* * *
Walking down the quiet, empty halls toward the back door, I pass by Heather’s room. Her door is open, and instead of hurrying past it, I keep my pace even.
“Where are you going?” she asks.
“Work,” I say as I continue walking.
“I thought—”
“I won’t be back tonight.”
“You never filled out the paperwork. I’m here until Christmas Eve because your doctor note states you aren’t released until then!” she yells from behind me.
Standing at the door, I look back at her. “Do whatever you need to do to make it look like that then.”
“Yeah, so you can go burn down a church this year!” She reaches for me, but I step back.
“If you think for one second, I’m going to let you put your hands on me, you’re wrong.”
Her eyes are again wild, but this time, I don’t care.
“I’m in charge here!”
“No one’s in charge of anyone but themselves. Have a good night.” I open the door calmly and walk out to my vehicle.
Sitting in the driver’s seat, I whisper, “Please start. Please start. Please start.”
When I turn the key, the engine sputters. Afraid I may flood it, I wait and try again.
God, if You’re really a thing, You’ve shown your hand, and I fold. I think You’re done torturing me. So please just let this thing start and let me go to work. It’s been forever since I’ve had a good cup of coffee.
It’s me,
Savvy Sutton
I turn the key, and again, it sputters. I rest my forehead on the wheel and sigh.
I promise not to try to prove a point to the men You’ve placed on this earth who treat women like they are lesser, by dressing up the nativity scene. As You well know, I’m far too tired for all this.
Still me,
Savvy Sutton
I turn the key, and again, it sputters.
“Oh, come on!” I yell and, within seconds, it starts.
“Thank You.”
* * *
I had to practically shove Marcy out the door. She wasn’t about to let me close alone; said I looked like death warmed over. I told her that she was right, but she didn’t look any better. I know she carried my shifts, and although I didn’t work a lot, she was already putting eighty hours a week in, and I didn’t have to be back until Friday; she had to be back bright and early.
Half an hour before closing, it had been forty-five minutes since we’d had one single customer, she finally caved.
The first thing I did when she left was crank up the old-school radio, hoping like hell it would give me a little bit of energy, make me feel more like my old self again. It worked. I had everything cleaned and prepped so, when Marcy came in, she would simply have to flip a few switches. I owe her that.
I look at the clock and see it is two minutes past closing, and if I’m being honest with myself, I am slightly disappointed that a black Jeep didn’t roll into the drive-thru tonight. Because yes, he makes me feel. He makes me feel things I’ve never felt. He makes me feel like I am wanted.
I haven’t felt wanted. I’ve felt like a burden, since that fall.
* * *
Walking down the side of the road, in the dark, winter rain pouring down over me, I am on the verge of tears, and I’m not a crier. But I am cold, and exhausted.
Why am I walking? The fucking VW wouldn’t start! The keys to The Bean are already dropped into the drop box, so I can’t go back in, and the phone I hate is dead.
When I see lights behind me, I step aside to make sure whoever the hell it is coming from behind me doesn’t hit me. And when the vehicle slows down then pulls up behind me, I know I should be scared, but I’m not.
Fuck, I think as I turn around.
Shielding my eyes from the blinding lights, I yell, “Do what you gotta do!”
I hear a door shut, and then I see a figure coming toward me. A man.
“Savannah!” That voice. “Come on; get in the Jeep.”
My face turns to fire as tears begin to fall. I’m fucking crying, and I can’t move.
“Just stay back!” I yell at him, but he keeps coming. “Stay away. I’m crying!”
He doesn’t stop.
“I said, I’m crying!”
“You’re soaking wet, you’re sick. Come on, Savvy.” He grabs my hand and hurries us to the vehicle, and I nearly have to run to keep up.
When we get to the passenger side of his Jeep, I pull my hand free. Then, slapping the tears from my face, I say, “I don’t want you or anyone else to see me.”
He grabs my hands, pulling them away from my face. “No one’s with me.”
I feel my chest heavy and attempt to strangle back the cry threatening to escape me.
Pulling me back to him, wrapping both his arms around me, I feel his breath against my face as he whispers, “It’s okay, Savvy. It’s okay to cry.”
Standing in the pouring rain, I cry for the first time in years. And for the first time, I’m not doing it in hiding.
“Savvy,” he whispers against my head. “You’re going to get pneumonia if we don’t get you warm.”
When he steps back, I immediately wish he hadn’t. I’m freezing.
“Get in,” he says, and I do so without question.
He shuts the door behind me, and I lean forward to let the heat blow onto my freezing face.
A light comes on, and a gust of wind comes from the back. Then the back door shuts, and moments later, Patrick is climbing inside the driver’s seat, with a blanket in his hands. “Here, snuggle up.”
“Thank you,” I say, quickly pulling it from his outreached hands and burying my face in the soft
