The radio started playing that ad about the missing billionaire again. I had long since tuned it out, but Jennie always listened. She stopped wiping the counter and watched the old Philco radio like it was a TV set.
“Why do you think he did it?” She asked. She always asked that.
“Not sure. Maybe he couldn’t take it anymore. Maybe someone kidnapped him. Who knows?” I said.
I could call home and see if Dash is still there, I thought, not really paying any attention to what I was saying. By this point it was all by rote anyway. The phone, an old bright red thing that looked like it should belong in either a fireball or the president’s bedroom, sat on the corner of the counter.
But no, that would be stupid. I should be hoping that he’s gone. Just a trail of dust down that highway to nowhere he’s taking.
I caught his smell again from that shirt of his. He must have worn it once before packing it into the saddlebag on that old bike of his.
It was a clean smell, masculine and fresh, and I knew that if my mystery man was in fact gone I’d still have this shirt. How long will the smell last?
“You know what I think?” Jennie asked. She always asked that, too. Of course, her follow up had been slowly changing since the whole debacle started.
“What’s that?” I asked, taking off my little block name tag with the white block letters on it. I wanted to get home.
I needed to get home.
“I’m thinking now he’s just ran off by himself. That he’s ran away from his whole life for some reason. He can’t have been kidnapped; kidnappers ask for ransom. Who’s asked for ransom for him? No one, that’s who. So why’s he done it?” Jennie tapped a pen on her cheek thoughtfully.
“I don’t know the answer to that, and neither do you. Why are you so interested in him, anyway?” I asked, happy to be talking about something other than Dash’s shirt.
Jennie scoffed. “It’s not just me, Ellie, it’s everyone. Everyone with a pulse and a set of eyes that like looking at something nice. It just doesn’t make any sense…”
“Plenty of things don’t make sense,” I replied. I walked over to Jennie and gave her a quick hug. As the manager, she could have sent me home for not wearing the right clothes. But she hadn’t. She knew how screwed I’d be missing out on a shift. And it was mean of me to be so dismissive of her. “Thanks for letting me stay. You keep thinking on it. Hey, if you solve it, I hear his company or the FBI or some such will give you a half million dollars.”
Another scoff as she returned the hug. “As if I could solve it. Though I have a thing or two in mind of what I’d do if he showed up on my doorstep. If you are getting me.”
“I think I do, but now I really do have to get going. If that’s okay?” I said.
“Yeah, yeah. Get going. Get your uniform back. Some seltzer’ll get rid of any stain!”
I cringed a little. At the start of my shift, when Jennie noticed my unusual attire, I told her the first thing that came into my head.
The form of that little fib had been that I’d spilled a bunch of black coffee all over my blouse and skirt. And that that was why I was a few minutes late, too.
The follow up had actually been something close to the truth: that my other uniforms were still in the laundry.
“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,” I said while I pushed open the door and stepped out onto the lot. The bells above the door tinkled. The sound muffled when the door closed.
Soon I sat in the Ranger’s cab. The old engine gave a throaty growl when I turned it over. I gave it a couple pumps of gas to set the growl into a purr and started home.
I clutched hard at the wheel, my knuckles white. My mouth dried out.
I should have called to see if he’s still there. But I knew that even if I had called, he might not have answered. How many strangers answer another person’s phone?
I don't know. How many strangers will jump into a fight with you and then give you a shirt afterward so that you don’t have to go to work in your laundry day clothes?
With any luck when I pulled into my driveway his bike would be gone and him along with it. I knew myself well enough to know that the sort of men who interested me weren’t the sort of men I should be with. I’ll cite Bobby as an example of my faulty reasoning.
I turned down my street and my heart nearly jumped straight out of my throat and onto the dashboard.
The bike’s still there!
It was a gleaming, shiny thing. The sun poked some rays out through the clouds and they caught on the chrome of the machine, which shone despite however many miles Dash had ridden down the highway with it.
I pulled in behind it and just sat behind the wheel for a bit before killing the engine.
I got out of the truck and noticed how I’d managed to pull the shirt tails out of my jeans again. Before thinking about it, I pushed them all back in.
Anything for a few more moments before going back inside.
Each step I mounted sent my heart up another notch, increased my wonder and curiosity by that much more.
“You’re back,” he said, appearing in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. He still wore that motorcycle outfit like a suit of armor. His hair hung in dark waves around his shoulders.
His eyes arrested me. They were so intense. So scrutinizing. And somehow… sad? Yes, they were sad eyes, too. Eyes that had missed something important and now regretted it deeply.
One of those eyes, and the accompanying sculpted cheek beneath it, was dark and puffy. Compliments of Bobby’s fist.
“That’s usually what happens when someone finishes work. They go home. So yeah, I’m back. And you’re still here.”
The intensity in those eyes turned away from me when he looked up at the ceiling and scratched the back of his head.
“Yes, well, I figured it was rude to just leave. And you still have my shirt. Where do you work, anyway?”
“You’d better hope we can get that laundry back, or this shirt will be mine,” I said, “And I work at a diner down at the other end of town.”
The other end of town was about two minutes by car away. Seeing him made me think about just how damn small Pleasant was.
“So… are you heading out?” I said. I leaned my shoulder against the wall, trying to look casual.
Dash looked at me again. “No,” he said finally, “There’s something about this place I need to figure out before I move on.”
“Maybe if you tell me more about yourself I can help you to figure that part out,” I said, hearing the hope in my voice.
“The less you know, the better. And just because I’m staying doesn’t mean I intend on staying here,” he said, indicating my house with a quick glance around the living room.
Then he reached up and touched his puffy cheek, frowning a little at the pain.
“You put the cold pack down when I left, didn’t you?” I said, “Well, come on then.” Before I even thought about it, I grabbed him by the bicep and pulled him back into the kitchen. Then I plunked him down in a chair and pulled a bag of peas out of the freezer. The cold pack he used before was no longer cold.
“It’s okay,” he started, lifting his hand to ward me off.
I pushed it aside before wrapping the peas in the tea towel again. I touched it to his face gingerly. Even so he sucked a quick breath through his teeth.