The Universe is a Very Big Place (10 page)

Spring said nothing. Her mouth fell open and she looked at her feet. How had she never noticed her feet were so big. Practically clown-sized.

Sam lifted her chin again, forcing her gaze. "I will make you happy, Spring. We will buy a house. A real house that you can call your own. No more renting. No more landlords. No more late notices. The boys will be taken care of. And so will your mother. Please say yes."

An inheritance? Buy a house? Married to Sam?
It was too much all at once. "I need to think, Sam. Give me a few days. Please?"

Sam sweetened the deal. "And you can quit your job. You can be a stay at home mom or whatever it is you want. No more Kimberly."

The temptation to answer yes was great. Her lips almost formed the word, but before she could make them speak she had a flash of Trevor, of the two of them together. It was a silly thought. She would never see him again. But still...

"Please, Sam. Give me a few days. I promise I will seriously think about it."

Sam’s face reddened and Spring couldn’t tell if he was angry or embarrassed. Maybe both. He narrowed his eyes and turned from her, storming into the bathroom. Spring heard the lock of the door behind him and the shower turn on. She sat on the bed waiting for him to come out, but he never did. At last she slumped over and sleep overcame her, taking her into a land with no dreams. When Sam finally emerged three hours later, he said nothing to her as he climbed into the bed. She pulled herself awake and crawled under the covers to join him.

"Sam?" She whispered in the dark, but he did not answer and she knew he was feigning sleep.

Spring pulled the pillow over her head.
Where the hell was Trevor?

Across the hall, Lanie drew a card from the Tarot deck. The Fool, a wandering child about to step over the precipice. Of course. Something was going on with Spring. Again. Every time The Fool came up, it meant another catastrophe for that girl. It had appeared when Spring discovered she was pregnant with the twins, when Trevor abandoned her, and when Sam had stepped into her life.

Lanie reached into her Crown Royal pouch and pulled out a palm full of vials. She squinted at each of the labels and wondered where she had put her reading glasses. More on intuition than certainty, she opened one that contained a crystalline, glitter-like substance and sprinkled the dust upon the card. “For protection,” she said, staring at the ceiling.
 

She knew the Universe could read her heart but she wanted to leave nothing to chance.

Spring was allowed to work off-site in order to develop
the marketing plan,
likely because Kimberly was still using her office as a place to store office supplies.
 

She looked for a parking space in the back lot of Paradise Pub. Though Kimberly had insisted she could work remotely, she hadn’t specified a location, and a bar was probably not what she had in mind. But Spring needed a drink. And badly.

At last she found a narrow space between two large trucks. She carefully wrenched her way in until she was uncomfortably sandwiched between the two. Seeing that there wasn’t enough room to open her door, she made one final reversal and her body went cold as she felt the crunch of her bumper against the metal of a vehicle behind her. She turned to look. Sure enough, her car had collided with a roving black truck. Spring bit her lip and carefully inched herself forward, hoping that the glaring indent in the driver’s side door had been imprinted there by some other bad driver long ago. But the man who emerged from the truck, flailing his arms, made it clear that this was a new injury.

"Oh God!" Spring said, jumping out of her vehicle. "Are you okay?"

The man paid her no attention as he surveyed the damage to his pickup. It was an older model but appeared well taken care of, except for the large rip cut into its side. Spring took a quick glance at her car and was relieved to see that it looked fine.

"What the hell did you do?" The man turned to accuse her. His hair was the color of wheat and he was wearing a blue flannel shirt that probably doubled as a jacket in colder months. He crossed his arms and awaited an explanation.

"I’m sorry." Spring wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say. She had been involved in several near-misses, but had never had an accident. "I didn’t see you."

"Didn’t see me? You didn’t see me? Oh, that’s a laugh. I’m driving a truck for Christ’s sake!" The man shook his head in disbelief, straw hair falling over his forehead. "I’ve had this truck since I learned to drive. It was my father’s. My
dead
father's. Is everyone in this city hell-bent on destroying it?" He kicked his tire with the heel of his foot to illustrate his frustration.

"What do we do?" Spring spread her hands.

The man looked at her purse. "Gimme your phone." He lunged forward but Spring held tight.

"What do you want it for?" Her heart was racing and she wondered if this were all a ploy to mug her.

"To call the police and report this. And we should call our insurance agencies. Hope there’s long distance on that. Mine is back in Indiana."

Spring flexed and unflexed her fingers.
Police? Insurance agency? Had she paid her insurance premium?
She wracked her brain, doing a mental scan of the bills that sat unopened on the table. She had only been able to pay half of them that month. Was the insurance bill among the lucky few?

"Do we have to get the police and our insurance companies involved? Can we work this out ourselves?" Spring shuffled from one foot to another, pleading with the man. He narrowed his eyes and leaned back against the dented side of his truck.

"I don’t know. I’m not sure how much this will cost." He turned his head to look at the damage and grunted through his nostrils. "This is just great," he said. "My first day in Phoenix and I get hit by a crazy lady with no insurance."

Spring tore open her purse and searched every pocket. A pair of old sunglasses, a green sock, and three Christmas photos of her Aunt Loraine’s dog fell to the ground. Finally, she found her Hello Kitty wallet. "I have forty-three dollars and twelve cents." She thrust the money at the man. "I’m good for the rest. I promise."

The man turned to regard her. His eyes ran from the top of her head to the bottom of her feet. It wasn’t a very promising appraisal. She was about to hand him the phone and begin her new life as a convict when he grabbed the money.

"I guess we could work something out." He shoved the money into his front pocket, leaned through the window of his truck, and produced a pen and paper. He scribbled the name 'John' on it and a number and handed it to Spring. "Call me."

"Wait a second!" Spring slapped his hand away. "Just because I hit your precious little truck doesn’t mean I’m going to have sex with you."

John laughed. "I’m not letting you off that easy, lady. Trust me. This truck is worth more to me than a few hours with any woman, let alone a lunatic. I could get that back home far cheaper."

Spring felt her face redden. "Well, then…I’m not going to date you either. I don’t date jerks."

The left corner of John’s mouth turned up in what Spring guessed was a smile. "You watch a lot of movies, don’t you? Again...not worth the trouble. Call me and we can set up a payment plan after I get an estimate."

Spring nodded, torn between gratitude and indignation as she took the slip of paper. "Thank you. Sorry about the jerk comment. You really are nice." She reached to hug him but he put his arm out in a halting motion.

"I’m not that nice. I’m just tired. It’s been a long day. Think I’m going to have my beer at home instead." With a final shake of the head, he entered his truck and drove away. Spring hoped the scraping sound she heard as he pulled out was a preexisting condition. She took the sheet of paper, folded it twice, and placed it in the pocket of her wallet where there had once been money. She grabbed her things and trudged inside. Near the rear of the bar she spotted a small round table and seated herself. "Hi, honey I’m home."

She took a deep breath and surveyed the place where she had spent so many hours––the place she had not been back to since Trevor disappeared. But it seemed so necessary lately, to reclaim her past, to return to the scene of the crime, to figure out what had went wrong. She stirred uncomfortably on her stool, scratching at an imaginary itch.

Maybe this was a mistake. She tried to ignore them, the ghosts that lingered here, but the flashing Budweiser sign above the bar, the smell of ash and beer, the old juke box by the bathroom that played their song,
Bad Moon Rising
(red flag!), were all reminders of her past life.
Why did I come here, anyway?
she wondered, chewing on the ends of her hair. Phoenix boasted many bars, most far nicer than this one. But something had pulled her back this day, some quiet insistence of the Universe that turned the steering wheel into the parking lot and tapped out the words to Debbie and Sarah as she texted them on her cell phone.

"Having anything, hon?"
 

The waitress, perhaps a decade older than Spring, had the look of a woman who had lived a lot of years in a short amount of time. With her hair bleached to a crisp white, her lips varnished to an apple red, and blue eyeshadow that extended from lash line to brow, she reminded Spring of Old Glory, now more old than glorious. Spring immediately wanted to know her story. Had she had dreams once, too? Maybe she would have been a singer. A writer. A counselor. Or maybe some guy with a big smile and empty promises had ripped her heart out and she had stumbled into this bar and found absolution in serving drinks to strangers.

"Well?" the waitress inquired, flicking the head of her pen to a pad to indicate that she was in a hurry.

"I really shouldn’t. I’m on the clock. Well, not really on the clock. We don’t punch in, actually. It’s more an honor system thing, which I owe a huge karmic debt to already. But I am technically working right now and I’m not sure what our policy is on drinking during work hours." The waitress shrugged and turned to go. "Wait. Piña Colada. With whipped cream. And pineapple." The waitress nodded without writing it down, and turned to leave. "Oh, and a cherry. Two. Please. Cherries, not Piña Coladas. That would be pushing it and probably
would
be against employee regulations."

When the waitress left, Spring realized what a stupid idea this had been. Whatever force was at work with her subconscious was not a very helpful one. Did it really think this would cure some old wound and release her from Trevor's psychological hold? That everything would finally come full circle and all the rest of the stuff Lanie preached about when there wasn’t anything good on TV? Maybe it wasn’t too late. She could pack up her stuff and run. Quit work. Leave Sam. Start a new life somewhere.

Where?

Someplace exciting. Istanbul. She could be a belly dancer. Did Istanbul still exist? Or was that Constantinople? Was she too blonde to be accepted into the belly dancing culture? Too old to learn? What about the boys? They’d probably be bad for business.