“Are you upset?”
“What, me? Why would I be upset?”
“I’m really grateful to you for letting me stay here—looking after me—but I just feel I need to get out of here. Beaverton, I mean,” she quickly adds. “Make a clean break, you know?”
I understand better than she knows. Besides, some distance between her and that douchebag would be safer for her. Not that we’ve heard or seen anything from him yet, but it would be naïve to think after so many years of abuse he’d simply let her walk away. Statistics show that protective orders in domestic violence cases only go so far.
“It was my pleasure and for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing the right thing. A fresh start is probably just what you need, and I’ll be happy to drive you to Grand Rapids.”
“I’ll call them.”
I shoot a quick glance at Shirley before focusing back on the road.
“My boys,” she clarifies. “When I get to my aunt’s place, I’ll call them.”
I reach over and squeeze her hand.
“I’m glad. Who knows, they may have been trying to reach you all this time and are worried.”
“They don’t call often,” she admits softly. “They’ve been upset with me for years for staying.”
“Your kids know?”
“He was never an easy man to live with. They know that much. The physical stuff started after the youngest went off to college a few years ago, but I think maybe they can guess. Mike was a big believer in corporal punishment when the boys were growing up.” She blows out a deep sigh. “I’m afraid they’ll be mad I waited so long.”
“Or maybe just happy you finally found the courage to walk away,” I suggest.
“Maybe,” she repeats wistfully.
Her aunt, Meg, is a rotund woman with a radiant smile and she permanently corners herself a place in my heart when she greets Shirley with, “Never liked the asshole. Is it bad I hope he tries to show his face so I can use my brand-new shotgun to blow him off my steps?”
I chuckle through Shirley’s protests and Aunt Meg tosses me a wink over her niece’s shoulder. It’s clear she’s in good hands.
I accept the dinner invitation, and even stay for the offered tea, and a slice of homemade apple pie, before saying my goodbyes.
“I’m sorry I’m leaving you guys minus a waitress,” Shirley sniffles on my shoulder, as I carefully hug her.
“Don’t you worry about that. Kim already has a few interviews lined up. We’ll have the schedule filled in no time,” I assure her.
“Thank you. For everything.”
“Anything and anytime. I mean it. It may take a while for you to get your feet back under you, but you will. I promise.”
As I drive away from her aunt’s house, I remember telling myself the same thing years ago. Many years ago. It isn’t until now, seeing Shirley take those first few steps to freedom, I realize how far I’ve come, and yet I’m still holding back.
I’m forty-five-years old—almost forty-six—and I’ve spent the last eighteen of those cautiously tiptoeing through life. I’ve found stability; have a roof over my head, a job that pays the bills, and a daughter who is all grown and on a path of her own. It’s high time I throw caution to the wind and actively start living again.
The man with the intriguing, pale blue eyes immediately comes to mind, along with the regret I didn’t grab the opportunity to talk to him.
I’m about fifteen minutes away from home when my Tribute dies.
Gray
“You should come with us tonight. Get out for a bit.”
I watch the last customer of the day drive off the lot in the truck I just replaced the brake lines on before I turn to Jimmy.
“I’m good.”
“Come on,” he pushes. “It’s been over two months and other than your twenty-four-hour turnaround to New York, you’ve barely been outside this building. At least come grab a bite, meet the guys. A few of them have been in your shoes.”
He’s asked me at least half a dozen times over the past weeks, and although I no longer duck out of sight when someone comes into the shop, it’s different going out there. He’s also mentioned a few of his biker buddies did time before.
Maybe it’s time. Either I move away somewhere people don’t know me, or I stay here and face whatever’s coming my way. All I’m doing right now is dragging out the sentence I already served in full.
“Okay, fine. Do I have time for a shower?”
Smiling broadly, Jimmy claps a hand on my shoulder.
“Absolutely. I’m gonna grab a quick one myself. I’ll swing by in twenty and pick you up.”
I nod, grateful he seems to understand walking into a restaurant by myself would be much harder. I just hope I don’t disappoint him. I’m not exactly the most social guy to be around. Inside I stuck to my books, avoiding most interaction, and leading a pretty solitary existence. Sitting around, shooting the shit, with a bunch of his friends may well be more than I can deliver on.
But I can try.
Twenty minutes later and freshly showered, I wait outside the shop when Jimmy rides up on his bike.
“I’m not gonna ride bitch,” I announce when he stops in front of me.
“Don’t worry. You’re not pretty enough anyway,” he deadpans. “We’re walking. It’s just two blocks down. I’ll swing by to pick up the bike after.”
Last I remember, Beaverton only had about a handful of restaurants, two of those fast food, one barbecue joint, a tavern, and the diner two blocks away. I’m guessing that’s where we’re going.
“Hudson’s Diner?”
“It’s called Over Easy now. The Hudsons retired…shit, it’s been a long time. Their daughter took over. Remember Kim?”
Yeah, I remember Kim. She worked at her parents’ place from the time she was fourteen, two years behind me in school. I noticed because she was one of the prettiest girls in town at the time. I can’t recall how many times she shut me down asking her
