Old Palmetto Drive, page 12
“I want to go to–” but I stop myself from finishing that sentence. What’s the point of telling her I want to go back to New York and go to art school? It’s not like anyone cares about my art, or the stories I want to tell with it.
She glances over at me a few times, maybe thinking I’ll tell her the rest of that sentence, but when I sink back into my seat and sing along to the radio again, she just keeps her eyes on the road and taps the beat on the steering wheel. It doesn’t feel awkward or uncomfortable, it actually feels safe and relaxing not talking with her.
Just when I think we must have gone far enough, she flips on a blinker and makes a hard right turn into a parking lot filled with mini-vans and rusted trucks. There’s one long row of discount stores with neon-signs blinking dully in the mid-morning sunshine.
“Don’t embarrass me,” she says after she parks before getting out.
“Excuse me?”
My door does open, despite her bitching at me about slamming it, so I get out and wiggle my dress down, since it’s hiked up. Justine walks around to my side of the car and stands inches from me. I’m taller at this moment, only because I’m wearing wedges. Yeah, yeah, I know they aren’t in style. But, I figure no one here will notice. I can smell her, she’s so close, she smells like the mint plant growing in her bungalow mixed with rose oil. It’s intoxicating. And for a split second I think she’s going to hug me or kiss me and I freeze, because I’m not expecting it right here in this parking lot. But, instead she leans around me and uses her key to lock the car from the outside.
“The lock on my side is broken,” she says. Her body brushes against me and my body tingles from the touch. “I’m starved. Let’s have brunch.” Justine turns and points to a silver diner with glass plate windows built right into the strip mall.
“Yeah, I could go for brunch,” I say and follow her to the entrance. She opens the door for me with a smile.
“Ladies first.” She motions me in. And I want to giggle, but I stop myself. Don’t be an idiot!
The old lady at the front hands us menus and tells us to seat ourselves. Justine grabs them without a thank-you and strolls to a booth in the back, like she’s been here before. She’s got that personality. How I used to be in New York with my girls. When a place is your town, your home, you own it. You walk in with your head held high and demand to be seen.
The menu is a one page piece of laminated plastic. Justine doesn’t even look at it. She’s staring at me. I’m doing my best not to stare right into her eyes. I glance between her and the menu. I can feel the blood pulsing fast and hard in the vein in my neck. I wonder if Justine can see it.
A dumpy girl in her twenties, with dirty hair pulled up into a top knot, and an apron tied twice around her middle, comes over to take our order. But, I don’t really know what to eat. It’s all fried-this and smothered-that. I’m embarrassed to order anything.
“Hey Tara, me and my friend will have coffee, bacon, eggs over medium and pancakes.”
“Yeah okay Justine. You know Frank was asking bout y’all. Said Big Jackie ain’t called since all that shit went down. You should tell him to call.” Then she turns and walks away in no real hurry.
“What was that all about?” I lean in and whisper.
“Oh nothing.” She waves her hand dismissively. “Frank is me and Jackie’s uncle. He’s married to Tara’s oldest sister. Everyone in Everglades City and all these little roadside stops know each other,” Justine explains.
I raise an eyebrow at her. I know there is more to that story. But, she didn’t pry about me and Mom so, I won’t pry now.
“You ordered for me.” I try not to smile.
“Is that a problem?” She asks. Her hands are folded on top of the table.
“No, but how did you know that’s how I like my eggs?” I ask.
“I’ve been in the kitchen during breakfast… You barge in with your hair sloppy, in your booty shorts and tiny tank, complaining about scrambled eggs, wondering why they don’t make them over medium. Then you take a biscuit or a muffin and stomp back to your room.” She looks at me again, that stare. Like she’s uncovered some secret truth about me because of the kind of eggs I like.
There’s always so many people in the kitchen carrying on, especially in the mornings. I guess I didn’t realize Justine was part of that mess. God how embarrassing. I’ll have to make sure I fix my hair and get dressed before I go to the kitchen tomorrow.
“My pajamas aren’t that bad,” I whine.
Justine lets out a laugh. “I didn’t say they were bad.” Then those eyes again. I could get lost in them. Heat rises in my face just as Tara comes back and sets the coffee down. I don’t usually drink black coffee. But, I watch as Justine blows the steam and sips it. I can tell she likes it. I take a sip. God it tastes awful. I try not to make a face, but from the look on hers, she can tell I’m not a fan.
“What would you have ordered?” She asks. Her lips curl up on the sides. Like she’s waiting for me to say something off the wall.
“A mint mocha.”
“Not a Starbucks for a hundred miles.” She grins.
“Yeah, well they sell espresso machines. I mean, how hard is it to put chocolate and mint syrup into some milk and espresso?” I ask.
Her laugh is just right. It makes her eyes light up. She’s got gold glitter eyeshadow on and perfect eye liner. How did I miss that before? Ava always says that glitter in eyeshadow means it’s cheap. But, I don’t give a damn, because it is so breathtaking on Justine.
She shakes her head. “You got so much to learn about this place.”
I turn my head and gaze out the window. Then the breath in my lungs hisses out like a pressure valve slowly opening. “Everyone keeps saying that to me. But, why? Why do I have to learn about this place? I mean, I know, I get it, it’s my home for now. But, as soon as I’m done with high school I’m going back to New York,” I tell her and take another sip of the coffee. Still gross.
She frowns. Like going back to New York wasn’t what she thought I might say. There is a flash of sadness on her face that makes my heart ache; I want to do something to make her smile again. I pull a pen out of my clutch and grab my napkin.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Hold still,” I tell her. I glance back and forth from her to the napkin a few times and sketch her, the way she looks when she doesn’t know I’m watching her. It’s not my best work, but it’s pretty good for pen-on-napkin. I turn it to show her.
“Oh my god! Did you draw that?” Tara is back with the food. It’s steaming hot and piled high.
“Mind your own fucking business Tara.” Justine snatches the napkin out of my hand and puts it on the seat next to her. I’m scared that I embarrassed her and we don’t say much while we eat. We just look at each other occasionally. It’s intense. I’ve never silently eaten at a table with someone who made me feel like this before.
Like, I want to pour my heart and soul out to her.
I want to sit on her couch with my head in her lap. I want her to play with my hair. I want to tell her about my life and being a spoiled New York Princess, but how underneath that facade I actually have some depth to me that no one else knows. Like, that I love to go to Central Park in the fall and sketch the leaves changing colors. Or that I love old black and white movies and singing in the bathtub. I want her to tell me she thinks I’m special. And then I’ll sit up and pull her close to me and I’ll tell her she’s the special one, she’s as unique and breathtaking as a snowflake and then we will laugh because she’s never seen snow in real life before.
Then she’ll kiss me. The kind of kiss that takes your breath away.
And I’ll hold her tight to me.
We’ll plan to go to New York together when I finish high school and turn eighteen. I’ll buy her a winter coat, with a fur collar, and we will walk through the city in the snow and her eyes will light up and I’ll tell her she’s mine forever. While we wait for New York, we’ll take long walks everyday holding hands. She’ll tell me her dreams as we stroll through the fields and down Old Palmetto Drive. Our touch will be the one thing that keeps us grounded, because being together makes us feel so high.
Mom will say she’s proud of me for finally letting someone in. Darcy will get weepy and say she always knew I would find someone to fall in love with who would understand me, the real me, the person I keep hidden away. Sam and Travis will think we are so cute together, but they’ll be jealous of how much time I spend with Justine. So, I’ll have to help them find girlfriends.
“Earth to Rian.” Justine waves her hand in front of my face.
“Sorry,” I mumble and put another bite of pancake in my mouth.
“I never met someone like you before,” she says.
I feel her hand under the table gently touch my leg. It’s enough to send my entire body into shock. I try not to choke on my pancake.
“I’m an original,” I manage to reply after I swallow.
That makes her laugh and her hand squeezes my thigh. Before it can go anywhere else, Tara comes back over, and completely kills the mood.
“You done? My shift is over. Here’s the check. Justine, don’t forget to tell Jackie to call Frank,” she puts a ticket on the table.
“Yeah, okay,” Justine removes her hand from my leg and I frown. She slides out of the booth and walks up to pay for our breakfast. I’m not ready for this moment to be over! I let out a long sigh.
20
Shopping 101
After our brunch at the diner, we cross the parking lot of the strip mall, under the blazing mid-day sun, and walk into the outlet store. As soon as we get inside, I sniff the air and look around. New York stores smell like clean laundry and money. But the air here smells like trash and farts. I have a moment of panic when I see the orange shopping carts and hear someone saying there is a blue dot special over the intercom system.
Justine doesn’t seem to notice. “I’m looking for something. Shoes are over on those racks,” she says before heading off on her own.
“Don’t puke, don’t puke.”
I force the pancakes back down into my stomach. I never in a million years expected to shop in a place like this. I don’t know what to do. I’m used to shopping in boutiques with private rooms where me and the NYP’s can view models showing off the latest styles from the runways of Milan, Italy. We get offered sparkling water and champagne.
This store has horrible, overhead fluorescent lights and rows of clothes, racks of shoes, cheap holiday decorations, pictures, and even furniture for sale crammed into every crevice.
I close my eyes for a second, to calm down.
I imagine when Gina and I used to sneak off to vintage shops in SoHo behind Ava’s back. Those were some of my favorite shopping expeditions in the city. The quaint and unique things I’d find, the chill ambiance, the smell of vintage. If I can pretend this is one of those vintage shops in New York, maybe I’ll survive. But when I open my eyes, nope. Still a crappy outlet store with a heavy stench of body odor.
“Shoes.”
I told Darcy I’d find her shoes. That’s what I have to do. If I have something to look for to take my mind off the horror of discount shopping in the Everglades, I will survive. I try not to let my eyes dart around for Justine. She said she was looking for something and seemed secretive about it. Apparently she doesn’t know girl code; shopping is meant to be done in pairs.
I guess I’ll need to teach her the basics. Shopping 101.
I reach the aisle of shoes. They are stacked practically on top of each other in various colored shoe boxes on big metal racks. They are mismatched and shoved in with no rhyme or reason. There are athletic shoes next to pumps. Flip-flops by rows of snow boots. Why the hell are there snow boots in South Florida? But, after a bit of searching, I manage to find a few pairs of simple, leather strap sandals in a size ten. Nothing fancy, but they are classic and will go with anything Darcy wears. I grab them out of their boxes and walk down the row to the other side.
“Now what,” I mumble.
“Now you try this on,” Justine whispers in my ear.
She’s right behind me. I didn’t even see her creep up on me. Chills go up my spine and I turn around. We are pressed chest to chest. Can she feel my heart beating?
“Come with me to the dressing room.” She grabs my hand and drags me to the back of the store. I can’t see what she wants me to try on. But, right now, the way I feel, I don’t care if it’s a chicken suit, I would follow this girl anywhere. She literally takes my breath away.
“Justine, what are you up to?” I laugh.
“You need clothes for fishing and mudding.” She opens a dressing room stall and pushes me in. “Try these on. And show me.”
“I, uh, okay,” I stumble on the words as I stumble into the dressing room. Remind me again why I wore wedges? She laughs and closes the door.
I put my hand on the metal lock and press my forehead to the door of the dressing room. She’s on the other side of this door waiting for me. Ten minutes ago I wouldn’t have been caught dead trying on anything from this place and now I can’t wait to see what Justine wants me to wear. The dressing room is tiny, with orange laminate walls and a floor-to-ceiling mirror that’s warped and makes my ass look huge and my head look small. I manage to get my dress off and slide on a pair of green shorts and one of the tanks from the things she picked out. I don’t look at myself in the freakshow mirror, instead I open the door and look at Justine.
She steps closer to me.
I took my shoes off to change, so she’s taller, only by an inch, but it gives her the edge she needs. She puts her hands on my waist and feels around the fabric of the shorts and oh my god, I think my knees are knocking together.
“These are too loose. You have such a narrow waist. I’ll grab you a smaller size. But, the tank looks good on you. Do you like it?”
“If you think it looks good on me, then I like it.” I smile. For the first time in, I don’t know when, I could care less what I look like or what kind of cheap fabric is rubbing against my skin. “Justine, do you have a boyfriend?” I have to ask. I don’t want to misread what I think is happening between us. Because this might be how girls act in the swamp. But in New York, this means something else entirely. This means that feeling I have, that tingle, that spark, that–
She laughs.
“What?” I frown.
“Do you think I have a boyfriend?” She reaches up and tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear. Her fingers stroke my cheek.
“No, I don’t.” I lean into her hand and close my eyes. Her touch is making me tremble. “Kiss me Justine,” I whisper.
But instead of kissing me, she says, “I’m gonna grab you a pair of smaller shorts.”
I open my eyes. My lips are pouty and slightly parted, I mean, I thought this was heading in that direction. The way she touched me, under the table during brunch and just now, on the cheek. Could I have been so wrong? She’s shaking her head as she walks away.
Like I’m a big fucking joke.
I lock the door to the changing room.
Oh my god. How embarrassing. I threw myself at her and she rejected me. I change my clothes quickly, grab the stupid shoes for Darcy and the rest of the clothes Justine picked out for me, and race to the register. I slam it all down on the counter.
“Well, now, look at all these goodies,” says the woman behind the register. “Look here, Trish, don’t this pretty little thing look like something from a fashion magazine!” She tugs the orange vest on the woman behind her who’s checking out someone else. The woman turns around and looks at me and at the pile of stuff I slammed on the counter.
“You’re right! You are so precious. Where you get that dress you got on? I know it ain’t one of ours. You get that someplace round here? Or online?”
“New York.” I huff. I am not in the mood for this.
“NEW YORK?” both women practically scream at the same time.
“We gotta go ladies, if you don’t mind,” Justine puts her arm around me from behind, like nothing is wrong. Like I mean something to her. Like she didn’t just walk away from me when I asked her to kiss me. She places the smaller pair of green shorts on the pile of clothes. “She’ll take these ones too.”
Trish’s eyes get big and she spins back to her customer. The woman helping me, who’s name tag says “Patti” puts her head down and rings up my stuff. “If you say so,” she mumbles and scans the tag.
“I’ll be in the car.” Justine squeezes me once before strolling out the double doors. I watch her walk away, every inch of her, my cheeks are flushed. I’m struggling to figure her out– does she like me or not? This is torture!
“You know her?” Patti interrupts my mental anguish.
“Yeah, obviously. Why? Do you know her?” I ask and narrow my eyes at the woman.
“Of course we know her!” Trish finishes with her customer and looks at me and Patti who fumbles with the hangers.
“That’s the one who killed her stepdaddy,” Patti replies, her big, wide-set eyes staring at me.
“The paper said it was a murder-suicide, but we all know what really happened. You be careful round that one.” Trish tilts her head and nods toward the parking lot. Toward Justine.
“Just shut the fuck up and tell me how much I owe for all this crap.”
They both look at me.
Heads shaking.
21
Get Away from Me
“So, were you or Sam or Travis or ANYONE at the fucking bullshit manor going to tell me you murdered Uncle Chuck?” I’m so angry I can’t see straight.
“Don’t slam–”
But, I slam the door, and it makes a weird click-bang when it latches. I don’t care if I just broke her stupid, junky old car.
“Well, now you’ve done it. That door won’t open again until I take off the panel and unhook the pins. I told you not to slam it.” Justine turns up the air conditioning after she revs the engine. But, I’m so mad I hardly feel the change in temperature. She pulls out of the parking lot acting like I’ve said nothing. She just smiles.
