“That’ll do it.” He clicks off his flashlight. “You’ll always attract more bears with honey than vinegar.”
“I can’t believe I forgot it.” I don’t mention my soap addiction or the possibility that I deliberately left it in the car to hide it from myself. This is definitely proof, very expensive proof, that I have a problem.
Amory collects the bits of paper mixed with the deliciously scented flakes. “Let’s lock the vehicle for tonight. We can assess the full damage in the morning.”
Gaia touches my shoulder. “It will be okay.”
Tears spill from my eyes and I turn away. I don’t want to cry in front of my boss and coworkers. I manage to choke out, “Thank you.”
She gives my arm a squeeze. “Don’t beat yourself up. Things will be better in the light of day.”
Chapter Twelve
Daphne
Things are not better in the light of day.
No, most definitely not.
Even in the soft, diffused light of a foggy morning, the damage is shocking.
The metal shell of what was once my pride and joy encloses a disaster zone. The shredded ceiling and seats could possibly be replaced. The floor carpet could be steam-cleaned.
“It can be fixed,” I tell myself.
Then I see the electrical wires hanging from below the steering wheel.
The truth hits me.
My car is totaled. Because of soap and shame and forgetfulness and being distracted by beautiful men and their extra-long root vegetables. Yes, I’m throwing Odin into the blame mix, too.
I’m not completely sure about my insurance deductible, but I vaguely remember it being more than I have in savings. After my student loan payment, it’s the only option I could afford. How much can a ten-year-old car with over a hundred thousand miles be worth? Especially one redecorated by a bear?
Silently, I chant I won’t cry. I won’t cry. I won’t cry.
Rebellious tears pool and spill down my cheeks.
After sobbing myself to sleep last night, I promised myself I wouldn’t cry in front of my coworkers. Even if we’re not technically at work, it’s still the same. Crying equals being too emotional.
And emotions are weakness, especially in professional environments.
My first boss taught me that lesson. Buck up. Straighten your spine. Bite your tongue if you have to, but never show others your soft underbelly. No one likes a crybaby.
Did the bears cry when Goldilocks ate their food, trashed their furniture and drooled all over their pillows?
My answer to that is the baby bear probably did.
Which only proves my old boss’s point about crybabies.
These reminders don’t stop the tears from continuing to run down my cheeks. Angrily swiping them away with the back of my hand, I remind myself that crying won’t fix my car.
I snap a couple photos with my phone.
Gaia walks over to me, holding two mugs, and hands me one. “I brought you coffee. Thought it might help.”
Similar to me, she’s wearing leggings and an oversized sweatshirt. Her face is clear while my eyes are so puffy it hurts to blink. My hair would make an ideal home for squirrels with its tangled mess that was a bun when I fell asleep last night.
Sniffling, I try to pretend I’m okay. “Thanks.”
She gives me a sympathetic smile. “It’s okay to be devastated. I’m upset for you.”
I nod, worried about opening my mouth and a sob falling out.
“You should probably call your insurance company this morning. Take some pictures for the claim. The sooner you file, the sooner they’ll process it.”
“It’s totaled. I’m not sure there will be any money after my deductible.”
She nods in support, but I see the pity in her eyes. “You can always use one of the NPS rigs. I mean, don’t take it on a road trip to Florida for spring break or decide to drive to California for tacos or anything, but it will get you around town.”
“Really?”
“Sure. One of the perks of the job. Probably best to avoid any joyrides and drag races—Deputy James might not approve.”
Still feeling on the verge of a good cry, I manage a weak smile. “Darn it. I already challenged a bunch of local high school kids to a street race.”
She laughs. “That I’d like to see.”
“Stupid soap,” I mutter.
“Yeah. You might want to lay off the oatmeal honey for a while.”
“I can’t believe I left it in the car. I know better. I’m the one in charge of lecturing the visitors on bear safety. How could I be so stupid?”
“We all make mistakes. It’s just a car. No one was hurt or killed.”
If only she were right. This car is more than a vehicle. It’s a symbol of my independence and success, as modest as it may be.
A big, fat tear escapes down my cheek. I hide the evidence by lifting my mug and taking a long chug of hot liquid. The coffee burns more than usual, and I sputter and cough.
“Sorry. I should’ve warned you I added some Bailey’s. Figured you could use more than caffeine on a morning like this.” Gaia lifts her own cup and sips.
“Little early for drinking, don’t you think?”
She shrugs. “No comment.”
Now that I’m prepared, I drink more slowly, savoring the sweet burn from the alcohol.
Griffin joins us, his hair still messy from sleep. “Mornin.”
“Hi.” I give him a small wave.
Not glancing at him, Gaia mumbles hello without enthusiasm.
“Car’s totaled, huh?” He drinks from his own steaming mug.
“Yep.” I rock back on my heels and then up on my toes. “Spectacularly eviscerated.”
He nods. “We should definitely take pictures and share them as a warning. I don’t think people understand how destructive bears can be. They’re not all cuteness and cuddles like we’ve been lead to believe.”
“Good idea,” Gaia praises. “Someone could post it on social media as an example.”
As the someone she means, I groan. “Can we at least leave my identity out of it?”
“Of course.” His warm smile is full of empathy. “You should call Cletus.”
“I think even this might be too much for the Winstons to fix.”
“His brother Beau loves a challenge, but you’re right. I was thinking they could help you find a replacement.” Griffin’s eyes hold hope.
“Unless they know of a car that’s cheaper than free, I’ll have to stick with Gaia’s offer to use one of the park vehicles—not that I have to go anywhere more exciting that the Piggly Wiggly. I’ll make do until I can save up.”
“No insurance?” he asks.
With a sigh, I finish off my coffee. “High deductible. What’s the point in paying premiums if I can’t afford to make a claim?”
“I hear that.” He lifts his mug. “Welcome to America.”
I don’t know whether to thank him for his empathy or remind him I’m American too. Instead, I heave another sigh and hand my empty cup to Gaia. “I should see if there’s anything salvageable and then call for a tow truck.”