“Thank you, Robin,” she says, smiling when I put the wineglass with tap water and a slice of lime by her plate. It’s little things like that—the linen placemat and napkin Kim keeps just for her, the cup and saucer for her coffee instead of our normal mugs, the fancy plating of her simple food—which make this weekly visit of hers special.
“My pleasure. Will there be anything else?”
“No, thank you. This is perfect.”
With a nod I head for the counter, where I grab a coffeepot to offer refills to some of the tables. In the far corner, by the window, I spot one of our regular patrons with a few of his buddies. Tank occasionally comes in by himself during the week—he owns a business in town—but on weekends during the summer he often shows up with some of his biker friends to grab a bite before they ride. I glance out the window where their gleaming bikes are lined up in the parking lot.
It always gives me a secret little thrill to imagine being on the back of one of those. I’ve never actually been on a bike, but have fantasized plenty.
“Hey, Robin.”
“Morning. What can I get you today?” After flipping over their mugs and filling them, I set down the coffeepot, and slip my pad and pen from my apron.
I take down their orders and am about to drop them off at the kitchen, when a hand grabs me by the wrist.
“Is today the day I can convince you to hop on for a ride?”
I grin down in the rugged but friendly face.
“Sorry, Tank. I value my life too much,” I joke, and the other guys chuckle. “Besides, we’re shorthanded today.”
He slaps his hand to his chest dramatically.
“You wound me, Robin. I swear I’d keep you safe.”
“I’m sure you’ll live,” I tease.
I dismiss the tingle of excitement I feel every time he asks me, wondering briefly if I’ll ever work up the courage to say yes. Instead I wink, grab my coffeepot, and head to the kitchen.
I’m pretty sure a ride on the back of Tank’s bike comes with some consequences and—nice enough guy as he is—I don’t think that would be wise.
It’s safer to stick with my fantasies.
Chapter Two
Gray
“Are you okay?”
I glance up to find a friendly flight attendant leaning over the empty seat beside me.
“I’m fine,” I lie.
My hands are gripping the armrests so tightly my knuckles are white. I force myself to relax them. To my relief she just smiles and nods before moving down the aisle.
It’s not so much the flying as it is being cooped up in a relatively small cylinder with wings that has the spit drying up in my mouth. Aside from the wings part, it feels confining in here. No escape. I consciously steady my breathing before I pass out from hyperventilation.
The only good thing about traveling is no one knows me. They have no idea they’re looking at an ex-convict, which is something I can’t say for the few people I’ve been exposed to at home. I’m still keeping as low a profile as I can, even after two months back. At the shop I’ve become a little more relaxed, but I still do my groceries late at night to avoid more than the occasional late shopper.
I was lucky to be able to keep up my skills while incarcerated. Being a licensed mechanic gave me an advantage to get into the automotive program as a mentor, while staying up-to-date with changes in the industry. As a result, I feel I can carry my weight at the shop and am even working with the few apprentices Jimmy took on.
He claims business has been up since I started. I’m pretty sure he says it to make me feel better for accepting his help, but it doesn’t make me any less grateful to him.
Jimmy is also the one who pushed for me to make this trip when anxiety had me threaten to back out. I might have cowered in the small apartment above the garage, but he told me—in no uncertain terms—I wouldn’t be able to get on with my future if I didn’t get real with my past.
That’s why I willingly let myself be locked up with a large number of strangers in this flying tuna can—to get real with my past.
The sun is just coming up outside the small window as the engines suddenly roar, driving the plane down the runway. I can feel the exact moment we lose touch with the ground, our path suddenly smooth as I see the earth fall away below us. I realize I’m holding my breath.
I’ve only flown once before, when I was young and invincible. Jimmy and I took off to Mexico for one of those all-inclusive deals. I can’t remember much, just that there was a lot of booze and pussy involved.
This time I know all too well how fragile life is, especially at the mercy of an airplane.
There also won’t be any booze or pussy this trip. I’ll only be away for one night, which already costs a sweet penny; I had no fucking clue how expensive things have gotten. Tomorrow I get to do this again to get back home.
“Would you like something to drink?”
I glance up to find the flight attendant back, this time with a cart.
“Water, please.”
“Headphones?”
She motions to the monitor in the back of the seat in front of me.
“No thanks.”
“You need anything else, you just let me know, okay?”
I’m not an idiot, even if I were blind and wasn’t able to recognize the come-on in her eyes, I’d still be able to hear the invitation in her voice. But I’m not interested.
I fucked my way through my twenties pretty indiscriminately, but I have no interest in picking up where I left off. I have become quite
