Chapter 5
Apparently, an elbow made for a pretty serious weapon. My mouth stood no chance. Pain shot from my face all the way down to my toes.
“Junie!” Gilbert stood over me, offering a hand.
Ears ringing, it took a moment to get my bearings. Finally, I accepted his hand and he slowly helped me to my feet.
“I’m so sorry, miss!” The scrawny man’s entire body shook. From withdrawals or the fight, I’m not sure.
Disoriented, I dabbed my wet lip, wincing from the sting. I pulled my hand back and found my fingertips painted red. Without acknowledging the now-sobbing assailant and the uproar of the room, I turned on my heels and beat a path out of there.
Gilbert caught up with me and shoved a handful of paper towels into my hand. “Here, let me see.” He tilted my chin and inspected my mouth. “It’s split pretty good, but I think you’ll live.”
“Gee, that’s wonderful,” I said with a slight lisp. Pressing the towels to my lip, I got into the car and waited until Gilbert settled in the driver’s seat to launch my complaint. “If this is what AA meetings entail, it’s gonna drive me back to drinking.”
“That wasn’t normal for a meeting. Sure, talks can get heated, but I’ve never seen it escalate to that point.
” Gilbert put the car into gear and left the awful place behind.
Several minutes down Highway 17, he turned on his blinker and veered into the Sonic parking lot. “Let’s get you a slushie. My treat.”
I huffed a laugh, being mindful to not stretch my lips. “Like a child being rewarded after a doctor’s visit?”
He pulled up to one of the menu boards and put the car in park. “More like it’ll help numb your lip.”
“Oh.” I leaned forward and read over the endless options, but nothing sounded like it would pair too well with a mouth full of blood. “Just a cup of ice.”
Gilbert frowned. “That’s it? Last time I offered to buy, you ordered one of everything on the menu.”
“Because I hadn’t had Taco Bell in like four months when you offered. Duh.” I shrugged. It made perfect sense to me.
Gilbert kept frowning, his thumb tapping the top of the steering wheel. “Have you eaten anything today?”
I moved the paper towels away and pointed at my mangled mouth. “I don’t have much of an appetite.”
“That didn’t answer my question.” His expectant gaze waited for my reply that I stubbornly held back.
Sighing, he shook his head. “You have blood all over your chin. Use one of those napkins to clean up some so you don’t scare the server.
” He reached over and pushed the button, ordering the cup of ice I requested along with an iced coffee for himself.
“Iced coffee? I figured you for hot black coffee.”
Gilbert scoffed. “Just because iced coffee is on trend doesn’t mean it’s a new invention. I’ve been making iced coffees since way back to my military days. My cup would get cold before I could drink it most of the time, so I started putting ice in it and found it was more refreshing that way.”
“Good for you,” I muttered.
The server showed up with our two cups, barely glancing my way, thank goodness.
On the drive home, I kept adding nuggets of ice behind my bottom lip, like the coldest tobacco dip ever, while Gilbert rambled on and on about other so-called trends and how they had also been around since the dinosaurs.
“Those high-water pants were a sign of poverty back in my day. It showed folks you couldn’t afford new pants when you got to growin’. But you people wear them now to show off that you got more money than sense.”
I leaned my head against the window and let him rant, not pointing out the fact that I preferred flared jeans that dragged the ground or flowy maxi skirts.
“And why is it these new generations act like big ole headphones are something new? They were invented before even I was born.”
My eyes slid shut and an image of a blond-haired, brown-eyed teenage boy wearing a pair of red headphones materialized.
Arlo always preferred them instead of earbuds.
The first time I saw him, he was sitting in art class my sophomore year wearing that red pair while working on a charcoal drawing.
As silly as it sounded, it was love at first sight.
Our infatuation with each other caught like a firecracker and followed the path of one as well—bright and all-consuming before burning out.
“You asleep over there?”
Opening my eyes, I lifted my head and realized we’d arrived home. I reached for the door handle but hesitated when I noticed the neighbor checking his mail.
Gilbert leaned forward and peered around me. “Who’s that?”
“My neighbor.”
“Hmm . . . The meeting didn’t work out, but you still need to make some friends.”
“Don’t even think about it,” I hissed.
Still staring, Gilbert mumbled, “How do you know what I’m thinking about?”
“I see it in your beady eyes.”
Gilbert narrowed said beady eyes, still focused on the guy. “Here’s your homework assignment, invite your neighbor over for coffee.”
I scoffed. “You can’t make me do that.”
Gilbert opened his door. “I just did.”
We exited the car and I made sure to keep my face turned away from Henry.
“That’s so not fair!” My fists balled, wanting nothing more than to punch this crazy man.
“Remember, sweetheart, we are in good ole boy country. I shouldn’t even be your probation officer yet here I am. So, don’t make me put in my report that you’re being uncooperative.”
“You can’t be serious, Gill. I have other relationships to fix before I even think about a relationship with a man. I’m not sure I’ll ever want something like that again.” I discreetly motioned toward Henry. “Plus he looks a good bit older than me.”
“I’m talking friendship, not proposing marriage.” Gilbert crossed my yard and into the neighbor’s. “Excuse me, young man, do you mind telling me how old you are?”
I all but ran inside the house. “This cannot be my life!” I dumped the cup of melted ice into the kitchen sink and went into the guest bathroom to check my face.
“Ugh!” Leaning closer to the mirror, I angled my face one way and then the other, the overhead light catching on the nasty split at the corner of my bottom lip.
A bruise darkened my swollen chin, but at least the bleeding had finally stopped.
I grabbed a washcloth from under the sink and cleaned it up as best as I could.
“He’s only thirty-four!” Gilbert hollered, slamming the front door. “Not old at all.”
“Not old? That’s close to a decade older than me.” I shared an eye roll with my disfigured reflection.
“Doesn’t matter with friendship. I’m near ’bout a century older than you and we’re friends.”
I left the bathroom and met Gilbert in the living room. “Are we, though?”
“Of course.” Gilbert declaring that so easily and without pause made my chest tighten. This old man was my only friend.
He snapped his fingers. “Oh, and his name is Henry Morrison. That’s a good name!”
“Much better than Gilbert, for sure.” I decided not to tell Mr. Busy Britches I already knew Henry’s name.
Ignoring my sass, Gilbert continued, “Henry is a fan of coffee. He likes flavored creamers. Caramel is his favorite.” He nodded encouragingly, seeming so proud of himself.
“Well, good for him, but I don’t drink coffee, remember?” I took a seat across from Gilbert as he sat on the coral chenille sofa.
“Henry likes it, so make it for him. It’s called being considerate of others.” He zeroed in on my lip. “How ya feelin’?”
“Like someone tried to remove my bottom lip with his elbow.” I licked across the wound and cringed. “Elbows should be outlawed.”
“You got some Tylenol or ibuprofen?”
“Yeah, but a Percocet or three sure would hit the spot right about now.”
Gilbert grunted. “Get some better jokes, kid.” He scanned the room, his gaze landing on my boxes and bags scattered about. “You need to unpack and then work on a game plan.”
“A game plan for what?”
He waved a hand, gesturing at nothing in particular. “To get your life back in order.”
Feeling the threat of tears, I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead.
“Look, I know you’re in a bad place, losing your husband, then your grandmother . . .” Each word he spoke ripped into me more severely than my split lip. “And then losing custody of Fernie—”
“Just stop!” Hand held up, I took a painful breath. My pulse pounded through my head and against my swollen lip. “I’d rather not talk about that.” I rose to my feet and headed to the kitchen. I rummaged in the pantry, finding a plastic bag and filling it with ice cubes from the freezer.
Gilbert joined me in the kitchen with a huff and a puff, as if he was the disgruntled one. Maybe he was, considering the poor guy had to put up with the likes of me. “Fine, then let’s talk about your plans for income.”
I pressed the ice pack to my mouth, the cold sting soon eased into numbness. A numbness I sure wished would envelop my entire body.
“Junie, you need to work.”
Glaring, I lowered the ice pack. “I know this, Gilly.”
“Okay, so do you have anything in mind?”
“Yeah. I want to start an online boutique, customizing hats.”
His brow furrowed. “Customizing hats?”
“Mostly cowboy hats. I’ll use all sorts of material to customize them, like ribbon, lace, feathers.
Maybe paint or stain them. The creative possibilities are endless.
It’s really on trend right now.” I loved to draw and do watercolors but knew, realistically, I didn’t have much of a chance making a living with canvas art.
At least the hats would keep me in the creative world.
Gilbert propped his elbows on the counter. “How do you get that up and going?”
I returned the ice pack to my lips and gave it some thought before lowering it again.
“I’ll need money for supplies, so I’m gonna sell my car.
It’s fairly new and should be worth a good bit.
” I owed Cy a pretty penny, so paying him back would be my first priority.
Hopefully, there would be enough left for the hats.
“If you sell your car, how do you plan on getting around to sell these custom hats of yours?”
“I still have my grandmother’s vehicle. It’s in the garage.”
“Okay. Add getting a phone to your list. I need to be able to reach you.”
“My brother got me one already.” I plucked Cy’s note off the counter and handed it to Gilbert. “Here’s the number.”
Gilbert took a moment to program my contact info into his phone. “I guess that’s a good start. You work on the hat business and I’ll work on finding another meeting.” He hitched a thumb toward the living room. “You need help moving your stuff?”
“No thanks. I got it.”
Gilbert left soon after without me having to shove him out the door. Grateful for that, I decided to listen to him for a change and put away my meager belongings.
Belongings that didn’t really belong anywhere . . . Or maybe that was just me who didn’t belong.
I moved everything upstairs into my room and started sorting through the box I’d opened the other night.
The contents were mostly art and stationary supplies.
I found the pack of paint pens and plucked the white one out.
Shaking it, I crossed to the dresser and studied Fern’s sweet face and then the article about my arrest while working the cap off.
It was time to work on that game plan. One I could see every day.
Above Fern’s picture, I wrote: Operation Get Fern Back! Below the picture, I began writing the plan of action.
Sell car
Get a job
Work on hat and jewelry business
Prepare house for Fern
Set up Fern’s room
Make amends with Cy
I capped the pen and reread the list several times. It was only six items, didn’t seem all that complicated, but isn’t that how things go? The whole looks-can-be-deceiving thing?