A Tale of Two Trucks (2 page)

That was where I met Brandon. He was slim, with long legs like a hosiery model, and devilishly handsome. I couldn’t believe my good luck when (about the fourth time I’d sneaked in there) he asked me to dance. I was on cloud nine when he kept dancing and talking to me—about work, about music, about anything at all—and before I knew it, I’d fallen head over heels for him. He was so charming that even though it was my first time that night, I wasn’t afraid of making love with him at all, and afterward he fell asleep holding me like I was the most precious thing in the world to him. I was so happy, I thought I would literally
burst
!

We started going out, and soon I was calling him several times a day (which in retrospect was very clingy of me, but he didn’t seem to mind). Before long it was just a given that he’d come over to my place after work, where I’d be waiting with some of Gramma’s best recipes cooked up. After only a month or so, we both decided that it was pointless for him to keep his apartment—since he slept at my place all the time, anyway—so I made some room in my closets, and he moved in. His friends came over for parties, and when we were home alone, we had amazing sex. Life seemed perfect.

A few years into our blissful cohabitation, I decided to go to a weekend seminar for interior design, hoping to pick up some new trends and ideas. Brandon said he needed to stay in town to finish up some business (he was a paralegal), so I went, a little sadly, by myself. Unfortunately, the seminar workshops were boring. After sitting through several tedious sessions, I decided to go home a day early and surprise Brandon. You can probably guess what happened, and yes, it was a
huge
mistake:
I
was the one in for a surprise!

It might not have been so bad if I hadn’t stopped by the store to pick up groceries on my way home. As it was, I had a bag full of tomatoes, other vegetables, and a carton of eggs in my arms when I followed the sounds I was hearing, in disbelief, to our bedroom—
my
bedroom, in
my
house—where Brandon was fucking a young college boy in the middle of the day. Even though they were both taller and heavier than I am, I somehow managed (in a haze of fury, of which I still can’t remember much) to chase them out of my house—the college boy buck naked and Brandon wearing only a condom.

They retreated to the boy’s car, which I proceeded to pelt with the eggs, tomatoes, and the rest of the produce, breaking a headlight or two in the process. The neighbors called the police, who refused to ticket the guilty pair for indecent exposure, but retrieved their clothes for them and tried to calm me down. I boxed up the rest of Brandon’s belongings that very day and set them out on the curb while the locksmith changed all of my locks. I haven’t seen Brandon since, with no regrets.

The part that infuriates me, though, is that he went around telling his friends and anybody else who’d listen that I went postal on him, throwing him out for no reason—conveniently omitting the fact that he had
cheated
on me in my own house! But he’d taken photos of the damaged car, which was evidence enough to convict me in the public opinion of my peers that I was a “crazy bitch.” So I’ve been
persona non grata
at Cocktales ever since.

Chapter 3

I
WAS
glad the annual Parade of Homes opening was only a few weeks away, since it kept me so busy that I didn’t have any time to go to a club, even if I were so inclined. Fred Thornton Builders had contracted me to design the interiors of a dozen new builds—old Fred himself had called me to ask—which not only assured me of a steady, reliable income but also gave me the chance to run into Joe (although not
literally
again, of course) at various worksites.

I was pleased to see he’d gotten a truck almost identical to mine—also midnight blue—minus the “bells and whistles” like the running boards he didn’t need. At one new subdivision, he was working on a house across the street from the one I was dressing up, so it was funny to walk out and see our twin trucks parked so close to each other.

On the last day of March, Rick and I had just loaded up my truck with more furniture and décor items at the store (on loan, since the Parade of Homes visitors could check the price tags and buy them if they wanted to) when his cell phone rang.

“No way!
Already
?” Rick gasped, and I guessed that his seven-months-pregnant wife was having contractions. He looked at me in panic and said, “Her water just broke!”

“Holy crap!” I cried, going into Emergency Mode and making sure everything was tied down securely. “Get in!” I yelled and, as soon as he’d shut his door, we took off for the hospital.

It was rotten luck, the baby coming right now—just days before the spring Parade of Homes opening—but I had to let him go. I dropped him off at the Emergency Room and went on alone to finish arranging the house. I wasn’t sure I could get the larger pieces of furniture unloaded from the truck by myself, let alone into the house, but decided to give it a try by making a ramp out of lumber and area rugs.

Once at the site, I walked over to the house across the street—still a mere skeleton, although the roof was up—to see if I could borrow some two-by-fours from Fred’s guys. They were on their lunch break, and after I told them of my predicament, they assessed the items on my truck, then wordlessly (but obviously) assessed
me
.

“You’re gonna need some help with that,” Joe pointed out.

“I was hoping to manage on my own with some luck, ingenuity, and boards,” I countered, suppressing a sigh.

He shook his head in amusement before hollering up at the foreman. “Hey, George! Can ya spare me for half an hour?”

“What’s up?” George asked, leaning out from the second floor.

“My assistant’s wife went into labor,” I shouted, “two months early!”

“Go ahead.” He nodded, and Joe replied, “Thanks! I’ll make my time up later.”

I only expected him to help me get the stuff into the garage, where it would at least be safe from the elements, but he looked at me as though I weren’t quite bright.

“It’ll be just as quick to put them where they need to go, right from the get-go,” he reasoned, and after assuring me he really didn’t mind, he made short work (no pun intended) of carrying the smaller items in by himself, even though he forgot to take off his work boots on the first trip and tracked in some dirt.

“Nothing my Bissell Sweeper can’t fix,” I said, scurrying to get that out of the truck too. Before I’d finished cleaning up the carpet, he’d brought in everything except the large dining room hutch. I grabbed one end of it and walked backward, which was awkward, but Joe carried most of its weight for me. We set it in place a few minutes before his half hour was up.

“It looks nice,” he said, surveying the barrier-free living/dining/kitchen area.

“Thanks! But you should see it when I’m all done sprucing it up,” I replied, pleased by his compliment and feeling uncharacteristically confident of my own skills.

“I just might do that,” he said with a smile before walking back across the street, leaving me with the sudden realization that he had the most
amazing
smile. His blue-gray eyes sparkled with warmth and the wrinkles around them spoke of hearty laughter. He simply seemed to ooze nice-guy-ness from every pore of his body! I felt a pang in my chest and groaned out loud.

“I can’t be falling for him—I just
can’t
,” I muttered, but of course I always fell for the ones I couldn’t have. Either that, or I got duped by total losers… but that had happened only once, and I was determined not to let it happen again.

I
WAS
just putting the finishing touches on the house when Rick called. Their baby hadn’t arrived yet, so I told him not to worry about work and to take as much time off as he needed. Truthfully, it was hard not to have him right now, but he was a good kid (I say “kid” even though he’s twenty-five, since I’m over ten years older) and, although he didn’t have an eye for style, he was hard-working and dependable—traits any employer would treasure.

As I hung up with him and sprinkled Legos on the floor, I heard a noise downstairs.

“Hello?” I called.

“Hey! Mind if I come in? I’ll take my shoes off this time,” Joe asked.

“Of course!” I responded, surprised that he’d actually come back. It was already dark out, but he must have been working until now to make up for helping me. I made a point of thanking him for his help since I knew I couldn’t have managed without it.

“I don’t know how I can thank you enough,” I concluded, very sincerely.

“Ah, don’t mention it! Although if you want, you could buy me a drink sometime and we’ll call it even.” He grinned, making my heart do somersaults inside of my ribcage.

“I’ll do you one better and buy you dinner,” I promised. Then I remembered his ring and hastily tacked on, “That is, as long as I’m not taking you away from your family….”

“Uh…. No, not at all. Don’t worry about it. Right now, I, uh… I’m home alone for now.”

The way he said it made me hesitate to pry, but I did have the presence of mind to ask, “Well, then, do you have dinner plans for tonight? ’Cuz frankly, I’m starving.”

“No, actually.” His easy smile was back, to my great relief. “I think I’ll take you up on that.”

“Cool!” I rejoined with enthusiasm but then blushed, wondering if that had come out sounding too eager. Ah, well—too late now. I realized he was looking around the house curiously and remembered my manners. “Would you like the Grand Tour?”

He nodded with a “Sure!” so I started out in the dining room, where the hutch now had a runner and candles on top of it, as well as a pile of magazines and junk mail. The table had an elegant tablecloth, with matching drapes on the large windows, and a ficus tree stood gracefully in the corner, although it had shed a few leaves on the floor. Then in the kitchen, there was a bowl of plastic fruit on which I’d painted brown spots to make them look more realistic, a dishrag hanging on the faucet to dry, and some finger-paint artwork and kids’ photos (purchased from a stock photo company) on the refrigerator.

“D’you do all that?” Joe asked, indicating the photos and childish paintings.

“Yeah, it’s my policy to make a house looked lived-in and comfortable, not like something you’d see in a magazine,” I explained. “That’s why Fred has me do a lot of his houses—he likes that homey look. I think people are more likely to buy a house they can actually see themselves living in.”

“Yeah, I see your point,” Joe murmured. “It really looks like someone’s living here!”

“Some people might prefer the magazine look,” I conceded, “but I’m the only one in town who does it like this, so I’m hoping it’ll be a fresh new perspective.”

We went through the living room, where I’d set out a bowl of leftover popcorn next to the remote for its buttery aroma, to go upstairs to the master bedroom. I tried not to get distracted by the huge bed, even as I pointed out that it didn’t have a gazillion cushions on it like most other designers’ would.

“I mean, who’s got time to put those on every day, just to take them off again at night?” I commented, to which Joe grinned amiably in agreement. The bathroom was a beautiful space of marble and tile, but the towels were hanging just a little crooked on the racks and the bottles of shampoo and body wash were half-empty. The roll of toilet paper was partially used too.

Then we headed over to the kids’ room, where I’d left some toys (purchased at garage sales) strewn about and more finger-paint and crayon masterpieces taped to the walls, with the corresponding art supplies on the desks. Joe remarked that the Legos on the floor were a nice touch.

The next room over was the nursery, painted pink in honor of Rick’s baby girl. I was explaining this to Joe as I walked in to squeeze the bottle of baby powder, throwing a whiff of its scent into the air. I turned around to leave the room but froze in my tracks when I saw that Joe was leaning heavily against the doorframe, his face pale and drawn.

“What is it?” I asked, thinking he was sick. He shook his head before taking a deep breath.

“Nothing. I just…. That smell…. It just reminded me…. God! I can’t….”

To my horror, he covered his face with his hands and began to sob.

“Sorry, it’s just… my baby girl…. She was only… two months old,” he managed to gasp, and I finally understood.

“I’m so sorry!” was all I could think to say, but instinctively I went up to him and put my arms around him as he wept.

Chapter 4

I
T
must have been a comical sight:
me
trying to comfort
him
when I could barely reach up to his shoulders. But Joe pulled himself together in a few minutes, apologizing for breaking down.

“No! Don’t be sorry!” I insisted, placing a hand on his arm as he wiped his face with the tissues I’d handed him. “I… I can’t say that I know
exactly
how you feel, since I’ve never had a child, but I know how much it hurts to lose someone you love. It took me
months
to get over it when Gramma died….”

“Oh, wha-what happened?” he asked, immediately concerned.

“Heart attack,” I replied, feeling a pang in my own heart as I did. “She wasn’t that old, y’know… at least, I didn’t think seventy-three was that old, in this day and age, but… I guess she’d had high cholesterol, only she never went to the doctor ’cuz she said she felt fine, and one day she just… keeled over. I think it made it harder because it was so… so
sudden
.”

Joe nodded soberly.

“Yeah. Our Dana…. The doctors said it was SIDS. She was fine and healthy, and all of a sudden… we put her down for a nap, and she… never woke up….”

He sniffed into the tissues, his eyes tearing up again.

“I’m so sorry,” I repeated. “You just don’t expect your kids to die before you do….”

“Exactly!” He took a deep breath. “And they couldn’t give us a good reason
why
she would die, so sudden like that. I guess they don’t really know, themselves.”