Sweet Contradiction (2 page)

whipped my beat up ‘56 Ford pickup into a parking spot in front the first convenience store I’d seen in over fifty miles. I knew I was somewhere in south New Mexico, but I couldn’t have told you the name of the town, they were all starting to run together after over eighteen hours on the road. The Dixie Chicks were blaring “Wide Open Spaces” from my radio just before I cut the engine and secured my windblown hair up into a knot on my head with a ponytail holder. I was glad to get out and stretch my legs.
I sure could use a hot shower and some shut-eye
, I thought, wistfully. I was already heading towards the front door of the little store, when I decided at the last second to grab my cell phone out of my glove box. I wasn’t even sure when I’d last turned it on. I’d gotten into the habit of only turning it on once a week to check messages. I didn’t usually get many calls, and that’s exactly how I preferred it.

I flipped open my cell and powered it on as I stepped into a wave of amazingly, ice cold AC. For a second I closed my eyes and relished the cool air … my pick up was my baby, but it didn’t have a working AC, something I only missed in the dead of summer. A dark-skinned, older woman behind the counter smiled warmly at me as I started up the junk food isle. I nodded at her as I begun hunting for some goodies. I grabbed a pack of cinnamon gum, a box of nutter butters, a few moon pies, and a glass bottle of cold soda pop before making my way back to the front of the store. The first message on my voice mail began playing.

“Elizabeth, I don’t know why you have a cell phone if you only turn it on once a week, and not even on the Lord’s Day. You are living like a heathen and your father and I raised you better than ….” I deleted the message with a roll of my eyes. No matter how old I was and how many times we’d had this conversation, my mother would never get it. Never.

I cradled my cell phone between my shoulder and my ear as I placed all my goodies on the counter for the older lady working the cash register with a name tag that read “Bea” to ring up for me. I listened to a few different calls from people I’d met here and there over the last few months of traveling. I smiled, hearing a particularly good looking guy I met in Austin beg to come back and make an honest man out of him. I knew he was full of it, but I was glad people missed me when I left and would remember me fondly. The next call knocked the grin right off of my face.

“Beth? Please call me. I need you right now.” A lump formed in my throat. My best friend, Jen’s, voice was quiet, but I could hear the unmistakable sound of tears and anguish in her words. Something was wrong. A knot twisted in my stomach at the thought.

“That will be $6.45.”

I reached into my pocket with a shaking hand and pulled out a ten dollar bill as the next message began playing. I scooped up my things, without waiting for any change, and made a beeline for my truck.

With my goodies forgotten on the seat beside me, I listened to several more messages from my childhood best friend in growing horror. Her mom had died in her sleep after a long battle with cancer that she’d been fighting since we were teens. I swallowed back the tears forming in my throat and took a deep breath. Her mom had died and here I was on another joy ride, headed to California. Even worse—the messages were a few days old. I put my truck into reverse and took off back in the direction I’d come from as I punched Jen’s number into my phone. California could wait. I was headed to my hole-in-the-road hometown that I had hoped to never see again … Salem, Missouri.

hen I pulled into the Piggly Wiggly right outside of town, a moment of pure, gut-wrenching panic seized me, and I wished with all my might I could high-tail it right back in the direction I’d just blown in from. The only thing that kept me from doing exactly that was knowing my best friend was only a few minutes up the road and probably just come from her momma’s grave side. As soon as I’d heard Jen’s messages, I’d driven over thirteen straight hours to try and make it in time for the funeral. Unfortunately, between traffic jams and a flat tire, I was just pulling into town three hours too late. Just in time to
hopefully
miss the post-funeral visitation at her house. I didn’t even have time to get ready. So, here I was stopping at a local store to grab some flowers and change in the bathroom before heading back to the home I had wished had been my own since I was a little girl.

I took a deep breath and grabbed my huge, ugly, army green backpack and headed into the Piggly Wiggly. Inside the bathroom I slipped out of my blue jeans and white tee shirt and pulled on a capped sleeved black lace dress that came to my knees, pulled on a white cardigan, slapped on some lip gloss and light perfume, and pulled my messy hair up into a bun on the back of my head. I glanced down at my black cowboy boots and shrugged, it was the best I could do under the circumstances. The only other shoes I had with me were a beat up pair of brown leather cowboy boots.

I shoved all my crap into my backpack and went in search of some flowers. I was sorely disappointed in the Piggly Wiggly floral department. I snorted.
Department
was a little generous to describe anything in the Piggly Wiggly. The store had literally a little of anything you could think of, but not too much of any
one
thing in particular. I wasn’t sure how it was still open after all these years. I glanced back down at the “floral department” with its one black bucket filled with water and exactly three bouquets of flowers and sighed. I guess the generic mixed bouquet for five bucks would have to do.

I was juggling the flowers with my keys dangling from my mouth and digging through my massive backpack to find my wallet when I heard a whistle come from behind me. Startled, I spun around, dropping my keys and backpack in the process.

“Beth Michaels? Is that you?” I cringed at the sound of my name on the lips of the very last guy I wanted to run into in the entire world. I plastered a smile on my face and met the gaze of one of the sexiest farm boys I’d ever met. He was also one of the most egotistical jackasses I had ever met as well. His eyes traveled up and down my body, lingering on all of my assets. I narrowed my eyes at him. “I’d recognize those legs just about anywhere. Where you been all these years, sweet heart?” He grinned a lopsided grin that had worked on many unsuspecting young virgins throughout high school. Probably still did. He’d tried to use his sweet southern twang on me back when I was only sixteen. Luckily, I was smart enough, even back then, not to let him get what he was after. And then, when I’d denied him he’d made my life a living hell, telling everyone in school I was a whore who’d begged him to “take me” in the boys’ locker room.