A Date With Fate (11 page)

Anna’s ungrateful suggestion what I could do with a muzzle made me think she didn’t find me helpful in this instance.

“Are we still on at ten for spying in St. Paul today?”

“Okay by me.” Frowning, I thought of the sleeping Luke. He had to be awake and long gone before ten this morning when I needed to leave. If not, I could leave him a note. I guess since he had no problem unlocking my door somehow last night to come and get me, he could manage locking it on his way out.

“I’ll be there before ten. Hey, wait. What are you wearing?”

“Umm…I’m naked.”

Anna burst out laughing. “Junior! I meant tonight when we go to The Rock. Are you dressing up?”

Ana likes to know what others are wearing before we go out. I’ve never cared what other girls are wearing. I can get excited over clothes, shoes have been known to cause spontaneous combustion, and jewelry—well, what happens between me and earrings is too private to describe, but I’m missing the let’s-all-dress-alike gene common amongst so many of my girlfriends.

I put the gardenia oil aside, took the phone off speaker, and went into my closet once again. “Anna Lynn, I’m not even dressed for the first time today, much less thinking about tonight. You’ll be the first person I’ll tell when I decide. I’ll post on face book and then twitter about it.”

“Like that will happen, you Neanderthal!” Anna snorted loudly.

I always give her grief about her religious devotion to social networking; particularly re-tweeting. She’s always got an eye on her phone or a screen. I
was
a social throwback compared to her. I find nothing redeeming about face book for social purposes. I get very sick of friends stalking friends on face book—who went out, who wasn’t invited, who was in pictures, who was unfriended--the damn drama it causes seems endless.

Anna switched topics. “Are you done with that zombie book yet so I can read it? Hey, did Luke ever end up calling you last night?”

“Nope, I fell asleep while reading and Luke didn’t call me.” I wasn’t fibbing.

“Oh, no! Isn’t that weird for him to miss a Friday night phone call? Aren’t you nervous?”

Anna knew Luke called me on the Friday nights when he was working—a ritual he had started after the first week we met. She’s been there on a few Fridays when he’s called, plus she met him three weeks ago.

When he is gone from town for his job, she now frets over him like a mother hen. I have no idea why. She knows fewer specifics about what he does on the job than I do. Anna’s convinced he’s a secret agent risking life and limb for the good of our country, an unknown and unsung hero.

She rushed on, a natural worrier. “You haven’t heard from him this morning, either? I hope he’s okay.” She muttered anxiously under her breath. I heard water running and rattling noises, it sounded like silverware being tossed around. “When did he call you last?”

I felt bad for not reassuring her that Luke was fine and dandy and hogging my bed even as we spoke, but there…I’m over it. Anna knows what I think about sleepovers and boyfriends. She would be agog at my departure from the norm and want all the details. Maybe at some point I’ll tell her more, if there is more to tell, but not now.

“Don’t worry, Mother Hubbard. I’m sure he’s fine.” I hurried her off the phone. “I’ve got to get dressed. I am freezing standing here. See you later at ten.”

I wasn’t sure how I felt about my best friend and lover becoming friends, much less Anna starting to romanticize Luke into some sort of American James Bond. I guess it was slightly better than if they hated each other.

Chapter V

“Torn” by Natalie Imbruglia

Saturday, 11/17/12

8:00 AM

After ending the daily call with Anna, I quickly finished getting ready. I blew my long layers straight and put on a little make-up. I dressed casually in a favorite pair of skinny, black jeans and a white, button-down shirt. I rolled up the cuffs neatly. I don’t like long sleeves. Over this, I wore a short, fitted black vest trimmed with gunmetal buttons in a baroque flower pattern. I left it unbuttoned.

Stella and I are jewelry fiends. She has shopped with me since she was old enough to point and drool at what she liked. We love to look for treasures in places like antique and flea markets, or in tucked-away neighborhood shops. We often use our finds to create something else, such as using old, architecturally interesting earrings to decorate a hair clip, or trimming the vest I just put on with cool, funky buttons. There’s not too much we can’t improve upon. I zipped on sturdy, ankle boots with silver side buckles and only three-inch-high, square heels.

I was ready to search out my morning coffee. Looking in the mirror, I put a hand to my ear and frowned. Make that almost ready. Without earrings on I may as well be naked, but they are kept in my bedroom. So are my necklaces, bracelets, and rings. These I could live without for a short time, but not wearing earrings really bugged me. Feeling a little cranky over being inconvenienced in my own home, I shrugged it off to another reason not to do sleepovers.

I planned to sneak in some work on the books before Stella arrived to open. My store office desktop is where I preferred to work. I wasn’t going to hang around the apartment and wait for Luke to wake up. I decided correct morning-after behavior didn’t really matter to me, but I didn’t want to text Luke and wake him. I left an actual handwritten note taped to the one place a man would be guaranteed to see it; the toilet lid. It read:

Dear Mr. Muscles,

I’m worried our dates are becoming ho-hum…

I’m out and about doing stuff, so please lock up on your way out.

If you’re in town, you’re invited for Sunday dinner @ 5pm.

Have I told you lately you are very, very impressive?

X

Anabel

p.s. Your turn?

Purse swinging in hand, I was walking down the hall when the building’s front doorbell rang. And rang, and kept on ringing. Whoever was outside my building pressing the doorbell wasn’t letting up and the annoyingly shrill buzzing sound was continuing nonstop.

I quickly dashed over to the master station intercom on the wall and checked out the view screen. I was surprised when I recognized who it was. This was out of left field.

Smiling, I pushed the button to speak. “Crookie! Hey, easy on the buzzer. It’s so nice to see you, but why am I seeing you?”

The irritating noise stopped and a garbled voice queried, “An..el? Is ..at you?”

I watched the screen as Bob “Crookie” Crookston bent from his considerable height to speak directly into the box attached to Bel’s front entrance outside wall. He appeared to put his lips against it. I giggled, I couldn’t help it--this was so like him. He was essentially a rocket scientist, but didn’t get intercom systems and microphones had evolved since his ghetto, ancient apartment days at Purdue.

“Tis I, Anabel of Northfield. What’s up?” I reared back in shock when a blast of jumbled, shouted words was my answer. Bob excited and loud was one thing, but Bob angry and yelling? This was very strange behavior coming from him.

Bob was an old buddy from high school. We had bonded our senior year as science partners. I had learned to really like the loveable boy. He was very tall even then and gangly skinny. He dressed goofy and wore ugly, thick framed glasses. He was your typical nerd; incredibly intelligent and incredibly socially awkward.

Sitting next to me at our lab station, he was terrified of me for the first two weeks of class. He couldn’t even look at me without turning beet red and breaking out into a sweat, sometimes hyperventilating.

I had to put a stop to that nonsense immediately. I really needed his help; science gives me the worst headache. It was bad enough I had gotten stuck in biology instead of my first choice of earth science--which sounded a whole lot friendlier to me.

My procrastination at taking the required science credit had caused me trouble; I couldn’t afford a B or lower because my colossally smart partner was petrified of half the human race. NanaBel paid out a significant bonus for straight A’s. I was too greedy to lose out on that primo deal for the first time ever in my school history. I’m a girl with goals.

After my first quiz result of a B minus, I waited after school for Bob. I had borrowed Mackenzie’s pristine 1980 turbocharged Firebird Trans Am and drove that day. Mac, when she wasn’t being too bossy, was a great oldest sister. She was usually willing to let me use her car during the day while she slept after her graveyard nursing shift at Northfield Hospital. Mac’s only requirement was I keep the gas tank topped. I had a hard time seeing clearly over the bulge of the turbo hood, but it was worth the neck strain; I loved the scream of the engine as I shifted from second into third at 4000 rpm’s.

Standing beside the Firebird, I picked Bob immediately out of the crowd of our fellow inmates by his towering height as he came scurrying down the sidewalk. Even with his head facing down, he was taller than everyone around him. By his hunched over posture, I could only surmise he was carrying a load of boulders in his backpack.

I reached in the driver’s side open window and tooted the horn. He didn’t look up. I laid on the horn until it penetrated even his genius fog. When he was looking my way, I waved to him with a big smile and motioned for him to come over to my waiting car at the curb. It was comical to see him look around and point to himself in disbelief when he realized it was his attention I was trying to grab. It was even funnier to see his expression as he checked out my ride. The decaled, turbo bird spitting out a large flame across the hood was pretty, damn awesome.

At my cajoling insistence, he reluctantly folded himself into the passenger side. He had to slide the bucket seat so far back to accommodate his thirty-eight inch inseam he was technically sitting in the back seat.

“What do you want, Ana…Anabel?”

Pulled so far forward in the driver’s seat to reach the pedals I could be mistaken for a hood ornament, I took off into the busy after school traffic.

Once on our way, I answered him cheerfully. “Know what, Bob? I am so glad you asked me that question. What I want is exactly what I need to talk to you about today.”

I kept my eyes on the road but could clearly see him skittishly glancing my way. Between keeping a watchful eye out for sneaky relatives and always liking boys, my peripheral vision was highly developed by the age of seventeen. I kept my face mostly forward for his comfort, but approached him straight on with my words.

I continued, “Here’s the deal. I’ve noticed you need my help in the worst way, Bob.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down rapidly before he croaked, “I do?”

“Yes, you do.” I affirmed assuredly.

I downshifted and swerved sharply around Anna’s Aunt Lily. She was in her old boat of an Oldsmobile doing ten mph on Jefferson Parkway--in a thirty mph zone! I barely resisted the urge to give her the finger when she angrily honked. It was tempting as she’d think it was my sister, but I heroically refrained. I sighed when I saw Bob close his eyes tight and give a silent scream.

“Relax, Bob. I’m a good driver.” I sped up and took a left at the almost still yellow light and gunned it. I headed south on Highway 3 out of town. “Yes, you really need my help and today’s your lucky day. Do you know why?”

Bob was still clutching the door handle in a death grip, but cautiously looking at me now. He was feeling safer to watch me since I hadn’t taken my eyes off the road once since inviting him into my car. I smiled inside.

“No,” He whispered.

I put a hand to my ear, “What, Bob? I can’t hear you!”

Bob cleared his throat and spoke up a little. “No Anabel, I don’t know why.”

“Why what?” I asked innocently.

When I saw his distressed confusion, I relented with a chuckle.

“Sorry, Bob. I’m kind of a warped chick sometimes.” I turned and flashed a grin. He flinched. I faced the road again, biting my cheek not to giggle. “It’s your lucky day because I have something I am going to give you, and you have something you are going to give me.”

I’ve never seen anyone go from beet red to pasty white that fast. I hurried on before he fainted, or worse. “Friendship! I’m only talking simple friendship here, okay?”

I laughed out loud when he quickly shook his head back and forth “No” in denial. Poor Bob was worse off than I even suspected.

“Yes.” I insisted.

He wheezed, “I can’t be friends with you!”

I frowned ominously at that. “The hell you say. Am I not smart enough to be your friend, or what?”

I waited patiently for his answer. Bob resembled a wise owl with glasses when his head bent to the side to consider my words. He probably had never considered whether he would choose to be friends with a girl before. He was only sure that because of his paralyzing shyness most girls wouldn’t want to be his friend. I could tell he was intrigued by the concept.

“Umm…I don’t know. You make me too nervous to think straight.” I saw him blush again and look desperately out the window, as if seeking an escape route.

His speaking in semi-coherent sentences encouraged me to believe I was doing the right thing for us both. I still clicked down the door locks in case he really would tuck and roll to get away from me. Really smart people can do really dumb things, we were screaming down the road at eighty mph, and a brain his size is too beautiful a thing to waste. At his look of fright at the clicking sound, I took pity and quickly filled him in on my brilliant idea.

“Straight up, my new friend, you are scared of girls and a science whiz. I am scared of science and a whiz at being a girl. See, I was thinking it’s kismet we are partners this year. Or maybe it’s destiny?” I shook my head. “Either way, we have the ability to help each other out here. We can work together after school for an hour or two and tutor each other. What do you say?”