Underestimated (6 page)

“How do you get the things here?” I asked.

“They ship it to me after the show.”

“There isn’t a website to just order the things?”

Starlight shrugged her shoulders as she continued

to unpack the little knickknacks. “Maybe, but the trade

show is too much fun for that,” she smiled at me.

Starlight showed me where to find the petty cash,

once she remembered where it was herself. She explained

that I could use anything from the storeroom that I wanted

and to replenish the shelves with whatever I wanted. I was

looking forward to getting my hands on the rat race.

Lauren and I ate the meatloaf special for supper at

Millie’s, and it reminded of my Grandma Joyce’s. We got

the warm apple pie for dessert and then I let her talk me

into going to the town bar. I had never been to a bar in my

life. I’d been to elaborate restaurants and fancy clubs, but

never to a bar. I didn’t want to go to a bar. I just wanted to

go home to my little house, sit on my deck and gaze at the

beautiful sky overlooking the ocean.

“Come on, please,” she begged.

I acquiesced, against my will. Why not? I had done

things against my will my entire life, at least Lauren had

my best interest at heart, sort of.

It was just a small bar with an old wooden floor,

but the place was hopping, and packed to the gill. There

was a band playing toward the right with an area cleared

for dancing. A nice looking guy waved us over and we sat

at the table with him right in front of the guy singing

something about a long black train.

“This is Joel, Riley,” Lauren introduced the guy

and then he kissed her.

I wondered if this was the same guy that had spent

the night with her the weekend before. Another guy joined

us, and she introduced him as Levi. It was nice to put a

face with the voice. We were both brought beers. I took

my wallet from my purse and Levi put his hand over mine.

“You are offending me, put that away,” he

demanded.

I jerked my hand away, not realizing that I did it

with so much conviction.

“Whoa,” he stated, putting both hands in the air.

“Sorry,” I said and noticed the puzzled look on

Lauren’s face over my reaction. “Thank you,” I said and

turned my attention to the singer on stage.

Can someone say…Idiot?

I kept my attention on the stage, not knowing how

to act around people. I felt like such an outsider, and

didn’t know what I should or shouldn’t say. The two men

and Lauren did all of the talking, and although they did try

to include me, it was awkward for me. I was never

allowed to speak when I went out with Drew. He was

afraid that I would embarrass him or myself, so I played

the pretty obedient wife and stood to his side. I noticeably

shook my head, trying to rid the thoughts of my memories

of being in the presence of Drew.

Lauren stood and made me follow her to the

bathroom. There was only one stall in the bathroom, and

we waited outside the door for it to be unoccupied.

“What is your deal, girlfriend?” Lauren asked.

I feigned ignorance. “What do you mean?”

“Haven’t you seen Levi staring at you? He likes

you, and you haven’t even noticed. You’re off in some

other time.”

I groaned. I didn’t want Levi to look at me. I didn’t

want Levi to like me. I didn’t want Levi to do anything. I

wasn’t interested in Levi. “I just don’t think I like being

here very much, Lauren. I have never been to a bar.”

“You’re joking,” she implied as the door opened

and she pulled me in with her.

Lauren dropped her pants and immodestly used the

toilet, holding herself up from sitting on the seat.

“I think I am going to take off. I have to open the

shop in the morning for the first time by myself.”

“Ry, it’s only nine o’clock. You’re just going to go

home and sit by yourself.”

“I’m okay with that,” I assured her, trying not to

look at her squatted on the toilet. I was okay with that. I

was used to spending my time alone.

“You can’t tell me that you don’t think Levi is

cute.”

“Lauren, please don’t try and fix me up with

anyone. I don’t want anyone, okay?” I pleaded.

“Okay. If you really want to go, I will get a ride

with Joel.”

“So, are you going to tell me about Joel? Was he

your company last weekend?” I asked, not wanting to talk

about me and my hang-ups with men at the time.

“I guess we are monogamous. He works on the oil

rigs all week and is only home on the weekends, best kind

of man to have,” she added, teasing.

I didn’t go back to the table with Lauren. She was

giving me an easy out, and I was taking it. She gave me her

keys, and I drove her jalopy of a car back to her house. I

thought my ninety three Honda was bad, that thing was

running on one cylinder.

I didn’t leave the porch light on, not knowing that I

was going to be out past dark. I walked across the road to

my house after parking Lauren’s car, and my heart begun to

beat in rapid thumps
again
. I hated being frightened all the

time. There is nothing in there, Morgan, I said out loud and

then shook my head at calling myself Morgan. I unlocked

the door and pushed it, standing on the porch, peering in. I

reached my arm around to the side and flipped on the light

without entering. I shook my head again at how silly I was

being.

I lay in my comfortable bed and stared up at the

ceiling. Would I ever be normal again, wait, have I even

ever been normal? What exactly defines normal? My mind

drifted to my childhood, and that too, I was sure was as

anomalous as imaginable. My Grandma Joyce was

probably the most usual person from that time of my life.

There were a few things that she had told me that were

probably not the healthiest things to be telling a little girl.

I remembered sitting on the front porch of her one

room cabin and listening to the stories of her childhood

and living through the hard times on the mountain. She had

always told me that no matter how bad I thought that I had

it, somebody else always had it worse. I am not sure that

was possible, but then again, I’m sure it is. I could have

been born a lot worse off than I was, I suppose.

I thought about little Justin, although I am sure he’s

not so little anymore. He had been put into foster care

almost seven years ago. He would be twelve years old

this summer. I hoped he was adopted and had a good life. I

hated the thought of him being strung about from foster

home to foster home. I hated my mother for so long for

leaving us and forcing him to live that life, then again my

dad could have kept it from happening if he wanted to. I

couldn’t imagine choosing my alcohol over my son. My

mother, I could almost forgive. I said almost. I still hated

her for not taking us with her, even though I could

understand her running away from her life of hell.

I was raised in the Appalachian Mountains, a

small town in West Virginia where poverty is real, and

still exists to this day. I was raised to believe that you

grew up, signed up for welfare, and had lots of babies so

that you could get more welfare and more food stamps.

That was normal, and then after moving to Las Vegas and

living the life of luxury that became my normal. Now,

well, now this was normal.

I finally drifted off to sleep, thinking about the two

bedroom trailer, and my home from the time that I was

born until my eighteenth birthday. The dream was so real

this time, not that I didn’t say that every time that I woke in

a panic, but this one was worse.

I was huddled up to the only heat source in the

house. The wood stove was barely throwing off any heat. I

tried to bring some wood in, but it was frozen, and my

fingers weren’t strong enough to pull any of the pieces

apart. It was late, and my dad wasn’t home from the bar

yet. Justin was no longer there, so I had to be at least

seventeen. I sat with a blanket leaned against the stove

with my back. The metal was barely warm, and I knew

that it would be completely burned out within the hour.

It was the first time that my dad ever hit me,

besides being whipped by his belt anyway. The first time

was the very first time that he had come home in a drunken

stupor after my mom had left us. I guess it was my

responsibility to fill her shoes. I heard the old truck pull

into the drive and I ran to my room, wrapped in my

blanket. He started yelling as soon as he opened the door

and realized the fire was almost out.

“Morgan! Get your stupid ass out here.”

I didn’t move. I hoped that he would think that I

was asleep and just leave me alone. He didn’t.

“If you’re not out here by the time I count to three, I

am going to beat you to a pulp.”

Although I knew he was going to do it anyway,

whether I went then or ten minutes later. I walked out. He

slapped me across the face, not giving me time to explain

that I had tried to bring wood in. I could handle the slaps

in the face. I would have chosen those over the sound of

his leather belt being pulled from his belt loops any day.

I could feel the burning stings on the backs of my

legs and my back when I woke, out of breath and panting

like an overheated dog. I grasped my nightgown at my

chest, and squeezed the material in a tight fist, trying to tell

my heart that it was okay, and I was safe in my own home

in Maine. I brushed the damp hair from my forehead and

got out of bed. It was too early to be awake, and I knew I

needed to sleep, but I couldn’t. I was too freaked out. I

made a cup of hot tea. Starlight had given it to me the day

before when she had told me that I looked tired. She said

that it was a relaxing tea and would help me sleep. I dozed

back off on the sofa, wrapped in the fuzzy warm blanket

from the back of the couch. I woke to the sound of my

alarm going off in my room.

I yawned, still tired as I drove the short drive into

town. I parked my car in the back and unlocked the door. I

had no sooner gotten the first coffee machine brewing

when I jumped, startled at the tap on the door. I breathed a

sigh of relief when I saw the town sheriff, smiling at the

door, remembering Starlight telling me that he hung out

there on Saturday mornings.

“Good morning,” he said, stepping in as I unlocked

the door for him, “Didn’t mean to startle you,” he added.

“Good morning,” I returned, and continued to get

the five machines up and running. “I guess I am not quite

as fast as Starlight,” I said as he sat at one of the small

tables.

“Actually, I’m a little early this morning. You’re

fine,” he assured me.

Phyllis showed up with the pastries next.

“Morning, Sheriff,” she spoke, placing the goodies

on the counter.

“Good morning, Phyllis. Please tell me you

brought those little raspberry filled Danishes today.”

“You’re in luck, I did,” she smiled.

Phyllis didn’t stick around and had to get going to

open her own little shop.

“Coffee is ready,” I said to the sheriff, not turning

to look at him.

I walked behind the counter with my own cup of

coffee, and he poured himself a cup.

“My name is Dawson, by the way,” he said stirring

the cream into his coffee.

I snickered a little on accident.

His eyebrows rose as he looked at me. I felt my

face blush from embarrassment.

“What?” he asked, and my face became even

redder. I was sure of it.

“I’m Riley,” I said, trying to smooth over my

dreadful outburst.

“Nice to meet you, Riley. Why are you laughing at

me?”

I couldn’t help but laugh again. “I wasn’t laughing

at you. I was just thinking how much your name fits your

job description. You know, sheriff in a small town by the

name of Dawson.”

He laughed too and sat down with his pastry and

coffee.

“So what brings you to this small town, Riley?” he

asked, and I didn’t want to answer questions for a cop. I

hated intimidating men, not that all men weren’t

intimidating to me, just some more so than others, and a