Shadow Days
Page 9
He took the slip of paper and frowned. “We aren’t going to a dealership?”
“Nah,” I said. “There’s a truck I’m just going to take off someone’s hands. I don’t need to bother with a dealership.”
“Mmmmmm” was his reply.
I was impressed that we managed to have a conversation, if a completely uninteresting one, about all the real estate Logan’s father owned in town, that lasted the duration of the trip.
“That’s it; turn here.” I broke into his explanation of luxury housing developments, pointing at the tired-looking blue pickup with a for Sale sign tucked beneath its windshield wipers.
Logan started laughing but tried to pretend he was coughing when he realized I was serious. He frowned, eyeing me. “Does Bosque not give you an adequate allowance?”
“This is all need,” I said, not meeting his gaze. I was uncomfortable enough with the wad of cash in my pocket. I didn’t need to think about the fact that I could have used the money Bosque gave me each month for “discretionary spending” to buy a new car and have enough left over for at least three more. I was grateful that Bosque wanted me to have everything I needed or wanted, but I didn’t want to end up becoming someone defined by my wealth. In other words, I didn’t want to be Logan Bane.
I hurried out of the car and was about to tell Logan he didn’t need to join me, but he was already climbing from the driver’s seat.
A man who looked like he could be my grandfather, as well as a onetime member of a biker gang, came out of the ranch-style house.
“You Shay?” he asked, looking at me, at Logan, and at the Mercedes.
I managed a smile. “Yeah.”
“And you want the truck?”
“If it runs as well as you claim,” I said.
He laughed, offering me a grin with more gaps than teeth.
“Bought it new. Maintained it myself. Should last you ten more years if you bother to take care of it.”
“Sounds great.”The guy selling the truck looked from me to Logan as if trying to suss out how the two of us had ended up in each other’s company. I was wondering the same thing. At least Logan had brought the CL600 and not the Lotus. Maybe he’d thought if I saw the Mercedes, I’d change my mind about borrowing it. Not a chance.
“Cash okay?” I asked, rubbing the back of my neck.
One of his bushy eyebrows went up. “Course.”
I handed him the money and he frowned.
“fifteen hundred, right?” I said.
“Yep.” The man’s shoulders were tight. His eyes wandered to Logan. Logan was gazing at the old man like he was a circus freak.
The man shuddered.
I stood there, waiting while he seemed to think something over.
He said, “Title and registration are in the glove box. Keys are too.”
“Thanks.” I reached out to shake his hand, but he turned away, walking at a fast clip to his front door.
“The locals are interesting, aren’t they?”
I jumped at the sound of Logan’s voice right next to me.
He smiled, glancing at the truck. “So you’re an antiques col-lector?”
“Thanks for the ride, Logan,” I said.
“Let me know if I can be of any further assistance.” He swaggered back to the Mercedes with a lazy wave.
A loud banging drew my attention to the house. The grizzled truck seller was hammering something to the front door. It was only after I’d gotten into the truck that I saw what it was. The man slipped into the darkness of his house, closing the door behind him. A cruci-fix was suspended in the center of the whitewashed wood.
The engine roared to life when I turned the key in the ignition. I rested my head on the steering wheel and did my best to convince myself that driving back to Portland wasn’t an option.
Five
At midnigHt i Counted two things I’d accomplished and could be proud of: I had a mode of transportation that I was pretty sure could handle anything I threw at it and I had a blog.
I wouldn’t have thought writing a blog would give me any real sense of satisfaction. But it did. I worried a little that my sudden smugness as I gazed into the glowing screen of my laptop might have been linked to the fact that I didn’t have anyone to talk to and the blog was a way of talking to myself without feeling crazy. But I also thought Ally would approve, and even more people had populated my facebook page, so I felt inspired to write something for them.
Bonus that cute girls were starting to show up. facebook = cute girls I didn’t know, one in particular named Melissa, feeling sorry for me and writing nice messages so I wouldn’t be lonely. How’s that work?
I wasn’t complaining. Maybe I should act even more lonely. All in all, it had been a decent day.
I could have sworn I’d just closed my eyes when I sat bolt upright in bed. The clock informed me I’d been asleep about five hours, but nothing in the dark room could tell me why I was awake. And I knew something had woken me. A sound. A crash from above.
I held my breath, listening. Nothing. Only the pounding of my pulse.
Must have been a dream.
I got out my iPod, put on “Broken Bells,” and waited to drift off.
Though I’d pretty much convinced myself that a nightmare had jolted me awake, the first thing I did the next morning was head to the third floor. I wandered slowly through the east wing corridor that was above my bedroom. Methodically checking each room, I found only unused bedrooms and sitting rooms, but no evidence of the crash that had woken me. That left me feeling like an idiot, so I decided to forget about the nightmare and take myself out to breakfast.
It was pouring, which was a bummer because I’d hoped to make a short, exploratory hike that afternoon. Armed with my laptop and some comics, I located a café in downtown Vail and had a huge stack of buttermilk pancakes while I read.
Once I’d finished the comics, I pulled out my laptop and discovered I had even more facebook friends. Go, me. Or probably go, Ally. Her mother hen instincts probably had her recruiting people to visit my page like a madwoman. My mini geography quiz had been solved, so I uploaded more pictures, trying to make the locations a bit harder. I was trying to think up my next blog post when the waitress returned to fill my coffee cup for the tenth time.
“You movin’ in, hon?” she asked.
I laughed, but when I glanced at my watch said, “Oh.” Morning had drifted into afternoon. And it was still raining.
“Nah,” I said. “There’s a truck I’m just going to take off someone’s hands. I don’t need to bother with a dealership.”
“Mmmmmm” was his reply.
I was impressed that we managed to have a conversation, if a completely uninteresting one, about all the real estate Logan’s father owned in town, that lasted the duration of the trip.
“That’s it; turn here.” I broke into his explanation of luxury housing developments, pointing at the tired-looking blue pickup with a for Sale sign tucked beneath its windshield wipers.
Logan started laughing but tried to pretend he was coughing when he realized I was serious. He frowned, eyeing me. “Does Bosque not give you an adequate allowance?”
“This is all need,” I said, not meeting his gaze. I was uncomfortable enough with the wad of cash in my pocket. I didn’t need to think about the fact that I could have used the money Bosque gave me each month for “discretionary spending” to buy a new car and have enough left over for at least three more. I was grateful that Bosque wanted me to have everything I needed or wanted, but I didn’t want to end up becoming someone defined by my wealth. In other words, I didn’t want to be Logan Bane.
I hurried out of the car and was about to tell Logan he didn’t need to join me, but he was already climbing from the driver’s seat.
A man who looked like he could be my grandfather, as well as a onetime member of a biker gang, came out of the ranch-style house.
“You Shay?” he asked, looking at me, at Logan, and at the Mercedes.
I managed a smile. “Yeah.”
“And you want the truck?”
“If it runs as well as you claim,” I said.
He laughed, offering me a grin with more gaps than teeth.
“Bought it new. Maintained it myself. Should last you ten more years if you bother to take care of it.”
“Sounds great.”The guy selling the truck looked from me to Logan as if trying to suss out how the two of us had ended up in each other’s company. I was wondering the same thing. At least Logan had brought the CL600 and not the Lotus. Maybe he’d thought if I saw the Mercedes, I’d change my mind about borrowing it. Not a chance.
“Cash okay?” I asked, rubbing the back of my neck.
One of his bushy eyebrows went up. “Course.”
I handed him the money and he frowned.
“fifteen hundred, right?” I said.
“Yep.” The man’s shoulders were tight. His eyes wandered to Logan. Logan was gazing at the old man like he was a circus freak.
The man shuddered.
I stood there, waiting while he seemed to think something over.
He said, “Title and registration are in the glove box. Keys are too.”
“Thanks.” I reached out to shake his hand, but he turned away, walking at a fast clip to his front door.
“The locals are interesting, aren’t they?”
I jumped at the sound of Logan’s voice right next to me.
He smiled, glancing at the truck. “So you’re an antiques col-lector?”
“Thanks for the ride, Logan,” I said.
“Let me know if I can be of any further assistance.” He swaggered back to the Mercedes with a lazy wave.
A loud banging drew my attention to the house. The grizzled truck seller was hammering something to the front door. It was only after I’d gotten into the truck that I saw what it was. The man slipped into the darkness of his house, closing the door behind him. A cruci-fix was suspended in the center of the whitewashed wood.
The engine roared to life when I turned the key in the ignition. I rested my head on the steering wheel and did my best to convince myself that driving back to Portland wasn’t an option.
Five
At midnigHt i Counted two things I’d accomplished and could be proud of: I had a mode of transportation that I was pretty sure could handle anything I threw at it and I had a blog.
I wouldn’t have thought writing a blog would give me any real sense of satisfaction. But it did. I worried a little that my sudden smugness as I gazed into the glowing screen of my laptop might have been linked to the fact that I didn’t have anyone to talk to and the blog was a way of talking to myself without feeling crazy. But I also thought Ally would approve, and even more people had populated my facebook page, so I felt inspired to write something for them.
Bonus that cute girls were starting to show up. facebook = cute girls I didn’t know, one in particular named Melissa, feeling sorry for me and writing nice messages so I wouldn’t be lonely. How’s that work?
I wasn’t complaining. Maybe I should act even more lonely. All in all, it had been a decent day.
I could have sworn I’d just closed my eyes when I sat bolt upright in bed. The clock informed me I’d been asleep about five hours, but nothing in the dark room could tell me why I was awake. And I knew something had woken me. A sound. A crash from above.
I held my breath, listening. Nothing. Only the pounding of my pulse.
Must have been a dream.
I got out my iPod, put on “Broken Bells,” and waited to drift off.
Though I’d pretty much convinced myself that a nightmare had jolted me awake, the first thing I did the next morning was head to the third floor. I wandered slowly through the east wing corridor that was above my bedroom. Methodically checking each room, I found only unused bedrooms and sitting rooms, but no evidence of the crash that had woken me. That left me feeling like an idiot, so I decided to forget about the nightmare and take myself out to breakfast.
It was pouring, which was a bummer because I’d hoped to make a short, exploratory hike that afternoon. Armed with my laptop and some comics, I located a café in downtown Vail and had a huge stack of buttermilk pancakes while I read.
Once I’d finished the comics, I pulled out my laptop and discovered I had even more facebook friends. Go, me. Or probably go, Ally. Her mother hen instincts probably had her recruiting people to visit my page like a madwoman. My mini geography quiz had been solved, so I uploaded more pictures, trying to make the locations a bit harder. I was trying to think up my next blog post when the waitress returned to fill my coffee cup for the tenth time.
“You movin’ in, hon?” she asked.
I laughed, but when I glanced at my watch said, “Oh.” Morning had drifted into afternoon. And it was still raining.
