, but she fell in love with it.
That’s when she decided that the Army wasn’t her path.
With her natural talent, sharpshooting was.
Daisy practiced for hours a day to the point she needed to get a job as a server just to buy the ammo.
With every part of her story, we shifted closer and closer together until she finally allowed me to pull her into my arms and simply hold her.
I’d ask questions, and some of the answers were darker than I expected—especially the emotional battles she endured and the nightmares that still come, though less often than in her youth.
Through all of it, I still feel there’s something she’s not telling me. A secret that’s only for her. I don’t ask what it is, but I do pray that she’ll trust me enough to tell me when she’s ready.
Eventually our conversation turns to lighter topics such as favorite movies, foods, and the things we should have talked about long before I kissed her six months ago.
It shouldn’t surprise me that her favorite color is white, because it’s technically all the colors on the light spectrum blended together.
This way, she gets to love all the colors and doesn’t have to pick one.
“What’s your favorite band?” I ask.
When I’m met with silence, I glance down at Daisy tucked in the crook of my arm with her head resting against my shoulder. Her breaths are deeper than if she were awake. She purrs, just ever so softly.
Now I have a choice to make. Do I shift out from underneath her, lay her down on the couch and cover her with a blanket? Or do I stay right where I’m at and let her use me as a human body pillow?
Decisions. Decisions.
“Oh, my goodness! What time is it?!” Daisy shouts, pushing off my body and springing from the couch like it’s on fire.
I look toward the analog clock on the wall, trying to focus as I rub the sleep from my eyes. “A quarter ’til seven.”
She runs over to her bag and grabs a change of clothes before racing to the bathroom. “I’m going to be late for my date!”
After the door slams shut, I shout, “You’re not Alice, and this isn’t Wonderland! Brad will wait for you!”
A few minutes later, Daisy emerges from the bathroom in a pair of slim-fitting jeans, a sweater, and her hair in a messy top knot that does something to my insides that it has no right to do. She doesn’t have a speck of makeup on, yet Daisy could grace the cover of any fashion magazine.
She places a comm device in her ear and reminds me to do the same.
“For the record, it wasn’t Alice who was late for a very important date.
It was White Rabbit. The good news is that I should just make it without a second to spare.
Vinny should already be at the diner. If he’s at the counter, then his date went well.
If he’s sitting alone in a booth, then probably not.
Either way, he’ll be listening in and keeping an eye on me. You can listen as well.”
“Do you want me to?”
Daisy slips her arms into a coat and pats down the pockets, looking for the keys to her rental car. “It’s not a real date, Angel. I’m going purely for information gathering purposes. Oh, and for waffles. Do you want me to bring you back anything?”
“Thank you, but I’m all set. There’s oatmeal in the cupboard. With sliced bananas, cinnamon, and a bit of sugar, it should be palatable.”
Laughing as she opens the door, she winks at me. “Don’t pretend you aren’t going to break into the box of Strawberry Pop-Tarts I saw stashed behind the jars of pasta sauce.”
I wave her off. “Enjoy your breakfast.”
Once she’s halfway down the hill toward the parking lot, I add, “Don’t enjoy it too much!”
For the next eight minutes, as Daisy drives to the diner that’s five miles away, I listen to her sing at the top of her lungs—and not well, I might add. There’s a faint ding in my ear as Vinny establishes a connection, which thankfully puts an end to Daisy’s caterwauling.
“Daisy, where are you? Brad just arrived,” he says.
“I’m almost there.”
Less than a minute passes when Daisy enters the restaurant and greets Brad. “Sorry, I’m late.”
“It’s not a problem. I just got here myself,” Brad says. “My plan was to get here early so I could have a cup of coffee, a glass of orange juice, and water waiting for you. Alas, the sink in my RV was leaking. As much as I wanted to impress you, I would have a musty camper on my hands.”
“Suck up,” I mumble, forgetting that my comm is on two-way. “What if Daisy liked tea or apple juice? What would you have done then?”
I can safely assume that Vinny isn’t in earshot of Daisy, because he has no qualms telling me of my error. “Angel, switch to ‘RECEIVE’ mode. We don’t need your commentary.”
Oops. I quickly do as suggested, not wanting to make the same mistake again.
“Oh! You have an RV?” Daisy asks. “I assumed you’d stay in a cabin during your inspections.”
“I prefer not to live out of a suitcase for work. Not to mention, the number of RV sites outnumber cabins almost ten to one. Those cabins bring in more money for the parks during the winter months. I wouldn’t want to be accused of abusing park resources.”
Daisy says hello to Dottie when she comes over to take their order.
Before Daisy tells Dottie what she wants to eat, Brad goes first. He orders the cheapest thing on the menu: the two-egg breakfast special that comes with sausage links and a double stack of pancakes.
Maybe it’s what he actually wants, but my gut says that he’s being frugal.
It’s also likely why he showed up right on time and didn’t have a plethora of beverages waiting for Daisy.
His lack of gentlemanly manners irks me to no end.
Vinny too, if his grunt is anything to go by.
Daisy rolls with it though and says, “I’d like the Marionberry Belgian Waffle, please, and a large orange juice, freshly squeezed.
Ooh! I didn’t see the homemade corned beef hash.
I’d like that too with my eggs over medium and the biscuit with country gravy as my side. ”
“Are you sure, Hon?” Dottie asks. “If you recall from yesterday, we don’t skimp on our portion sizes.”
“I’m positive. I’ll be hiking today and need the calories.”
Brad laughs. “It’s not every day you find a woman who enjoys food, especially on a date. I half expected you to order a bagel and fruit.”
“I bet you did,” I grumble.
Daisy ignores Brad’s implication. “Tell me, how long have you been a park inspector?”
“I’d rather talk about you since my job is rather boring. I’m basically a traveling paper pusher. What do you do for a living? No doubt it’s far more interesting.”
Giggling, Daisy says, “Not really. I’ve been a server for most of my adult life. I could make it sound more exciting by saying I was in the restaurant business and hospitality is my profession.”
At least she doesn’t have to lie. Last night Daisy shared with me that she was a server at various restaurants across the country, earning and saving her money to fund her “hunting trips” as she likes to call them.
When I asked her why she didn’t simply stay in one place, she said that employers don’t take kindly to a person who leaves at a moment’s notice.
She’d scour the internet every night for news of an abduction, then buy airfare for the next flight out.
Since most restaurants don’t worry about doing a background check or calling previous employers for a reference, it was easy to find another job and settle down until the following year.
The turnover is too high to bother with the details—which was to her advantage—and the paycheck was better than most nine-to-five jobs.
“What brings you out here besides spending time with your family?” Brad asks.
“What makes you assume I don’t live in the area?”
“Well, for one thing, you, your overprotective cousin, and your uncle seemed unfamiliar with the area,” Brad replies.
We aren’t, but that’s what Vinny led him to believe.
Dottie delivers the food, asks if they need anything else, and then leaves when they both tell her that they’re set. Daisy continues the conversation.
“We’re here on a hunting trip.”
“Nice. I occasionally catch myself a decent trophy when I have the time. What are you hunting? Bears, elk, or deer?”
Daisy groans in delight when she takes her first bite of the waffle, which distracts me almost as much as I’m sure it does Brad. She takes a moment to savor the food before she answers his question.
“Yeah, something like that.”