Your Chariot Awaits (5 page)

Although I was pretty sure I wasn't going to let her husband drive. I didn't have acrimonious feelings toward him as I did toward Jerry, but I was feeling very proprietary about this long, black, magic chariot that had unexpectedly dropped into my possession.

“Sure, just let me know.” She gave me a little wave as she started back toward her house at the end of the street.

Jerry had gone back to the limousine, though I doubted it was because he sensed vibrations of hostility from JoAnne. As I'd already concluded, he wasn't that aware. He was leaning over and running his hand around a hubcap now.

I suppressed an urge to stomp on his fingers as I walked over and said, “Could you move your car out of the driveway, please? I'd like to park the limo there so it can't get scraped or bumped out on the street.”

I noted a little dust on a front fender and headed for the garage to get a rag to polish it off. Instead of going to move his car, Jerry followed me.

“Hey, babe, I'm thinking, why don't I run down to the store and pick up a couple steaks? It's a great evening for a barbecue.”

I turned at the door to the garage and looked at him. He hadn't been interested in my suggestion about barbecuing burgers earlier. “It's getting late. I thought you had things to do.”

“They can wait.” Without looking at the Rolex he always wore to check the time, he stepped closer and draped his arms around me. “How about it? Maybe a bottle of champagne?”

“You want to
celebrate
our breakup?”

“Not celebrate it, Andi. Just give it the kind of conclusion it deserves. With a little celebration of your new limo thrown in.”

I was about 99 percent inclined to tell him
no way
, but there was that one percent of mental foot dragging. Maybe because he was almost begging, and that was certainly a change. Maybe because I figured he owed me a steak. Or maybe because, deep down in some hope-never-dies part of me, I thought maybe there was still a chance for us?

And then he said, “I'm just thinking, I've never . . . you know . . . in the back of a limousine.” He ran a fingertip across my eyebrow and down my temple. “We'll pull all those little curtains and light a couple of candles . . .”

I drew back and stared at him in astonishment. “We've never ‘you know' anywhere!” I pointed out. Jerry had made some moves and hints before, but I thought he understood where I stood on this.

“And that's one of the problems with our relationship,” he pointed out.

“One of its ‘limitations'?”

“A definite limitation.”

“So you're thinking that now, when our relationship is ending, that I'm going to . . . jump into something I wouldn't before?”

“It would put a beautiful end to the relationship. Give it— what's it called?—closure. Yes, that's it. A beautiful closure. A beautiful memory for both of us.”

And suddenly I was totally and completely furious. He had just dumped me, tried to sell me his old sailboat, blithely told me he was taking up with another woman, and now he wanted
closure
in the back of the limousine?
Toadstool
was way too generous.

I put both hands on his chest and shoved. He stumbled backward, looking baffled, as if he couldn't understand this uncooperative attitude.

“Andi, come on. What's the matter?”

“Out!” I yelled. “Get away from me! Get out of here,
now!
”

My old broom was still standing there from when I'd last swept the front steps. I grabbed for it blindly, intending . . . I don't know what. Maybe shake it in his face to let him know how I was feeling.

But suddenly I was even madder than that, and I was yelling a lot more things. “Jerk! Idiot!” I think I got
scumbag
in there too, and maybe even
slime bucket
and
sleazeball
.

I swung the broom back and forth . . .
whoosh, whoosh,
whoosh!

Jerry had a strange look on his face. He jumped like a kangaroo in reverse, then started running and stumbling backward. He crashed into a flower bed, scrambled to his feet, and crab-stepped sideways.

I had him on the run! It was an exhilarating thought.
Whoosh!
Sweep that man right out of my life! A little closer and I might even do a
wham.

“C'mon, Andi, take it easy—”

Was that
fear
I heard in his voice? The man was afraid of a woman with a
broom
?

“Out! I never want to see you again!”
Whoosh!

He jumped into the Trans Am, and my
whoosh
turned into a
wham
on the door as he closed it. A wham that
boinged
and vibrated up my arms and across my shoulders and ricocheted around in my brain. I shook my head, trying to clear the shooting stars.

Which was when I suddenly realized it wasn't an old broom I was swinging. It was a
shovel
. The shovel with which I'd been flattening those dirt mounds in the lawn.

I stared at the dent in the car door, horrified at what I'd done. Bare metal showed through the glossy red paint. “Jerry, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to—”

He didn't give me a chance to finish. He gunned the engine and shot out of the driveway like a race driver in reverse. Out on the street, a scent of burned rubber sprayed the air like some macabre barbecue.

I stared after him. How could I have done such an incredible, ridiculous thing? Chasing a man down a driveway with a
shovel
, whacking the side of his car, all the time yelling and screaming like a banshee.

I looked at the shovel still hanging like a metallic appendage from my hand. Appalling. Bizarre. Unbelievable. And then I realized I had an audience. Tom Bolton from across the street was staring at me from his gate. Farther down the street, two doors had opened, and more people were gawking as if they thought I'd gone berserk.

Maybe I had
, I thought guiltily. Never in my life had I behaved in such a way. I cringed, wishing I could dig a quick hole with the shovel and pull the dirt in over me. How would I ever live this down?

But it doesn't really matter,
I told myself firmly as I straightened my shoulders and pretended to ignore the stares. It was humiliating, of course, to have witnesses to my ridiculous display. It was disturbing to realize I could do such an awful thing, with or without an audience. It was scary to know that in anger I couldn't differentiate between a broom and a shovel. What if I'd actually whammed Jerry
?

But I hadn't, after all, done that. Except for some possible damage to his ego, I hadn't hurt Jerry at all. I'd drop him a polite note and tell him to send me the repair bill on the car. Not something I could afford, but the only decent thing to do.

With careful dignity, I walked to the garage and set the shovel next to the broom that I'd meant to pick up. No harm done, I assured myself firmly.

Wrong again. Although it would be a couple of days before I knew that.

5

J
oella came over after she got home from Bible study. I knew she wouldn't have if Jerry's Trans Am had still been in the driveway. By then I'd moved the limo off the street and was morosely drowning my guilt and humiliation in lemonade and cookies.

She peered around cautiously. “He's gone?”

I nodded. “Permanently. We broke up. He's getting a transfer to the San Diego office.”

I didn't give details about Jerry's suggestion on “closure” in the back of the limousine, but I did tell her about what I euphemistically termed an “unpleasant confrontation” and that the Trans Am had been the unfortunate victim of my fury. She sipped lemonade while she listened.

“Do you want me to be sympathetic or truthful?” she asked when I was finished.

“Whatever.”

“Okay, if you want sympathy . . . there, there, sweetie, I know how you're hurting.” She patted my shoulder solicitously. “But if you want what I really think . . .” She shot a fist of victory into the air. “Good riddance!”

She was probably right. When I looked at him clearly, there were definitely rough spots on Jerry's luster. A lack of concern about being on time for dates, sometimes even forgetting them entirely. That snobbish attitude toward people who weren't as physically fit as he was. A tendency toward status symbols, including that overpriced condo and the pretentious decorator he'd hired to decorate it. And once the guy had actually cheated when we were playing a Sudoku board game, though I hadn't let myself acknowledge that at the time. Realistically, even if he hadn't gotten the transfer, we probably wouldn't have lasted much longer.

I had to wonder now if I hadn't overlooked some of Jerry's less-appealing personality traits because I was too dazzled that this very attractive guy, this ten-years-younger-than-me guy, was interested in
me.

“I'm sorry,” Joella said. “I'm sure he had his good points.”

“No, that's okay. Although at the moment,
good riddance
is probably what he's thinking about me.”

“It's his loss.”

“I guess it's a wonder we lasted as long as we did.” I shook my head. “The difference in our temperaments and values. To say nothing of our ages. I'm not sure what he ever saw in me. I'm a grandmother, for goodness' sake.”

“Andi, don't sell yourself short.” Joella's tone was almost severe. “
I
can certainly see what he saw in you. You're sweet and smart and fun. You have beautiful eyes and a great figure.”

“I should lose at least twelve pounds. Gray hair—”

“I don't see any gray hair.”

“That's because I cover it with ‘Cinnamon Sunrise.'” Which, in less fanciful terms, was light brown with goldy glints.

“You look at least ten years younger than you are,” Joella declared, ever my loyal supporter. “But even if you didn't, so what? It's no sin to look your age. And I have to give Jerry credit for one thing. He may be a jerk, but he had the good taste or good sense or whatever to be attracted to
you
.”

“Whatever it was, he ran out of it.”

“A jerk is a jerk is a jerk,” Joella said. “A jerk can hide his jerkiness for only so long, and then it breaks through. Like a rotten egg exploding in a microwave.”

“I didn't realize you were such a philosopher.”

“I've known some jerks too. They come in all ages.”

I sighed. “Jerk or not, I still can't believe I went after him with a shovel
.
” I could still feel the tingle from that
boing
on his car door. “Maybe I need an anger management course or something.”

“What you need is God.”

“How does God feel about shovel-wielding women?”

“He's forgiven much worse. We were studying forgiveness in Ephesians just this evening at Bible study. You should come sometime.”

Sure. I could take my shovel and do show-and-tell.

I got up and restlessly peered out the kitchen window. Joella came around to stand by me. We looked out at the limo.

“How do you figure on trying to sell it? Newspaper ad?”

“I have no idea what it's worth. Maybe I should contact some limousine services over in Olympia or Seattle and see if they'd like to buy it.”

“Maybe you should think about starting your own limousine business.”

“That's what my cousin said. Although he also said I might turn it into a hot-dog stand. One's probably as practical as the other.”

Joella looked as if she were about to scold me, but then she giggled. “Why not? Limo-dogs! Great idea. You can drive around town with a big mustard-striped wiener mounted on top. I'll toss out flyers about the Limo Special of the Day. You'll cater exclusive private parties and feature Limo-dogs with caviar!”

Joella's silly scenario made me feel smiley in spite of my glum mood.

“We'll need a sound system blaring something lively,” I said. “How about ‘Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie, Yellow Polka Dot Bikini'?”

“What's that got to do with limousines or hot dogs?”

“Who cares?”

“Right! You'll add a second limo, then expand to a whole fleet. You'll sell franchises and become known nationwide as Queen of the Limo-dog Empire!”

“I'll attend society functions wearing a tiara of entwined hot dogs! Hot-dog jewelry will become the latest fad!”

The scheme collapsed under its own grandiose silliness. Joella giggled again, and so did I. She often had that effect on me. I put an arm around her slender shoulders and squeezed my thanks.

“Seriously, though, maybe you should think about the limousine-business idea. Look how excited that girl on the street was about getting a limo for some event. Kids have all kinds of money to spend these days.”

And JoAnne Metzger had seemed thrilled with the idea of a limousine for her niece's wedding . . .

I shook my head. No. A fun idea, perhaps, but impractical on a daily basis. “What I need is a
job.
Steady, go-to-work-every- day, paycheck-paying employment. With benefits.”

“I suppose.”

“First thing Monday morning I'm job hunting.” Hopefully before everyone else from F&N beat me to it.

BY THE NEXT day at the office, I realized Monday morning might be too late. At least a third of the employees didn't even show up for work, no doubt thinking,
What can they do to me
now? I'm already fired.
Those early birds were probably out there snatching up whatever jobs might be available. I knew a lot of job hunting with big companies was done on the Internet these days, but I doubted that smaller business offices around Vigland worked that way, and it might well be the early birds who got the jobs.

Joining them was a tempting thought, but a persistent sense of responsibility and loyalty kept me glumly sitting at my desk. F&N had been good to me for the past eleven years, and I was getting paid through Friday, plus that four months' severance pay, so cheating on these final days wouldn't be right. Also, Letty Bishop, who was in charge now that the department supervisor had already cleared out, was frantically trying to operate with only half a crew, and I didn't want to let her down either.