She stared up at him in silence for a long moment. And then she nodded. “I’ll try to remind myself of that fact.”
“Good,” he said softly, really no more than a whisper.
“I’ll let you get back to it,” she said then, turning away to face the door. She opened it and then glanced back over her shoulder at him. He’d turned his attention back to the laptop and his brow was once again furrowed, his expression one of deep, perhaps troubled thought.
Annabelle decided not to say anything further. Instead, she stepped out of the office, into the hallway beyond. The last thing she saw before she’d pulled the door closed was Max reaching for the phone.
At lunch, Annabelle logged off of her computer and headed outside to the parking lot. It was busy with employees moving to their cars and pulling out for lunch. Everyone in the building lunched at the same time. It was like some strange sort of cult practice. The human body was lorded over by the long and short hands of the clock. Never mind when you might actually get hungry. You ate at noon, take it or leave it. It was simply understood.
It was also understood that this was May. In Minnesota. And, so, naturally, lunch hours would run a little longer than they did in January. Minnesotans took full advantage of the few weeks of splendid weather they were afforded every year.
Annabelle was halfway across the lot when she heard her friend shout at her from the side-door of the building behind her.
She turned and watched as Cassie ran across the tarmac, joining her ten meters from the Night Train, where it was parked in one of the two motorcycle spaces available.
“Any way you could give me a ride to Mickey-D’s?”
“You hate Mac Donald’s. You just want a ride.” Annabelle smiled, shaking her head and continuing toward the bike.
Cassie fell into step beside her. “Okay. You got me. I like the vibration between my legs.”
“Don’t we all,” Annabelle retorted with resigned humor. She mounted the bike, handing the helmet to her friend. “Put the helmet on. I won’t be responsible for your squashed-in head when a cell phone driver cuts us off.”
Cassie looked at the helmet in her hands. “Uh, to be honest, I’d rather have the squashed-in head than face the almighty wrath of Jack if we do wreck and
“Tough. Put it on.”
“Okay, but I don’t ever want to hear you giving Jack a hard time about not wearing one again.”
Annabelle smiled again, turning the key and pressing the ignition switch. The bike roared to life. She pulled back on the throttle, giving it some gas. It was music to her ears. Over the noise, she hollered back at Cassie. “Fair enough! Get on!”
Cassie didn’t have to be told twice. She braced herself on Annabelle, who had ridden with plenty of passengers before and was skilled at the extra strength and balance it required to do so. She held the bike steady, flat-footing it while her friend mounted up behind her.
“Where to?” Cassie asked over her shoulder.
“Spoonriver!” Annabelle shouted back at her. She twisted the throttle again, just to hear the sound, and then slowly power walked it back out of the space. Once they’d turned around, she notched it into first gear and let off the brakes, taking them smoothly out of the lot.
The two-mile ride was far too short for Annabelle’s tastes, but the traffic was heavy, as it always was during the lunch hour, and though Minnesota drivers were courteous, a motorcycle was not a mini-van and simply couldn’t compete with one for space on the road.
Annabelle pulled the bike into the full lot and was fortunate to find that two other bikes, one a sport bike and one a Kawasaki Vulcan, had already parked in the single designated space for motorcycles. There was room for one more. She pulled the Night Train along side the other two bikes and shut it down, tucking the key into her jacket pocket and zipping the pocket closed.
She waited for Cassie to get off and then she kicked the stand down, turned the handlebars to the left, and dismounted.
Annabelle helped her friend pull the helmet from her head. “I hope you’re in the mood for vegetarian,” she told her as she took the helmet and then turned toward the restaurant.
“Whatever’s fine,” Cassie replied, once more falling into step beside her. “I’m surprised, though, that you’re hungry. You said you had a bad night. You were late coming into work. I can put two and two together and come up with hangover.”
“I do still feel a little green, but the ride helped.” As had the one that morning. Annabelle looked up at the line waiting outside the door. “Crap. It’s always packed on Tuesdays since they’re closed on Mondays. This may not work.”
“Taco Bell’s around the corner.”
Annabelle turned to look at Cassie, who was smiling knowingly. Cassie’s gaze slid to the bike parked several meters away. “There’s also one in St. Paul.” Cassie’s smile turned mischievous. She knew where Annabelle’s heart was. St. Paul would be a twelve mile round-trip drive, and all Annabelle really wanted to do at the moment was ride. And since Max set no limits on their lunch break – so long as their work got done, and it always did – then getting back to work at a certain time wasn’t an issue. “And the Taco Bell employees won’t pick on you for wearing your leathers.”
“Good point. You’re a genius.”
They turned back around and re-mounted the bike. Now that Annabelle had her right fist wrapped around the throttle, she noticed that her knuckles were a bit tender where they pressed against the leather of her gloves. That would be from punching cheese-head boy the night before. Oh well. She hoped that his mouth hurt more than her hand.
Half way there, the cell phone in Annabelle’s jacket pocket buzzed against her chest. She ignored it, not taking her attention away from the road ahead of her. She never answered the phone while on the road, and doing so while on a bike was as good as suicide. When they arrived at their destination, she parked, Cassie got off, and Annabelle checked the phone at last.
She’d missed the call, but she had a text message waiting for her. It was from Max.
“Got a message from Max,” she told Cassie as she dismounted and they walked into the Taco Bell together.
“What’s it say?”
“I don’t know. I’ll check it inside. But this is bizarre. He never calls us on our lunch break. In fact, he doesn’t call me at all if he knows I’m gonna to be on the bike.”
Cassie seemed to consider it for a moment and then she turned her attention to the menu selection on the boards behind the teenager at the register. They ordered, took a number, and found a booth by a sunny window.
Annabelle checked the message. Her brow furrowed.
Cassie blinked. “What did he say?”
“Well… Actually…” Annabelle stared down at the words in the text box on her phone. They read: “Forest pink pastel.”
“I have no idea what the hell he means by this.” Annabelle showed Cassie the message and Cassie frowned.
“Forest pink pastel?
Annabelle nodded and dialed Max’s office number. The phone rang three times and then went into voice mail. “He isn’t picking up. I’ll try his cell.” She dialed his cell phone number, but it, too, went into voice mail. “He isn’t answering his cell either.” She lowered the phone and stared at it again. Warning bells began to go off in her head.
“This is too weird. I think we should head back soon.”
“Fine,” Cassie said and rose from the seat. “We’ll get the food to go.”
