Hitchers

Toy Shop in your profile?”

I took a swig of Jack and Coke. “I guess I don’t want to take a lot of credit for Toy Shop, because I didn’t create it.”

“You create it new every day,” Lyndsay said, her tone overly earnest.

“I guess.”

She patted my hand, gave me her best empathetic look. “Sure you do.”

It was an incredibly complex issue to me, one that a “Sure you do” didn’t begin to resolve. “Well, thanks,” I said, hoping that would close out this particular topic.

The strip was more successful than it had ever been, but somehow the better it did, the more I felt like a fraud. My success came by standing on the shoulders of someone I hadn’t even liked, who had expressly forbidden me from doing what I did. On his death bed. None of the ideas for a strip I’d tried on my own before taking over Toy Shop had generated the least bit of interest from the syndicates. I hadn’t even been able to land an agent until I acquired the rights to Toy Shop.

I pushed back in my chair. “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”

I called my friend Annie from the bathroom.

“Help.”

“That bad?” Annie asked. “Is she ugly?” Her voice was raspy and drained.

“You don’t sound good.”

“I have the flu. I feel awful.”

“Have you been to the doctor?”

“Duh. Have you been watching the news? Doctors’ offices are packed. So’s the emergency room. Half the city’s got it.”

“Yeah, I forgot.” I’d been too nervous about my date to pay much attention to the news. All they were covering, even on the big national networks, was the flu outbreak. I was probably an idiot for being out.

“I’ll let you get some rest. Why don’t I stop by after?” I could surprise her with some soup from Stone Soup Kitchen.

“It’s okay. What else am I going to do? Is she ugly?”

A tall guy in cowboy boots came into the bathroom. He nodded a pointless greeting and bellied up to a urinal. “No,” I said, talking lower, “she’s really good looking—better looking than her photo. She’s just…I don’t know.” I felt self-conscious with the cowboy guy in the room. I also felt strangely emasculated—guys don’t stand around in bathrooms talking on the phone. Women probably don’t either.

The sound of urine on porcelain filled the small bathroom. “She’s kind of slick. I just don’t get a good vibe.” Cowboy guy stared at the wall.

“Mm. It’s always best to trust your gut. Want me to do a phone call rescue?” She coughed harshly. “Sorry.”

I considered as cowboy guy brushed past me without washing his hands. Usually I was the one rescuing Annie from bad dates by calling so she could pretend an emergency had come up, because there were far more men than women who were nightmare dates, and somehow the worst of them always found Annie. That was true of Annie’s life in general, really.

This wasn’t really a nightmare date, though. “No, I’ll stick it out. Just needed some emotional support.”

“Big hug,” Annie said. “Call me as soon as you’re done. Hey, what if she offers to sleep with you?”

“She’s not going to.”

“She might.”

“She won’t.”

“But what if she does? You said she was good looking.”

An image of Lyndsay unbuttoning her silk blouse flashed through my mind. I banished it.

“Are you going to kiss her goodnight?” Annie persisted.

“No!”

“Then what are you going to do? Are you going to shake her hand?” Her tone was teasing now.

An old guy pushed open the door, nodded curtly and squeezed past me.

“I’ll talk to you later.”

“Call me as soon as you leave the restaurant.”

I closed my phone, grateful for Annie. It was amazing how close Lorena’s death had drawn us. Before, she’d mostly been Lorena’s friend.

I needed to pee, but the old guy was standing pushed up to the urinal, clearly finding it difficult to get a flow going with me three feet away. It would be cruel, and awkward, to wait.

Lyndsay had brushed her hair and put on fresh lipstick. She opened her mouth, likely to say something clever she’d been rehearsing while I was in the bathroom, but I jumped in.

“So tell me about the publishing business.”

Lyndsay leaned back in her chair, draped her arms over the armrests. “What I was going to say is more interesting.” Her smile was brimming with promises that both scared me and made my head spin. It had been more than two years since I’d been with a woman.

Since I’d been with my wife.

I felt a dizzy sinking in my stomach, like I’d just dropped twenty floors in an elevator. This all felt wrong— wrong place, wrong time, wrong woman. I wanted to be home, in front of the TV watching Lost reruns and drinking decaffeinated Earl Grey tea.

I wasn’t sure how to respond to Lyndsay’s leading comment. The only appropriate response would be “What were you going to say?” Part of me was curious about what she was going to say, but most of me wanted to go home. Most of me felt like I was cheating on Lorena.

There was a cup of coffee in front of me, so I took a sip in lieu of a reply, and burned my mouth. It was a big sip, so I got caught in that moment where you have something hot in your mouth and you don’t know whether to spit it out, which would mean passing it back over the tender parts at the front of your mouth, or roll it around in the back of your mouth and tolerate the pain until it cools. I tolerated the pain until it cooled. It seemed to take a long time.

“I guess I’ve left you speechless,” Lyndsay said, raising an eyebrow.

I set my coffee down. “I’m really sorry. I think I made a mistake. I thought I was ready to date, but I’m not.” My tongue felt thick and cottony, maybe from the burn.

Lyndsay regarded me, then fished the strap of her purse from the back of her chair. “If you’re not interested in me, just say so.” She pulled two twenties from her purse and dropped them on the table. “The least you could do is be honest if you’re going to waste my Friday night.”

“It’s not an excuse, it’s the truth,” I insisted, although it was only partially true. I wasn’t ready to date, but I also was not interested in her.

“Mm hm.” She pulled on her coat.

I picked up her twenties, offered them back to her. “I can get this.”

She looked at my hand like I was offering her a dead rat. “I’m not sure you’re ready.”

I dropped the bills back on the table. “Look, my wife died, okay?” Even as I said it, I regretted it. I was using Lorena’s death to win an argument. “I left that out of my profile as well. I’m sorry if I wasted your valuable time, but this is hard for me.”

Lyndsay froze, her hand buried in her purse. “I’m sorry. Your profile said you were divorced.”

“I know.” I didn’t want her to be sorry; I resented her even knowing.

Lyndsay nodded understanding. “Why don’t you go ahead? I’ll wait for the bill.”

Relieved, I thanked her, pushed two twenties of my own into her hand and rushed for the exit.

The wind dug into me as I opened the door—a wind more appropriate for Detroit than Atlanta. I ducked my head, clamped a fist over my collar and trotted through a haze of snow flurries to my car.

I didn’t understand how Lyndsay could be the same woman who wrote the profile I’d responded to. Quirky, easygoing bookworm who loves organic gardening and wandering Little Five Points. I felt guilty about running out; it was clear from Lyndsay’s reaction that she had a good heart.

As soon as I was out of the parking lot I called Annie.