2. Adhesion Thrust
TWO
ADHESION THRUST
Trish
“Son of a biscuit!” I jump up and down, holding my bare foot that I just whacked into the cabinet. I rub it until the pain turns into a dull throb and I can place it gingerly back on the floor.
Each limping step toward the couch is accompanied by a muttered “crap.” Thankfully, it only takes a few hobbles to get there, since I’m in my trailer.
I need to calm down. If I freak out, I’ll start making mistakes.
But isn’t that a laugh. The past three months have been nothing but mistakes. I got too comfortable. Dropped my guard when I should’ve stayed vigilant. Made friends I don’t want to give up.
And now someone’s found me.
I don’t know what I would’ve done if it hadn’t been for Jules, who was staying in my trailer the night the private investigator came a-calling.
She managed to scare the man off, but I’m not stupid enough to think that he won’t be back.
Just because he didn’t see my face doesn’t mean he didn’t see my pickup.
Another mistake. I was too sentimental. I should’ve traded in the truck as soon as I left Georgia.
The vintage model is too easily spotted.
I already alerted the park office that I’m breaking my lease. It sucks that I have to pay it through to the end when I’m not even here, but I have the money. I’m lucky that my one-time side hustle has evolved into a full-time job with a great paycheck.
I should probably leave the state. My uninjured foot bounces up and down like a rabbit, my nervous energy needing some sort of release.
Maybe I should just try camping out for a while in a state park? No leases to sign, less of a paper trail. I’ll take a break from bar work.
I don’t need the money that comes from waitressing and bartending, but it’s perfect for people watching. It gives me ideas.
Remembering the night I met Jackie at Big Texas Saloon, I smile.
I spent a good ten minutes making up a story about the girl with the glasses and science T-shirt.
I don’t remember much of what I had imagined except that it was slightly beyond the scope of suspended belief.
Even so, within a few minutes of taking her order and saying hi, Jackie blew apart my fiction with her truth of being a NASA engineer and her lovely little genius asides about static matter and binary code.
Truth is stranger than fiction, as they say.
Then I met Rose. Then Jules.
Still smiling, my vision blurs with tears.
I never had good friends, even growing up. Especially not smart, confident women who have each other’s back time and time again. Friendships like those should be sacred.
And yet I have to give ’em up.
I take a deep breath, easing the burning behind my eyes, and catch sight of a four by six piece of card stock pinned to the bulletin board on the far wall of the trailer. A wedding invitation.
Sugar . Jackie’s wedding.
It would be a mistake to go. A stupid mistake. If the private eye found me here, he might ask around the bar about me. Find out who I’ve been hanging out with. It isn’t hard to dig up information on the famous Dr. Jackie Darling Lee and her Texas oil magnate fiancé.
But I can’t. I just can’t miss the wedding.
My leg starts vibrating again as I think.
Maybe I’ll camp out at Somerville State Park. It’ll be a hassle, but it’s close enough that I could drive my pickup back here for the dress fittings and rehearsal dinner. I could leave straight after the wedding.
Or I could?—
Knock. Knock.
My eyes fly to the door, and in the next second I’m holding tight to my trusty shotgun.
Ian
“Who is it?” Trish’s southern drawl sounds out from behind the metal door of her trailer, followed by the distinct sound of a shotgun cocking.
My heart races as I size up the home on wheels. “Ian.” I back up, not knowing if that will lessen my chance of getting shot or increase it.
“Ian?” Before I can answer her, the window curtains to the left of the door flutter open, and Trish’s pixie-like face appears behind the small pane of glass.
I wave awkwardly. Everything about me right now feels awkward. It is not a feeling I’m used to. Or like.
The look of surprise on her delicate features quickly morphs into a frown. The curtains swing back in place, and then a myriad of locks start turning.
Jules was right: Trish is afraid for some reason.
I hadn’t really bought into my friend’s adamant lecture on how Trish needs me to stick to her like glitter on a stripper (her words, not mine), but now it’s obvious something is going on.
I get that a woman living alone needs to be vigilant, but Trish’s trailer park is in one of the better parts of town with a low crime rate.
This isn’t some run-down stereotypical trailer park you might see on some TV sitcom.
The wide lots in the surrounding area are home to half-million-dollar mobile homes and well-to-do retirees on a pit stop from their life on the road.
Honestly, I’m surprised that a waitress could afford the rent here.
Trish’s Airstream, while being well kept and cool looking, is the smallest, cheapest home here.
There doesn’t seem to be any cause for armed greetings.
The door swings open with such force I jump back, letting it bang against the side. “What are you doing here?” Her eyes aren’t focused on me, but instead move left and right over my head as she scopes out the area.
I look behind me, searching for whatever it is that has Trish spooked. “Jules sent me.”
That inspires a long, heavy sigh. “I told that meddler I was fine.” Contradicting her words, her eyes still flit back and forth along the road. “No need to worry.”
“Is that why you’re scanning the horizon with a loaded shotgun in your hand?”
She looks down, as if startled at the gun she’s holding. “Oh. This.” She unlocks it with ease, a graceful movement that only someone used to handling large guns can do. “A girl living alone can’t be too careful. That’s all.”
“Uh huh.”
Expertly manicured fingers pluck out the shells before re-locking the gun shaft and leaning it against the kitchen counter. The same counter I sat her on a few weeks ago as we devoured each other’s mouths.
I swallow hard. “I’m here to pick up Jules’ bag she left when she crashed here.”
Pursing her lips, she nods. “Fine.” Another sigh. “I was going to do that myself, but since you’re already here…” She hesitates, as if fighting herself on what to say. “Would you like something to drink? Iced tea? Lemonade?”
“Iced tea works.” I’m not particularly thirsty, but if the woman who’s blocked my phone number and ignored all my attempts to explain my actions the last time we were together wants to go Martha Stewart on me, I’m not going to say no.
Her nostrils flare, and I can tell she was hoping I’d decline.
God bless southern hospitality.
“Come on in, then.” She turns, and in one step has the refrigerator open.
Shit. And therein lies the problem.
Taking a deep breath, I step halfway onto the threshold she just vacated, leaving the door open.
With quick, efficient movements, Trish fills a tall glass with ice and pours the tea. She holds it out to me, frowning. “Close the door, sugar. You’re letting out all my cool air.”
I grab the glass but remain in my halfway-in-halfway-out position. “Yeah, about that.”
Her frown turns mutinous. “Are you telling me you can’t even debase yourself long enough to have a glass of iced tea? You’re that far above me and my trailer?”
Debase? “No. It’s not that. I?—”
“Horsefeathers.” She yanks the glass out of my hand s , some of the tea sloshing over. “Just leave. I’ll get Jules’ stuff back to her myself.”
I wipe my hand on my jeans. “Trish, would you just let me?—”
“Trish, dear! Trish!”
We both turn to see an older woman power-walking toward the trailer. Trish’s hand flicks toward the shotgun for a moment before she seems to recognize the woman.
“Myra.” She lets out a breath and smiles. “How are things?”
“Great, girl. Just great.” The woman, looking to be in her sixties and dressed in a pink and light blue tracksuit with matching braided headband, marches in place once she reaches the trailer.
“You’ll be glad to know I found a renter to take over your lease, so you won’t have to be charged when you leave this week.
” She smiles, her lipstick the same shade of vibrant pink as her outfit. “Isn’t that wonderful, dear?”
Trish’s eyes cut to mine before shifting away. “Uh, yeah, it is. Thanks, Myra.”
“Of course, dear, of course.” She begins marching backward toward the road.
“Us single gals have to look out for each other now, don’t we?
” Spinning on her thick-soled white sneakers, Myra power-walks away.
“But don’t you leave without saying good-bye now!
” she throws over her shoulder. “Toodles!” And off she goes, the fingers of one hand wiggling farewell in the air.
I watch the powerful oscillation of Myra’s parachute pants sway like a fast-paced metronome. I have to blink to look away. Trish’s eyes are still on Myra’s hypnotizing backside.
“You’re leaving?” My voice is rougher than I planned.
Blinking, Trish frowns once more before backing farther into her trailer. “None of your business.” She makes a shooing motion with her hands. “Now get.”
Yeah. I don’t think so.
I reach over the threshold and with one arm, I lift her off her feet and carry her down the steps, waiting for the trailer door to slam shut before setting her feet on the grass.
In bare feet, the top of her head just reaches my collar bone.
I’ve never seen Trish without heels on. Her face is clean of makeup too, all her normal armor gone.
Fresh-faced and ethereal, she looks so young, and as her eyes flit across the yard again, I can see for the first time, she’s not just on edge, she’s scared.
“What’s going on, Trish?” She still won’t meet my eyes. Grabbing her shoulders, I turn her until she has no choice but to either be face to face with my chest or tilt her head back to meet my eyes.
She chooses chest. “Nothing.”
“Really?” Heaven help me from stubborn women. Lately I seem surrounded by them. “So that’s why Jules insisted that I not let you be alone? Why you answered the door with a loaded gun? Or why you keep checking the area looking for something bad you seem sure will come?”
She shrugs, her small shoulders lifting the weight of my large hands.
“Fine. Don’t tell me. We’ll just see what Jackie thinks of you running out two weeks before her wedding.”
That snaps her head back. “Don’t you dare tell Jackie.” Her fingernails curl into her palms, and her whole body goes rigid. “I mean it, Ian. Not a word.”
“You serious? You think it’s better for Jackie to get ready to walk down the aisle only to be met with disappointment when her friend doesn’t show up?”
“I didn’t say I was skipping the wedding.” Her eyes fall to the side, and she bites her lip. “I just need to move the trailer. That’s all.”
I’m pretty sure she’s lying. I grew up in politics; I can spot a liar a mile away. But I also know when to press for information and when to tactfully retreat.
“I see.” I drop my hands. “And just where are you staying until then?”
“Never you mind.” She crosses her arms. Her pout could rival that of the most precocious toddler. “I’ll find a place.”
She must’ve made the decision to move in a hurry if she doesn’t have a plan in place. “You do realize, if you don’t want any of your friends to know, you can’t stay with them. They’ll want to know why you brought your trailer.”
Nostrils flaring, she bites her lip again. She’s so cute.
“I guess you could park your trailer at my place…” I taunt.
“Really?” Dropping her arms to the side, her wide brown eyes seek mine. “Could I?”
“Sure.” My mind starts whirling, weighing different scenarios, comparing the outcomes.
In our group of friends, Jules has always been known to blackmail others to get her way.
But what everyone has failed to realize is that I, too, possess that skill.
Where I grew up, we just called it negotiation. As all good politicians do.
Trish’s hopeful eyes are nearly my undoing, but I remind myself that I’m committed to the long game. If she’s trying to pull up stakes, it’s time to play dirty.
“Of course you can park your trailer at my place.” I put on the smile usually reserved for family press functions and the rare public appearance I make on behalf of my father.
Trish blinks.
Works every time. “On one condition.”