Two
TWO
I didn’t think I had anymore tears left to cry after yesterday and this morning, but it seems I was wrong.
After leaving the people formerly known as my grandparents, I decided I needed to put some actual food in my stomach before making the long drive back home. I never wanted to set foot in Florida again, but if I didn’t eat I’d end up stuck in the hospital from either getting in an accident or exhaustion.
I pulled up to my favorite local restaurant, ordered my favorite meal for probably the last time, and then sat in my car eating, working up the strength and courage to call my parents. When I had enough food that I felt like I could steady my hand long enough to tap the screen, I made the call that I’ve dreaded for almost twenty-four hours.
It rang twice before Dad answered. “Are you okay, baby bird?” is what he asked me instead of yelling which, honestly, is what I deserved.
But I should’ve known better. Dad isn’t a yeller. He’s a listener and a thinker and I can count the number of times he’s raised his voice to me on one hand. I can tell you I only need one finger for the number of times he raised his voice to Mom. He’s never tried that again and I can guarantee he never will.
“Yeah. I’m okay. I’m sorry, Dad.” The tears began immediately upon hearing his tender voice.
“You don’t have to apologize, sweetheart ? —”
“We’re sorry,” Mom chimed in, her voice thick with emotion. “We should have talked to you and stood up to your grandparents. This could have been avoided.”
“They are not my grandparents and I told them as much when I saw them this morning.” I waited for some type of shocked response but got none.
“I’m sure you did what you thought you had to.” Dad was very matter of fact, leaving it at that.
“Will you come home now?” Mom asked, her voice full of plea.
“Yeah. I’m eating and then I’m going to come straight home.”
“Do you think you should just stop for the night and rest? Head out tomorrow after a good sleep?”
“No, Dad. I want to get out of this state and into my own bed as soon as possible.” I needed to hug my parents and siblings tonight now that the worst was over. “I’m fine. I promise.”
“Okay, sweetheart. As long as you’re sure you’re okay. Just drive carefully and call us if anything happens. ” Mom said about a dozen I love you’s after that, as did Dad, and I hung up feeling a little better now that I knew they weren’t mad.
I finished my food and decided to stroll past a park Dad used to take me to for our daddy-daughter days, which were quite a lot now that I think of it. I can remember very few times where I wasn’t with him. If I wasn’t at school, then I was with Dad at dance practice or horse riding lessons or doing some type of craft that was always super girly but he never complained. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I didn’t spend as much time with Stephanie as I did with Dad. Of course I remember our manicures and when we played salon or dolls, but she spent many nights out while I had movie nights with Dad.
I was quite young when we lived in Florida, but I feel like the trauma I experienced was enough to seer some memories into my mind. Like the memory I have of Dad not really having any friends. I remember he would always kiss me goodnight and be there to wish me good morning when I clambered out of bed. On the many mornings Stephanie wasn’t home, Dad would say she went to the gym or to run an errand. Looking back now, I know that wasn’t the truth.
Dad always helped me preserve the good memories I had of her, and I realize now that was to help erase the bad ones that I didn’t understand were bad at the time. I know Dad isn’t perfect, but compared to Stephanie he’s a freaking saint.
Which is why I’m praying he’s a forgiving man once I call him and tell him about my current predicament.
The sun beats down on me as I stand beside my car, looking at the crushed back end as dust still settles around it. I decided to make a detour off of I-10 and pass through Gulfport, Mississippi, a place where my family has spent many spring breaks. Everything was going great until I tried to get back to I-10. I thought that all I had to do was reach the end of Highway 90 and take a right, then it would lead me back to my original route.
I really should have used my GPS sooner because when I realized I was lost and had no idea where I was going, I tried yelling at the car to help me get back on track. But the damn thing wasn’t understanding me, so I grabbed my phone, typed in Magnolia Creek, Texas and hit search.
Well…I attempted to do those things. I got as far as typing Magnolia C when I took my eyes off the screen and put them back on the road. I was a bit too late and had to make a hard jerk of the wheel to the left, causing me to fishtail on the sand and gravel shoulder. Remembering that I needed to steer into the skid, I did just that. However I forgot the most important thing; not to hit the brakes. I also did that, which made my back end to smack straight into a light pole
“Dammit,” I curse, and kick the tire like it’s the car's fault and not mine for not paying attention to the road.
I huff out a breath and drop my hands from my hips and sag my head. Guess it’s time to face the music and call Dad, then figure out what to do with the car.
I pull out my phone and decide to call Mom this time. The phone starts ringing before I remember that I’m driving her car and she won’t be too happy about this.
“Hi sweetheart,” she answers with a chipper voice. “How’s the drive going?”
I squint my eyes at the glaring sun. “Um, well, it was going okay but I…I kinda had a little accident.”
“Oh my gosh. Are you okay? Day, where are you? Do you need the police? An ambulance? Oh dear grief.”
“Mom. Mom, slow down. I’m okay. I just spun out. I wasn’t paying attention and hit some gravel and hit a light pole.”
“Dagen! Did you hurt yourself? Vaughan! Day was in an accident,” she shouts.
“Mom. No. I–” I sigh and lean against the car.
“Day? What happened?” Dad’s voice joins in.
“Okay, listen. Please.” I explain how I wanted to drive along the coast and see the small beach town we like to visit, and how I got lost trying to get back to the interstate
“And I just fishtailed, and I tried to–”
“Steer into the spin,” Dad reminds me.
“I know, Dad. And I did do that, but I hit the brakes and that sent me drifting straight into a light pole.”
I hear him blow out a heavy breath, and my fingers find their way into my mouth and I begin chewing on my nails.
“How bad is it?” he finally asks.
I turn around and stare at the point where the right back end is crunched against the pole.
“Well, the back end has a pretty good dent in it. And the passenger side back tire is sitting pretty weird.” I move on from chewing on my nails and start chewing on the inside of my cheek.
“Cars can be fixed. The most important thing is you’re okay. I’ll call the insurance and see what it’s going to cost to tow the car home and then I’ll find the closest airport and get you a flight back home. You may have to stay a night in…where are you?” Dad wonders, and I wonder the same.
“I’m not sure. Hold on a sec,” I tell him and pull up my map to find my exact location. “Cattywump Bay? What the hell kind of name is that?”
“Cattywump Bay? Are you making that up?” Mom asks me.
“According to the map, that's exactly where I am. I’m close to Diamond Head but still on the South side of I-10.”
“I don’t want you sitting there alone, so is there any way you can–”
“Hey there. Are you okay, darlin’?” A sweet voice with a thick southern twang cuts into Dad’s words.
I turn around and see a woman staring out the window of her faded blue pick-up truck.
“Give me a minute, Dad.” I pull the phone from my ear but don’t hang up, and walk closer to her. “Hey. Yeah. I need to find a tow. Would you know of a place?”
“Seems you got into a little bit of a disagreement with that light pole. Unfortunately darlin’, I think you lost,” she tells me and I let out a small laugh and a shrug. “There’s only one place in this little town that can tow ya otherwise, you’ll have to call the big city and have one of them big wrecker places get ya. And they charge more than Carter’s got little pills.”
What in the high heavens did that girl say?
“Dad. Someone has stopped to help, and she says she knows who to call for a tow. I’m going to talk with her then call you once I know where I’m going.”
“No, I’ll just stay on the phone. Who knows what that woman may do.” Concern laces his voice.
“Dad. This woman looks to be about the size of Aunt Viv, and as harmless as Mom. I’ll be fine,” I assure him.
“You keep your location on and I want to know the name, number and address of the place once you get there. Understand?”
I roll my eyes and smile. “I understand. I promise to use my hunting skills if I feel like this five foot nothing woman is going to harm me.”
“Smart ass. Love you, baby bird.”
“I learned from the best…Uncle Hayes. Love you too, Daddy-o.” I hang up and turn around to face the friendly face once more.
“I’m five-four, thank you very much,” she says.
“Huh?”
“You said I was five foot nothin’, but I’m five foot and four inches. Don’t rob me of them four inches. Every little bit is needed.”
I laugh and she turns off her truck and hops out. Or rather down.
“How in the heck do you drive that giant thing?” I ask her as she rounds her big blue beast.
She comes to stand in front of me, and looks over her shoulder as if only realizing how big her truck is. “I learned how to drive on ole blue. It’s just normal for me.”
“I’m Dagen,” I say and hold out my hand to shake.
She takes it and says, “I’m McKinsley, but you can call me Kinsley. Or Kins. The Mc is not necessary. Makes me sound like a shake or somethin’ at McDonalds.” I laugh and then have to agree.
“Yeah. I could see myself ordering a Big Mac and a large McKinsley.”
She begins to laugh and we chuckle together. “Lawd, I told my momma she cursed me with that name. But she just had to be ‘original’.”
“Hey. My name is Dagen Rayne McCallan. Talk about original. You ever meet another Dagen?”
She scrunches her face and looks up as if she’s thinking real hard. “Can’t say I have. But I tell you what, with that twang I hear wantin’ to make an appearance, the Texas license plate, and the name, I’d say we’re cornbread sisters.”
I snort and ask, “What’s a cornbread sister?”
“You know. We come from the same batch. We’re alike despite being a little different. Still amazing, but with our own little twist. Southern cornbread.”
“I’ve never heard it, but I like it.”
“Welp. It looks like you ain’t drivin’ that shiny car any time soon, so I called on my friend to get ya outta there. He should be here soon.”
I sigh in relief. “Oh thank you. I just wasn’t paying attention and hit a patch of gravel and spun out.”
“Well hell. That don’t sound like any fun. Especially with that fancy car of yours.”
I close one eye and scrunch up my face. “Yeah, it’s my Mom’s.”
“Oooowee, someone’s getting their birth certificate canceled when they get home.” I laugh yet again, because this girl’s euphemisms are better than anything I’ve ever heard. “Come sit in ole blue. It’s hotter’n a goat's butt in a pepper patch.”
She waves me over and opens the door for me to slide in. The door shuts behind me and that little thing makes her way to the driver’s side. On the radio plays Cowboy Break My Heart , a song I’ve had the misfortune of knowing something about.
“So what’re you doin’ in Cattywump Bay, Mississippi?” Kinsley asks when she settles into the driver’s seat.
“I don’t think you want to know. It’s a whole story spanning twenty-one years.”
She rubs her hands together and her eyes light up. “Hell, girlie. That sounds like my kinda story. Spill the beans. All my friends are guys and I never get to hear good girl gossip.”
I shrug and say, “Okay. You asked for it,” then proceed to give the abbreviated version of my fucked up life.
“Damn girl. That story’s like a soap opera. All it’s missin’ is someone coming back from the dead and a long lost sibling.” She shakes her head in disbelief.
“I told you it was a whole story. Ever met anyone with a crazier life?” I ask.
She squints her eyes and twists up her lips in deep thought. “I mean, I guess I have a pretty whacked out story. My mama did marry her daddy’s best friend who was twenty years older than her.”
“Oo. I have an aunt –who’s more like a sister really because she’s only six years older than me– and she’s married to my uncle who happens to be my other uncle’s best friend. And he’s twelve years older than her.”
Kinsley blinks and says, “I’m sorry. What’d you say? That was all sorts of confusing.”
I chuckle and explain. “So my Uncle Bishop is my Mom and Dad’s best friend from high school. He’s not my real uncle but you know how southerners are. Well Uncle Bishop’s best friend is Phoenix whom he met in college when they played baseball together. Uncle Phoenix was an MLB pitcher and he married my Aunt Viv who is Mom’s best friend from when they were little girls.” I take a deep breath then go on. “So Uncle Phoenix has a niece, Anais, who just happened to move to Texas for school and fell in love with Uncle Bishop. Their relationship almost tore everyone apart, but luckily it all worked out and now we have one big family with more aunts and uncles and plenty of little cousins.”
“Soap opera,” she says, shaking her head. “But I’m digging all the aunts and uncles that ain’t really aunts and uncles. I only have one aunt and uncle and two cousins who are much older than me. We don’t really see them, so it’s just me, mama and daddy.”
I open my mouth to continue comparing our crazy lives, but a loud engine interrupts our little girl’s chat.
“Oh look. Henny’s here.”
“Who’s here?” I ask.
“Henny. His name is actually Hendrix, but all his friends call him Henny. Now if he comes off a bit grumpy, don’t let that scare ya. It’s all an act. He’s really got a heart of gold. He just doesn’t know it yet.”
A large tow truck pulls up beside Kinsley. It’s black and the words DARE Towing in neon blue are right along the side of it. The windows are tinted and I can’t see inside, but I assume he’s some backwoods feller with a few teeth missing and a beer belly.
I climb out of the truck and turn around to greet Hendrix and immediately have my mind blown. Ever hear that saying, assumption is the mother of all mistakes? Well mistaken I most certainly am.
Hendrix is the farthest thing from backwoods as one can get. Not to mention he has all of his teeth and I have no doubt that underneath that white t-shirt lies a perfectly chiseled body.
No, this man is definitely not your average small-town tow truck driver. He’s the kind of man your daddy greets with a shotgun.
I know my dad would.