Chapter 7 – Kira
KIRA
I wince a little and rub at the back of my neck.
“Dr. Speedman could probably snap those vertebrae back into place,” Agnes tells me from across the booth without even looking up from her smartphone.
“Who’s that?” I ask, releasing the back of my neck and straightening up in my seat to doctor my freshly poured coffee.
This diner is adorable and the smell of coffee and grease is giving me surprisingly nice vibes .
I can just imagine the rest of my family in this place, cringing at the paper napkins and heaven forbid, ketchup bottles on the tables.
“The town chiropractor.” Anges swipes at her screen before reaching for her own coffee.
“Wow, one chiropractor,” I muse, as I pick up my ice water and hold it to my forehead. “This town is smaller than I thought. Who’s the regular physician?”
“Dr. Speedman.” She sets her phone down and reaches in her large, crocheted bag, rifling her slight arm around.
“Oh,” I say, definitely surprised as she jerks her arm free from the abyss of her bag and produces a small white bottle that looks like ibuprofen and passes it to me. “Oh my God, you angel,” I thank her, reaching for it when she passes it over.
“Ha!” She scoffs, pushing her menu to the side and crossing her arms. “I doubt you thought that in the car ride over here.”
I wave a hand. “In all fairness, that lawn sculpture shouldn’t have been so close to the curb, and someone should really do something about that pothole.” The donuts in the very small parking lot of this charming diner may’ve been a tad unnecessary though.
When a waitress with a peach and black uniform comes to our table, Agnes takes the menu from my hands and orders for us both when I open my mouth to protest. “My usual, Denise. And my friend here will have the Bender Mender,” she tells her and Denise gives her a smart smile before walking away with the menus.
Agnes looks to me before her phone pings and she reaches for it.
“You’ll thank me later,” she insists, picking up and swiping again.
That reminds me, I should really power my phone on again.
It’s going to suck but I should really rip the bandaid off.
I reach in my bag to retrieve it as Agnes carries on with small talk, again not looking up from her phone.
“So, what brings you to town?”
“I’m guessing you know everyone here already and that I’m an outsider,” I deflect for just a moment as my phone starts to wake up. “Speaking of which, you must be a popular woman,” I say, nodding at the phone in her hands.
“No rest for the wicked.” It pings again and I feel my brows scrunch. She’s easily past the age of retirement.
“What do you do?”
“I run a speakeasy out of my basement,” she supplies, as if she’s simply reading from the weather app.
“You’re joking,” I tell her as my phone starts pinging and beeping, not to mention buzzing like a nympho’s vibrator doing overtime.
“Of course I’m joking.” She finally looks up and raises a painted-on eyebrow at my phone that’s having a nervous breakdown on the formica. “Now who’s the popular one?”
Uggh. I place my hands in my lap and watch my doom lighting up on the screen of my phone.
Dad: This is unacceptable.
Mom: Young lady, your father is on a rampage and it’s stressing us all out. Stop throwing your little attention-seeking tantrum and get back here.
Portia: Kira, seriously, where are you? Mom and Dad are holding me hostage in the penthouse and trying to get me to tell them where you are. Like I know? Get back here and get them off my back! If you’re a lesbian or something, I’m cool with it.
Toby: I’m on my way to brunch with Jeffrey, baby doll but then you better tell me where you are. I’ll come get you and you can stay with me.
My heart warms at that last one.
“So, what are you avoiding, Gucci Girl?” Agnes sets her phone aside again and folds her hands on the table.
“What? What makes you think I’m avoiding something?” I ask her as my phone keeps exploding in front of me.
“You’re from out of town, you clearly had a debaucherous night, you’re just now turning on your phone, and it’s about to make the nearest cell tower short out with it’s notifications.
Not to mention I found you shacked up with Westy-boy this morning.
” She rests her chin on a hand, clearly seeing that as the juicy part of the story she wants to settle in for.
I blow out a sigh, too mentally wiped to hold up a facade. Besides, no one here knows me. It might feel good to unload.
“I ran away from my wedding,” I spew out, just as Denise reappears at our table, hands full of plates. Because of course.
“Thank you Denise,” Agnes reaches for her rolled up silverware. “Now kindly buzz off or I’m cutting you out of Ocean’s 11 night.”
Denise scurries away and I’m beginning to think Agnes runs this town.
“Let me guess,” Agnes continues as I look down at my plate to see a what looks like a warm cheese danish, a smattering of crispy hashbrowns …
a shot glass full of orange juice… and a small tumbler of what looks and smells like that delightful beer I imbibed on last night.
I look back to Agnes with questions all over my face as she goes on, tucking into her own breakfast of scrambled eggs and bacon.
“You come from some hoity-toity family in the most uptown part of a big city. Only you’re the one family member who never quite fit in and you were trying to make momma and poppa proud by marrying some rich douche of their choosing. ”
Okay, Agnes is a witch.
“How the hell do you know all that?”
“Well you’re dressed the part of aristocrat’s daughter only you don’t act much like it.
You also don’t seem to be shedding any tears for whatever poor schmuck you stood up.
The only thing that’s not adding up is how you ended up here,” she circles her hands outward to indicate the diner and the town.
“My getaway car broke down.” I start poking at the danish.
“Wow,” she nods down at the piece of toast she’s slathering with strawberry preserves. “I have to tell ya, this is making me want to put on Smokey and the Bandit after my nap later.”
My phone starts chirping some more as I pop a forkful of danish in my mouth and am pleasantly surprised at the comforting taste and how easily it goes down, settling gently in my stomach. I look down at the infernal device to see another text from my dad.
Dad: Preston showed me your last message and you are in a world of hurt, young lady !
Oh shit. Blabbermouth Preston decided to show Daddy my Fuck You photo.
Portia: Just saw your photo… okay so you’re clearly not a lesbian but still. Just get back here and marry Preston so Mom and Dad will get off my back. You don’t have to have sex with him, he’ll have mistresses for that.
Barf.
Toby: O.M.G. gurrrrl! Jeffery just showed me page six has photos of you escaping the wedding!
Say what?
Mom: Your father is on the verge of a heart attack. Kira, enough! I’m going to have to call Dr.Wellington to make a housecall with the ketamine if you don’t call us back and explain yourself!
I keep shoveling bites of danish and hashbrowns into my mouth as I scroll and read because it seems to be helping.
Toby sends a few of my photos that made the local newspaper of me behind the wheel of the Rolls Royce, my veil blowing in the wind behind me.
Joy. I get more pissed off messages from Preston telling me he’s going to show my dad the photo I sent him - yeah, got that - and that his uncle is giving me to the end of the day to get his Rolls back to him.
Glad to finally clear up that mystery but that’s going to be a bit of a problem.
“This is seriously good,” I tell Agnes, pointing my fork down at my plate, and she winks. “I feel better already.”
“Once all that’s sitting at the bottom of your stomach go ahead and shoot that orange juice and hair of the coyote,” she waves her knife at my drinks.
That sounds horrible. But she hasn’t steered me wrong yet.
Just as I pick up the small glass of beer, another text comes through, and this one is the big kahuna.
Dad: There’s clearly only
Dad: There’s only one thing to do
Dad: . . .
Shit, looks like the drugs are on board.
Dad: Cleeerly, there’s only one thing to do with you here. Theres snow repairing the damage you’ve done. So we’re just going to cut it off.
Cut off the damage? What, like a gangrenous leg?
Dad: Cutting you off. You’re disowned. No more bad press and ducking up my bizness deals.
I’m cut off. Disowned. My family is no longer my family, my high - off - his - ass father is trying to tell me. But then again, he’s high off his ass.
I snort, nervously as I down some of the beer. Disown me… how do I feel about that? I mean, rejection never feels good from anyone, but are they really even my family in the first place? Maybe I’m too hungover to feel the sting.
Dad: And your cut off financially too. No more moolah for you.
No more moo-lah.
Ha! He’s so silly on tranquilizers.
Portia: Kira, Dad is going to cut you off! You can’t let him do it! If you’re no longer his daughter that means it really is only me from here out! I can’t take it! And seriously, he’s so lit right now, he’s calling his bank.
Oh shit, he’s really going for it? I choke on a piece of danish and down the shot of orange juice, trying to clear my throat .
“That’s the spirit,” Agnes cheers me with her coffee cup as I scramble to get up out of the booth. “Where’s the fire?”
“I need to find an ATM!” I spout out as I scurry towards the door, Agnes right on my heels.
“Denise! Put this on my tab!”
“You don’t have a tab!”
West
For fucks sake. It’s barely seven in the morning, but Agnes is an early riser and likes to get her kicks flirting with guys she finds attractive, no matter what their age.
There’s never anything wrong with her car.
I know because she’s been bringing it here almost weekly for the two years since I moved here and took over Shane Automotive from Kaleb Shane.
After righting the trashcan, I return to the main door, prop it open and continue through to the garage, hitting all the controls to raise the doors to the garage bays.
Shafts of daylight spread across each work area, and fresh air gently rolls in, dissipating the musty smell of grease and oil.
Today’s schedule is already pulled up on the office computer, as I was up in the wee hours, but I head over to the laptop in the corner of the main work area and fire it up.
I smell the donuts Jackson is carrying before I actually see him appear in the office doorway.
This man has come a long way from the wreck he was when I first met him two years ago.
Crazy that it was for a job interview, at the time.
The guy was struggling with three kids and trying to run this place on his own after Bill Shane, the original owner passed away, leaving it to his grandson, Kaleb who had to deploy at that time.
Never did I realize that in only a matter of months, this place would become home, like a puzzle piece snapping perfectly into place, and I’d be buying this place from Kaleb.
These days, Jackson has a healthy energy in his step and less luggage beneath his eyes.
“Mornin’” I tilt my chin up at him as he approaches, setting the white box labeled Maggie's Muffins and More down on the nearest work table. He flips it open to reveal the usual assortment, and I immediately reach for the old-fashioned sour cream donut and grab up my coffee mug to give it a dunk.
Every Monday, Jackson stops by Maggie’s, insisting we need to start the work week off on a good note. Crazy how the donuts haven’t gone to his skinny waist.
“How’d yesterday go? Any calls?” He reaches for the coconut covered cake donut. I don’t get a chance to answer, as his eyes bug out at the very second he crams it in his mouth. I follow his gaze over my shoulder to the antique Rolls Royce in the farthest bay.
I try to act casual while I quickly try to get my sleep-deprived brain to decide how much to tell him about yesterday.
“So yeah, there was one call.” I reluctantly turn to follow where he’s made a beeline to the expensive car.
“Broke down on the side of Route 31,” I explain.
“Hasn’t been maintained in a while, and the timing belt blew. ”
“What in the everliving fuck was someone doing, driving a Rolls Royce in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, especially when it hadn’t been maintained? What the fuck were they thinking?”
I don’t want to give out too many details, as I’m trying not to embarrass Kira.
“Well, it was only meant to be driven a short distance … for a special occasion,” I explain slowly, choosing my words carefully as I go. “Things didn’t go according to plan, and here we are.” I pop the rest of the donut in my mouth, hoping to buy myself some time to think of what to say next.
Jackson lets out an airy chuckle. “I have so many questions. Did they just ditch it and blow town on a helicopter? ”
“She’s with Agnes, getting breakfast,” I mumble around my last bite before pushing a frustrated hand through my hair. I really don’t want to say anymore until Kira gets back and can speak for herself.
“ She ?”
I busy myself with the coffee pot, pouring myself another cup I’ll probably regret later.
“ She ,” he repeats, and I do my damnedest not to make eye contact. “A woman had a Rolls Royce out on a joyride in the country, broke down, and she’s still here in town? Where did she stay the night? There’s no hotel. Did Agnes come sniffing around and offer her spare room?”
Fuck. It didn’t occur to me to think of Agnes’s large house with extra space last night. I tell myself that Kira had gotten, well, considerably comfortable with me and would do better sleeping at my place rather than another stranger’s . I won’t entertain the truth.
“So she’s made friends with Agnes already? I bet they’re out taking Coyote Creek by storm as we speak.” He shakes his head with a smirk, popping another piece of donut in his mouth.
Again, I don’t comment, and just take my place behind the desk, just as we hear a car pull up, quickly followed by the engine being cut.
“That’s your first appointment,” I inform him, as I glance at the schedule and cock an eyebrow at him with a smirk I hope distracts him from the mystery Rolls driver. “Get the fuck to work.”
The Rolls Royce mystery is temporarily forgotten as Jackson gets Mr.Sullivan’s pickup squared away in Bay One, and Razor shows up to take his first appointment. The Road Captain for the Coyotes of Chaos MC, Razor is also our motorcycle specialist.
The classic rock is blaring, and our workday has just gotten underway when Agnes’s Jeep comes roaring back up on the curb.