“Uh, well, I had some business in California I had to take care of and I have a couple of stops on the way back home to Long Island, so I figured instead of flying I’d buy a car and bring it back home and fix it up.”
“Just like that, huh?”
“Just like that. Although I’m starting to think my plan is flawed.”
She holds her fingers half an inch apart. “Maybe a little.”
We make small talk while we wait for the tow truck to show up and I keep trying to figure out why she’s so damn familiar.
When the tow arrives, I assume she’s going to leave, but instead, she offers to follow the tow truck to the garage.
“You’ve already gone out of your way to help me, I can just ride in the truck.” I motion to the burly, pot-bellied chain-smoking man currently giving us an excellent view of his ass crack as he secures my beautiful, broken car. Nevah leans over and pops the glove box. She grabs a small baggie, stuffs it into her back pocket, and calls out, “You bring your girl with you, Kenny?”
“Sure did, Nev,” he shouts back.
“You mind if I say hi?”
“Go for it.”
Nevah struts over to the passenger side of the tow truck, glancing briefly over her shoulder at me, while smirking. She whistles and calls out, “Princess, you keeping Kenny in line?” A giant Bull Mastiff’s head pokes out of the passenger side window, tongue lolling as soon as the dog spots Nevah. She barks once and a long string of drool drips slowly from her jowls to the ground.
Nevah pulls the baggie from her back pocket, retrieves a treat, and places it carefully on the end of the dog’s nose. Princess waits until she’s given the signal before she flips the treat off her nose and catches it with her giant tongue.
“I think you’re better off riding with me. Princess isn’t big on sharing her seat.” Nevah gives me a wink.
I stand awkwardly off to the side while she and Kenny discuss who should take me to the garage. He seems concerned about her welfare. I’m more concerned about Princess taking a bite out of me should I have to ride in Kenny’s truck. Or the possibility that I’m being duped and these two are black market organ thieves and they’re driving me to my demise. I really hope not.
Six Degrees
Nevah
KENNY IS NOT pleased about my surfer friend Lawson riding with me. I assure him I’ll be fine and we’ll be right behind his truck.
The second I get into the car my phone lights up with a call. It’s definitely been more than ten minutes since I hung up on Cosy.
“Shit. That’s my sister. She’s probably losing her mind.”
I answer the call and Cosy’s voice blares through the speaker in the backseat. “Ten fucking minutes, you said, Nevah. Ten minutes! I can see that you’re still in the same damn place! What the hell is going on?”
“Sorry, the whole helping out someone in need is taking a little longer than I expected.” I disconnect the phone from the speaker so our conversation is no longer public.
“Wait, hold on. Are you still dealing with that lady and her broken-down car?”
“Uh, yeah, except that lady is actually a dude.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Her voice is so loud I cringe away from the phone. Based on Lawson’s uncomfortable expression, he also hears her.
“I am, in fact, not fucking kidding you at all. And he’s harmless. He has a manbun and he’s wearing a Hawaiian shirt and flip-flops. Nothing about him screams serial killer. Isn’t that right?” I give Lawson a pointed look. I cannot figure out what the deal is with this guy. I feel like I’ve seen him before. Maybe because he looks like every single surfer dude ever cast in a movie?
He shakes his head. “Definitely not a serial killer, unless you count actual edible cereal. I can kill a box of that for breakfast no problem.”
I roll my eyes. “See, Cosy? He’s perfectly harmless.”
“Why the hell is he still with you?”
“Because his car is fucked and I’m taking him to Bear’s garage to see what the deal is. I couldn’t leave him there.” I don’t have much hope for Lawson’s ride. It’s pretty, but I have a feeling it needs some serious love before it’s back on the road.
“You know some guy named Bear in Utah?” Cosy sounds appalled.
“Barry Fisher, from high school. Had a full beard by the time he hit junior year. Played football. You remember him?”
“Oh! Yeah. What’s he doing in Utah?”
“Running a garage.”
“Obviously.” I can practically hear her eye roll. “Still, having some random guy you don’t know in your car is grounds for me to freak out. I vote you stay on the phone with me until you reach the garage. Do you even know his name?”
“It’s Lawson. Even his name sounds harmless.” I wink at my passenger.
“Do you happen to have a last name to go with the first name?” Cosy asks.
“My sister would like to know what your last name is.” I hold the phone in his direction.
He leans closer so he can speak directly into it like a mic. “Whitfield. Lawson Whitfield.”
“Thanks. Did you catch that?” I ask my sister.
“Lawson Whitfield?” Cosy is back to high-pitch shrieking.
“I believe so, yes.”
“Ask him if he has any brothers or sisters.”
“Do you want to ask him yourself?”
“Just do it.” Cosy can be bossy and overprotective for a little sister.
“Lawson, do you have any siblings?”
“Yeah, two, a sister and a brother.” I bet he regrets buying that car for more reasons than it just breaking down.
“Ask him if his sister’s name is Amalie.”
“You mean Sexy Lexy’s wife?” Amalie, otherwise known as Amie, pronounced Ah-me, is married
