Charmed Life (11 page)

Bobby shook his head with a smile. “No. Why? It’s funny. I laughed about it for weeks, still do.”

Grace pointed at him. “You seem like you laugh about a lot. You seem happy. Is that because you’re normal?’

“What?” Bobby, again, laughed out that word. “No, I’m happy because I’m alive and life can always be worse.”

“That is a great philosophy.”

“See you learn something new everyday.”

“And now I learned that the pipe screws back on.”

“Well, you might want to pack up that stuff and take it back.”

“I will, thanks again for your help.”

Bobby walked to the door. “You aren’t married?”

Grace shook her head.

“Dating?”

“No, why?”

Bobby paused again at the door. “Can I buy you that latte?”

“Would seem kind of unfair since you hooked me up by screwing my pipe.”

At that second Bobby burst into laughter.

“What? What’s so funny?’

“You’re cute.”

As if she had been stunned, Grace replied with a shocked, “Thank you.”

“How about you buy me the coffee then since I screwed your pipe.”

“Ok, but it’s gonna have to be after I take back this stuff. I’m a hundred and sixty bucks in the hole.”

“I’ll help you,” Bobby said.

After retrieving the bags and the receipts, Bobby and Grace packed the items for return and walked back to the hardware store.

++++

His eyes were dazzling blue and even more translucent when they caught the sun as it peeked through the café window. His hair was a dirty blonde, and although it was a bit too wavy to get a true style, short and cropped worked for Bobby Dawson. He was the first, real, everyday guy that Grace had ever spoken to.

She spoke to George, but not for extended periods of time. He didn’t seem to want to be bothered. Maybe he didn’t want to mix business with pleasure.

The closest thing she had to speaking to an everyday normal guy was when the man at the shooting range used to flirt with her. Even then, the extent of that conversation was, ‘thanks’, the only word spoken by Grace.

It was the only word she needed to speak to him.

But with Bobby, she had started to ramble.

“Why Bargain-Mart?” he asked. “Not that there’s anything wrong with working at Bargain-Mart, but surely you had skills to find …” he saw her shake her head. “You don’t have skills.”

“Not really. As I told you, the story is I was a stay at home woman before the nasty divorce.”

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“You say, ‘the story is’, what’s up with that?”

Grace hadn’t realized she was even doing that. Perhaps it was her subconscious effort to not lie to him. “Bobby, can you keep a secret?” she played with the stirrer in her latte.

“Yep. I’m the best at that.”

“Sometimes people just need to run away from their lives. They have to get away. Just move forward, leave it behind. You know. I didn’t do anything wrong, just had enough of my life and wanted a fresh start. Freddy, too.”

“Now I buy that story.” Bobby said. “That makes sense. Sort of like what Marybeth did.”

“Yes. Yes.” Grace paused. “You know Marybeth?”

“Oh, yeah, she’s a great gal. Stops in the hardware store all the time. Grace, this is a small town. We know everyone. Even if we don’t know your name, we know you and will give a title to you. For instance you and Freddy are that odd new couple.”

“That’s what people say?”

“Oh, yeah. Odd meaning, not bad, but different. When my mom referenced you, she said, ‘you have to go help that woman,’, when I asked which woman, she said, ‘the one half of that odd couple’.”

“I’ve always been odd.”

“That’s good.”

“What about you?” she asked. “What do you do?”

“Besides work part time at my parents’ store. I am in the reserves and I am a painter.”

“Oh.” Grace held her chest. “An artist, that’s so wonderful. I love art. I love all kinds of art,” she rattled. “You name it. I have a fine appreciation and I believe that all art is good.”

Bobby shook his head.

“All art isn’t good?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m a painter … I paint houses.”

Grace replied, “Houses, fruit, people, it doesn’t matter …”

Bobby laughed. “Grace, I …. I …you are so right. You’re right.”

“See.” She smiled. “I’m an artist, too. Well, sort of, I’m a writer. Well, sort of, I want to be a writer, I just started writing. Not sure if it’s any good. I used to write poems and essays, never books. I’m writing a book. Or started it. Just started. That’s what I was doing when my pipe broke.”

Bobby gave a twitch of his head from the fast rambling. “You write books?”

“Book. A singular. And not really, I just started. It’s a conspiracy novel.”

“That’s cool. That’s really cool. I love to read.”

“Do you read a lot?’

“Actually, yes.”

“Can you help me?” Grace asked. “I mean, I don’t know if I’m doing it right, or if it’s any good …”

“Absolutely, I’d love to. Print me up some pages.”

Grace grinned. “Thanks. You are very nice Bobby Dawson; it is a pleasure to meet you. Wait until Freddy meets you. He’ll love you. Not in a gay way. Maybe in a gay way. but he won’t even mention his gay way attraction. That is unless of course you’re gay. But you’re not gay. Or are you?”

Bobby laughed and shook his head. He grabbed his coffee and sipped. “I’m not gay.”

Grace exhaled.

+++

Marybeth dropped him off before driving the two houses down to her own. Freddy gleefully waved, high and about, then perky, he went to his home.

After opening the screen door, he paused. The front door was ajar.

“Grace!” he called out upon entering. “Princess, I’m back. I brought you a buttered popcorn.” Setting it on the table, he slowed down again. The coffee pot was not in the unit, the filter basket was laying on the counter and so was the coffee.

“Hello!”

Was she napping? So engrossed in her writing? Fearful of disturbing the wonderer of words in the middle of her masterpiece, Freddy walked to the bedroom portion of the trailer. She wasn’t there. “Princess?” He called out with worry.

No answer.

One more place to check, her office.

Grace wasn’t there either. Freddy darted outside, looked around, the car was there and he raced back into the house.

His heart beat stronger, blood rushed to his ears.

Immediately he was filled with dread. He ran to the living room and lifted the black phone.

“George. Oh my God, someone kidnapped Grace.”

“What!” George blasted in shock.

“I think someone kidnapped Grace. I got home, the car is here. She isn’t.”

“Maybe she walked into town?” George asked.

Freddy gasped. “Not with her injury. She can barely walk across the house.”

“Look, Fred, she hasn’t been kidnapped.”

“How do you know?”

“Because there are surveillance camera’s around the house.”

Freddy gasped. “Hello, I run around in my underwear, I wish you would have told me.”

“Not in the house,” George snapped. “Outside. When I’m not watching them, they are linked to someone in Akron. Trust me if it looked like she had trouble I would have been called.”

“She’s missing.”

“Maybe she went out with friends,” George suggested.

“She doesn’t have any. Not even at work. Everyone treats her like Stephen King’s Carrie.”

George chuckled. “She’s fine.”

“I don’t know. My instincts …”

“She’s fine.” George hung up.

Freddy looked at the receiver with a gasp. “Bastard. Well.” He inhaled. Folding his arms, he stood in thought.

Grace was missing.

George wasn’t helping.

Freddy certainly was going to make George’s superior aware of that.

But first, Grace.

He had to find her. Make sure she hadn’t been taken against her will, laying someone, dead in a ditch. Perhaps with clothing, perhaps not. Either way she would be in a visually unbecoming position.

Shuddering with fear, Freddy knew what to do. He left the house.

‘Where is everyone?’ Freddy thought when he stepped inside the Lodi Police station. He thought it was odd that the door was on the side, and when he walked in, the reception area was dark.

“Hello!” he called out and walked to the window.

“Can I help you?” the woman asked.

Freddy turned and looked.

She walked like a man, and frightened Freddy just a tad. The forty year old woman wore a police in uniform and was actually quite attractive. Freddy didn’t know what intimidated him more. The way she did that ‘John Wayne’ adjusting of her belt, or that she probably still used Aqua Net Hair spray to keep her hair big and in place.

“Yes, are you a police officer?”

“I am.”

“You’re lovely.” In a habit he learned, like Grace from Bargain-Mart, he looked at her name tag. “Theresa.”

“Thank you. What can I help you with?” she asked

“I’m a mess. I’m worried sick. My friend is missing. Gone. I need to file a missing persons report.”

“First, calm down. Usually these things all work out. We’ll find your friend.” She pulled out her tablet. “Name?”

“Freddy Lincoln.”

“How long has Freddy been missing.”

“Oh. Not me. Her. Grace. Grace Berkowitz.” Freddy corrected.

Theresa erased and wrote. “When’s the last time you saw her?”

Freddy thought. “About three hours ago.”

Theresa stopped writing.

“What?”

“She’s only been gone three hours. How do you even know she’s missing?”

“Because she never leaves. She doesn’t have friends. The car is still there. She was supposed to be working on her novel. I went to see the new Julia Smith movie.”

“Oh, yeah? How was it?”

Freddy crinkled his nose and shook his head. “She’s too old for the role.”