“I already like you.”
“Why’s that?”
I point at Gideon.
We laugh.
“Kiss my ass!” he says.
“That’s Trudy’s job,” Faith says, “though I don’t know why she’d want it.”
55
“You bought ten packets from her?” I say, after Faith leaves.
“I only wanted two, but she needs another tank.”
“Is that supposed to make sense?” I say.
“Her seahorse tanks cost a thousand bucks each. She wouldn’t sell me less than a thousand dollars’ worth of powder.”
“What’ll you do with the other eight packets?”
“Keep them for our protection in the city. Can you imagine someone trying to mug us and getting a face full of blinding powder? It’s a ridiculously effective weapon, with a shelf life of forever. And you don’t need a permit to carry it.”
“Sounds like you’re in hog heaven.”
“I feel like the caveman who discovered fire,” he says.
“Powerful?”
“You know it.”
“Maybe I’d respect that power more if you didn’t look like the Pillsbury Dough Boy,” I say.
“Right.”
“Want some help gettin’ that flour off your clothes?”
“All help would be greatly appreciated.”
I start punchin’ his back and sides.
“Ow!” he yells. “What the hell?”
“You seemed to take pleasure beatin’ me up. I want to see if I get the same rush.”
“Stop!”
“What’s wrong?”
“I didn’t enjoy hitting you. And I’ll never do it again.”
“I don’t know. I haven’t heard an apology yet.”
“Apology? For what?”
“Uh…for hittin’ me? Hello?”
“You made me do it.”
“To save your ass from a felony assault charge.”
He thinks about it a minute, then says, “You’re right. You took all that pain for me, and didn’t have to. I think I’ve been looking at this from my own, selfish point of view. As usual.”
“I’m listenin’,” I say.
“I thought by running over Darrell I saved you from a much worse beating. But once Darrell was incapacitated, you could’ve let the police come to the barn and draw their own conclusions. And if that happened, they would’ve thrown me in jail and Darrell would’ve had a legal case against me.”
“You just now came to that conclusion?”
He says, “I’m sorry, Trudy.”
“For?”
“For hitting you.”
“You’re forgiven. Now let’s get you cleaned up.”
“Okay, but slap, don’t punch, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Ouch! Shit! Slap my clothes, not my face!”
“Sorry.”
When we get to my place, Gideon insists on checkin’ each room. He makes sure all the doors and windows are locked. Peeks in the closets and under the beds. Here’s a guy that came to town a few days ago thinkin’ about no one but himself. Now he’s practically dotin’ on me.
I like it.
But he needs to get back to Nashville and catch a flight.
“I’ll be fine,” I say.
“Okay.”
He reviews for the third time how he’s booked a limo to drive here from Nashville to pick me up in two weeks. He gets on my computer and prints out the airline reservation and tells me how to check my bags.
“You’ve never flown before,” he says. “I don’t want you to be nervous.”
“I’m not the least bit nervous. I’m excited!”
“The driver will take you to the airport. You’re flying non-stop to LaGuardia Airport. When you get to the gate-”
“When I get to the gate, I’ll go to baggage claim,” I say. “You’ll be standin’ there with a limo driver. Got it. Now go on, before you miss your flight.”
“I hate to leave you here without a car. How will you get to your attorney meetings and all the other places you’ll need to be?”
“Kennon will drive me anywhere I need to go durin’ the day. At night, while she’s at work, I’ll be right here, safe and sound.”
“I wish you had neighbors.”
“I’ve got neighbors on both sides.”
“What, a mile away?”
“Quarter mile at most. I can run a sixty-second quarter, by the way.”
He frowns, then hands me two packets of powder.
“Keep these in your back pocket at all times. If you have to use them outside, make sure the wind is at your back. Don’t get within ten feet of the cloud it makes. Better yet, throw it and run the opposite way.”
“Got it.”
“I’m serious, Trudy. If the wind shifts, you’re toast.”
“Kiss me goodbye, Gideon. I’ll see you in two weeks.”
He kisses me, takes a long, last look, then leaves.
I stand at the door and watch him drive away.
When he’s completely out of sight, I lock the door, turn on the livin’ room fan to get the air circulatin’, and start puttin’ things in piles. These I’m throwin’ away, these I’m givin’ away, these I’m takin’ with me to New York City. After a few hours of that, I go online, email some friends about my hospital adventure, tell ’em about Dr. Box, and how I’m goin’ to New York City. Then I call Alice T’s and tell Big Ed I’m quittin’.
“I could use you here these next two weeks,” he says.
“With Scooter laid up and out of town, I’d be too skittish at closin’ time,” I say.
“Kennon could bring you like before, and I could drive you home.”
“I couldn’t let you do that. Plus, Dottie would skin us both.”
He laughs. “She’s right jealous, my wife. If you come in to say goodbye, I’ll catch you up on your hours.”
“Forget those few hours of pay, Ed. You’ve been more than fair with me. But I’ll want a hug from you and the girls before runnin’ off to New York.”
“You’re finally going to do it!” he says.
“I finally am.”
“I know that’s what you always wanted,” he says, “and more power to you. But I’ll miss you.”
