Let Your Heart Drive (11 page)

“Oh…” she says with a trace of chagrin, her heart-shaped face blushes for an instant and then she wags a finger toward me. “It’s been months since you and Jake split and I don’t blame you if…” She pauses eyeing me up and down like I’m some kind of hermit begging to come out of solitude.

I snap my shoulders back and wiggle closer to her and whisper so no one can hear me, “Okay Ms. granny panties, I can’t wait to hear this…”

She meets my challenging glare and whispers back, “You think Brett and I don’t have a sex life?”

“You can’t honestly tell me he’s all over you when you’re wearing those gigantic granny panties every night,” I mouth as discreetly as I can and arch a malevolent brow waiting for her response.

“I don’t wear those every night…”

“So when’s the last time you…
got laid
?”

Our voices are angry whispers testing the boundaries of sound and my smirk grows with each passing moment, because I watch her roll her eyes, counting, contemplating on just how long it’s been.

I make a load buzzer noise from deep within my throat and cut off her agonizing attempt to salvage her fake sexcapades. “It’s been too long. Chelsea, if you can’t tell me it was a few hours ago when you went home for lunch or last night or three days, then girl, it’s been way too long and you’re married!”

“Don’t you turn this around on
me—
” 

“Why not? I mean, Brett’s an extremely physically fit, hardworking, sexy guy and look at you, Chelsea…you’re definitely no couch potato. Seriously you’re both young, in love, and don’t give me this bullshit about he works, you work, not enough time, Garrett crap. I know this list could go on and on because I’ve heard you gripe over the years about not having ‘
quality
’ time together. So, make time.”

She pops her mouth open as she formulates her ammunition, her excusable list of logical reasons, her defenses, but I intervene and add, “And get rid of those granny panties.”

She shuts her mouth, feigning she’s insulted and resumes her Lotus position, and I can see each aggravated rise and fall from her chest. “Fine, but I have a suggestion for you, Sin.”

“Don’t try the cake. Go for the icing. Happy Birthday!”

–Liam Holland

It’s Saturday
, Garrett’s birthday and forty-eight hours away from his very first day of school. Chelsea and I spent an entire week shopping, stocking up on school supplies, and preening Rett like he’s a Hollywood child star. But while my sister and nephew were occupied with shoes and whatnot, I strolled myself on over to a swanky lingerie store. I felt like a naughty Seussian buying risqué nighties with black lacy bras, to mesh see-through teddies. From here to there I even bought golden underwear to thigh-high stockings and edgy garter belts that I wasn’t sure how to wear. By the time I walked out of that store I was practically poverty-stricken.

We have less than an hour to set up Garrett’s party today, and Chelsea has yet to see what I purchased for her. Our arrangement – tonight’s
date night
for her and Brett, complete privacy, meaning a full one night stay at the Mayo Hotel. I saved some money back because I knew Chelsea and Brett deserved this, I never want to stop seeing them look at each other, so infatuated, so in love, like they did on their wedding day. I don’t think Brett ever chased after a girl like he did with Chelsea. It was their relationship that made me really believe that two people could love each other unconditionally and that fairy tales truly do exists.

Shirley, one of my sister’s friends saunters past me and perches her gift on the pyramid of presents. “Someone’s gonna have a good time tonight,” she draws with that Okie bumpkin accent of hers. She’s a few years older than Chelsea, they met at the fitness club and discovered they had something in common. A little boy with raven colored hair bounces on his heels, the impulse to run off in the other direction etches in his round suntanned face.

“Momma, can I go find Garrett now?” he pleads and starts to reach for the present his mother had just placed on the table.

She halts his attempt with a reprimanding shake from her blonde head. “You have to wait Alex, now run along…” she spins him around and pats his rump like she’s shooing a horse to hightail it out of here. She stands upright and lifts an implying shoulder at me. “One day you’ll understand the joys of motherhood,” she states it sincerely, but somehow it comes off like a stab in the dark. Did Chelsea tell her? I twist around her and lock my words in my tight lipped mouth. Surely she doesn’t know, Chelsea wouldn’t blab about our secrets to anyone.

A few more friends of Chelsea and Brett’s breeze in and out of the kitchen, dropping presents, cards, cards with money, and flashy, bold bags with bows and ribbons. I was kind of enjoying the fact that Garrett and I would shake a package and guess what we thought it was. Fifty percent of the time we were right the other percentage we’re so off base, I mean who wraps a hamster cage and better yet, where’s the hamster?

We stuff our faces with more icing than we do cake, and all the dads venture outside eventually to discuss and manly analyze the construction of the backyard pool. I sneak upstairs and grab Dad’s gifts for Garrett, I promised I would film Rett’s reaction when he saw what his granddaddy got him. By my second heave I have the mammoth sized moose out, but it comes with a price. I’m clocked in the forehead with a blue Rubbermaid storage bin and my heart plummets to my feet. Scarves and hats fall around me and I fumble frantically trying to shove it all back inside. That unbearable ache I’ve fought to keep at bay, to keep it so far away threatens to rip down everything that I am. Until I hear Garrett’s bubbly innocent voice through the bedroom door calling out to me, “Aunt Sin! You said there’s one more…”

I wipe the tears from my face and wedge the storage bin back inside the closet. “Coming! You’re not going to believe this,” I shout back and grab the bike.

An hour later a couple of kids race by, laughing, chasing Garrett still wearing their party hats and I snag an abandoned plate sitting on the couch. The house looks like an explosion of balloons, confetti, and superheroes. Garrett loves Batman, Superman, Spiderman, and Caption America. It’s the happiest state of chaos I’ve ever been in.

I nab another plate while heading into the kitchen and spot a familiar flimsy feather duster laying on the countertop. Chelsea sidles up next to me and whispers so quietly I can barely hear her,
“Garrett found the bag…”
 

“What bag?”
I mumble back stealing a glance behind us. Six woman flock around the center island, including Shirley. Schmoosing each other with compliments and gossip. Someone’s hired a new lawn boy and someone’s dying to be invited over so they can watch
lawn boy
sweat. Lord, is this how motherhood is? I dart a glance out of the kitchen window and wonder if this is what the mommies are talking about, then what are the dads’ hot topics this evening?

The proud owner of the lawn boy, Courtney, ambles toward us, she doesn’t rinse off a dish or carts herself over to the trash to dispose of the day’s affair. Instead, she picks up the feather duster completely enthralled. “Oh my god…which one of you have been to Naughty Nights?” I throw my finger at Chelsea and she instantly aims an accusing finger my way. 

I know when my face is scalding hot and I can’t hide it, so, I let out a defeated sigh and admit my indiscretions, “Okay, yes, it was me I went to Naughty Nights, but it was a mission to deliver the goods to Chelsea.” All eyes swing over to her, six delighted eager faces wordlessly implore her to confess.

She swipes the incriminating feather duster from the Courtney’s grasp and she huffs out, “I may be playing
maid
tonight, but next weekend Sinead’s going to learn the meaning of bench pressing.” Her ponytail sways as she cocks her tattle-tailing head toward me. No one in the room, aside from myself, knows what Chelsea’s talking about which makes everyone bounce their puzzled stares between us.

It’s Shirley that pops the mystery, she must’ve correlated somehow Mr. Bench Presser and my singleness. “Are you sayin’ Logan from the fitness club and Sinead are dating?” Our gathering in the kitchen has become even closer nit, a huddle of women with our voices lowered like we’re disclosing confidential information,
secret agent style
.

One of the husbands from outside walks in on our little gabfest, he eyes us and we eye him, in silence. Not a word peeps out as he reaches inside the refrigerator and removes a cold drink, slowly he steps back and walks out still facing us. Maybe he’s afraid to turn his back, but it’s hilarious to see the power of an assembly of women strike fear into a man.

Okay, maybe it’s not entirely fear, maybe it’s just their customs.

Chelsea picks up right where Shirley left off. “They’re supposed to go out next Saturday.” She nudges me with her arm and smiles. “Apparently Logan’s noticed Sinead working at the club and he asked me the second week she started working there if she was seeing someone.” 

“Really?” Courtney asks chewing on her acrylic teal painted nail. Fantasies bloom and blossom inside her head and it’s so obvious because her overly-big starry eyes wander off toward the ceiling. And then something happens, the redhead across from me leans back on the center island and mutters wooingly,
“Logan…”

Every woman swoons with her in unison and I fume at my sister, “What did you get me into?”

She blows a flamboyant party blower in my face and says, “You’ll see.”

“First best is falling in love. Second best is being in love.

Least best is falling out of love.

But any of it is better than never having been in love.”

–Maya Angelou

While Chelsea and
Brett stay at the grand Art Deco Mayo hotel, Garrett and I spend the rest of the evening partying. Luckily, we’re loaded with cans of silly string to make the grade on our silly string war. I have the downstairs lights off since we can see the web-like strands glow from the banister all the way into the living room. Chelsea’s going to flip out if she sees this, I’m convinced I’ve majorly messed up the feng shui of her house. Massive glowing blobs splatter across the ceiling and dangle like party streamers over the arch in the hallway. I round up Rett and have him help me, by the time the clock strikes nine I have him squeaky clean and cuddled up for movies.

“Sinny? Why didn’t you stay at the Cozy Cone motel like the one Sally has?” he questions and points toward the TV. The Disney Pixar movie
Cars
is playing and I look down at him and grin.

“Because I was in a hurry to get here,” I explain as I gently run my finger down the bridge and tap the end of his small button nose. “To see you.”

“But Sinny, Lightning McQueen said it’s good to slow down, you could’ve missed Radiator Springs,” he says as he watches Sally and McQueen drive out to the Wheel Well Motel. I stretch over and slide my laptop off the coffee table and smile inside. Garrett’s favorite movie has always been
Cars
and it’s his obsession with the movie that inspired me to drive Route 66.

“You’re right, I could have missed it, but I did slow down enough to see these…” I sit my laptop on a pillow in front of us and click through my gallery of photos I saved just for him. The Wigwam hotel in Holbrook, Arizona, the leaning water tower in Groom, Texas, to the gargantuan pop bottle at Pops in Arcadia, Oklahoma and I watch his eyes grow. Each picture, larger than life, flashes across my screen and he laughs and points when he sees me standing beside a giant jackrabbit, painted cars buried half-way in the ground, and a huge Teepee. And then he sucks in a startled breath and whips his head toward me.

“Zombieland…”

I laugh and say playfully, “Yeah, I got out of there as fast as I could, and you know what?”

He scoots closer and eyes me with pure excitement as he asks, “
What?
”

“I never saw anyone there, at all…” I’m telling him the truth it’s the last abandoned town I went through and it really did feel freakish to look through the shells of old buildings, knowing there was once life filling the streets. I can still vividly remember sitting at that haggard dusty four way with only the wind whispering of a past that had died. That’s what I want Garrett to see, to understand that it may be gone, but no one can take away your memories, they’ll
never
be forgotten.

He flips over onto his stomach and slips his hand under another pillow and plainly says, “I know where they were, Sinny?”

“The what?” I ask combing my fingers through his feathery hair.

“The zombies.”

“Where?”

He mumbles groggily into his pillow and I can’t hear where the zombies lie low, but I can bet Garrett has a pretty good theory. He knows more about villains than I do. I sit quietly and watch as he falls sound asleep, praying and hoping I haven’t stirred zombie seeded nightmares. God. I am the worst person, but just when I think I’m officially soulless my phone vibrates in my pocket. I prepare myself thinkingit’sChelsea calling to see if we’ve survived the night.

“I know, I know I should’ve called sooner, but he just fell asleep,” I answer without looking at the ID.

“Did I call at a bad time?” It’s Trey, his voice lacks that strenuous timber. It’s lighter, more at ease.

“Oh, uh…Hey Trey. No, it’s okay, I just thought you were my sister. They went out tonight and I’m hanging out with my nephew.” I roll my eyes at myself for sounding so off key, I wasn’t expecting him to call. And just like all the other times I’ve talked with him, my face blushes a ridiculous scarlet red and my heart starts ticking to a whole new level. I ease myself gently away from Garrett, making sure I don’t startle him and sit up.

“You sure?” he questions sincerely and I laugh mentally shoving my school girl giddiness to somewhere far, far away. I’ve got to get a grip here.

“Yeah.” I turn the volume down a notch and carry on with, “Actually, yeah I’m sure. You couldn’t have called at a better time.”

I hear his sexy subtle laugh first and then he retorts, “And why is that?”

“Because you just might know how to vanquish zombies from a little boy’s mind, any suggestions?” I chew on my thumbnail, feeling my grin widen. He laughs again, but this time it’s more of a disbelieving chuckle.

“First, I have to know who put these
zombie ideas
into his head…”

I huff out a fine-you-win kind of sigh. “I did.”

“I’m afraid to ask why,” he admits teasingly and I sit for a split second and imagine what his smile looks like.

But I don’t let silence rule the moment, I jump right on in and explain, “When I was on my way here, I kinda got lost
and—
”

“Got lost? Where? When? And why didn’t you call me? It’s what I’m for, roadside
assistance—
”

I interrupt laughing at his list of questions, “Whoa… it’s okay, I made it here, but I will say there are some pretty eerie places along the Mother Road. It’s actually kind of heartbreaking.” I tell him about the town that had been essentially cut off from the main road and there was literally nothing out there to pick up a signal. The only thing I leave out is how alone I felt, emotionally.

“So, you named the town zombie land?”

“Yeah well…I have pictures captioned
Zombieland
and I showed them to my nephew tonight. He thought it was cool and that’s how we got on the subject of zombies.”

“Hmm…” he hums out thought-provokingly and finally asks, “How young are we talkin’ here?”

“Four, no, no he just turned five today. It’s his birthday,
was
his birthday,” I whisper while Garrett sluggishly rolls over. I reach, snagging the remote again and turn off the TV. I’d brought down a couple of pillows, clean sheets and his favorite blanket when we were making our pallets. Carefully I tuck in his Spiderman blanket around him and slump back against the couch.

“Make him a tent.”

“A what?” I ask feeling dumb, I know what a tent is.

“You know an indoor tent, you have any old bed sheets laying around?”

My eyes zoom in on Chelsea’s white sheets laying in front of me. “Yeah.”

“If they’re old sheets, maybe you can draw something non-zombieish on them and hang the tent above him. So when or
if
he wakes up from a nightmare then he has something cool to focus on.”

“How do you know all this? Are you running a daycare when you’re not working roadside?”

He laughs and I swear it’s the best thing I’ve heard all year. How in the world can someone you hardly know make your day with a simple word or a deep-felt laugh?

“I’m not giving away all my secrets,” he wise-cracks.

“Oh, a man of secrets, huh?” I taunt sitting up farther, trying to shield my conversation from innocent ears.

“Yeah, but only the good kind,” he retorts with a snicker and I’m immediately intrigued. I want to know so much more about him, but I don’t want to come off sounding fanatical.

“All right I’m not going to interrogate you tonight,
but—
”

“But…? What?”

“I may need your expertise on tent making,” I bribe thinking this will give us more time to talk. The ashen white sheets are cardboard stiff and folded, so I start to unravel them from their perpetual state. My sister has a legion of sheets and I have no earthly idea why. Maybe she’s a sheet hoarder, but by the time I unfold one Trey gives in.

“Okay, I think I can do that.”

“Great. I’ve confiscated some sheets, now what?” Still standing I glance around the room for what I need next.

“Do have any clothesline?” Trey quizzes and I hear the anticipation looming in his tone, he’s really pumped about making this tent. “Oh, and you’re going to need something to anchor the ends with. How does your sister feel about hooks poking out of her walls?”

I pace toward the garage where Brett’s tools and household stuff are and on my way I spot a box of Christmas things. So I sling a bundle of mini lights around my arm like a round of ammo and answer, “If it’s strategically done, she may not notice.”

The rest of the night I’m tying knots, hanging lights, and carefully securing the ends just like Trey instructs. Once I finish, I have to take a few steps back and gape at the incredible glowing fort strung all across the living room. Some sheets soar above others, some zig-zag through the couches and I know Garrett is just going to love this.

The next week I occasionally eyeball
Logan
at the fitness club
,
he’s not overly buff. He definitely possess major upper body strength, that much is apparent and while I conduct my survey I can see why the ladies gawk at him. Muscled, well-defined biceps aside, he has an Adam Levine motif going on. His dark chestnut beard, hair, and brows match perfectly. His dark watchful eyes lift ever so often while I loiter around the lobby making appointments for Chelsea.
Why have I never picked up on his attraction before?
He’s not hideous, he’s not rude or cocky. Every time I pass the weight room he’s always considerate, offers to help me carry yoga props. So why can’t I bring myself to return the flirty glances and the inviting smiles?

By the weekend I have to level with Chelsea.
I can’t do this
.

“I know what I said, Chelsea, but this isn’t going to happen. I’m sorry.” In reality I’m not sorry, I need her to understand that hooking me up with someone Dad’s already background checked and finding he’s clean doesn’t change anything.

“I’m not into him.”

She stops mid-slice and I feel bad for the helpless jalapeno she’s stabbing, tonight – just like all evenings are homegrown vegan dishes. But for tonight she’s shaking things up a bit and making a vegan Frito pie. She holds her stance and drags her eyes up to mine.

“What do you mean you’re not into him?” 

I reach over and open the Frito bag and point out, “There’s a slew of women waiting in a line for him and that’s not something I want.”

Her hand holding the knife sags to the side while her utterly confused face contorts. “You’re afraid? He’s not Jake, he won’t treat you like Jake did, Sinead.”

Keeping my demeanor nonchalant I crunch on a few chips and shrug. “It’s not what you think, Chelsea.”

“Yes it is. It’s exactly what I think. You’re afraid of getting close to anyone and you know it.”

“That’s not it. I don’t want to be with someone just for the sake of it, and yes, he has a lot of great qualities…”

She waves the kitchen knife around and pins the next defenseless pepper still. “And those qualities are something that should stir something in you…” She drops the knife and presses her hands on either side of the island and quietly adds, “What’s wrong with you, Sin? I thought this would be something you’d like to do.”

I remove the half eaten Frito from my mouth and aim it at her. “That’s right, you thought. I don’t need a guy to make me happy, even if he’s six two, weighs a hundred and eighty and his sheer sweat entices women a block away.”

Her mouth twitches as she starts slicing like she’s auditioning for Iron Chef America. “Has Jake made you a lesbian?”

I quirk a grin, she’s killing me, because if I don’t fit into her perfect little picture frame she just keeps trying to stuff me back in. I grab a lime and start helping her cut it into wedges and ask with the straightest face I can muster, “What if I am?”

Garrett bolts through the kitchen, shooting a laser gun, he ducks behind me making me smile. I wipe my hands off and rumple his combed-over hair as he peeks up at me briefly. Brett saunters in and reaches across, snags a handful of chips and asks, “What if you are what?” His smile falls the second he looks at his wife, he knows, whether it was telepathically or some husband/wife code, he just walked into a conversation he needs to leave alone. Chelsea’s first to redirect her gaze and mixes the leftover, meatless chili onto the Fritos.