Page 5 of The Ones We Fight For

“Nah, no need. Like I said, she looks fine.” He slapped the hood of his truck. “Let’s get you a tow truck. Do you need a ride somewhere?”

Talia’s first inclination was to refuse his offer. If she were in New York City and accepted, she probably would have ended up in the bed of his truck, bound and gagged until she reached whatever destination he found best to murder her. Her second thought was that she needed to stop watching so many serial killer documentaries. She was in the suburbs and had always been good at reading people. Plus, the likelihood she’d run into the Zodiac Killer on her first full day in town was slim. This guy was harmless. Motorcycle Asshole, on the other hand, was a menace to society, probably off harassing someone new or storming around proclaiming how morally superior he was to everyone else. She would never understand why God ever gave people with such awful personalities attractive bodies. His just gave him even more fuel to be a dick.

“A ride would be great, actually,” Talia decided. “But I’m only a mile away, so I can walk if it’s too much of a bother.”

“It’s no problem. I’m Marty, by the way.” The trucker stuck out his beefy, weathered hand, and Talia shook it firmly.

“Talia. I would say nice to meet you, but given the circumstances, ‘sorry to meet you,’ seems more appropriate,” she said with a sheepish glance at her feet. “I should probably get my car out of the road, and then—”

“Oh, I got it!” Marty tossed his hand in the air and walked over to the Lexus, bracing his palms on the hood.

“Oh, wow! I mean, I can try to drive it off to the side,” Talia offered.

“Nah, you don’t know if it’s driveable, and that seems unsafe,” Marty said. “Just throw it in neutral for me, will you?”

Talia obliged, and was surprised at how little Marty strained to get her car out of the road. In a matter of minutes, the Lexus was pushed off to the side, no longer blocking the intersection, and the man had barely broken a sweat.

As it turned out, Talia was correct in her assessment of Marty. When she hopped into his truck, she noticed a car seat in the back and a picture of who she assumed to be Marty’s wife or girlfriend holding a baby hanging from the rear-view mirror. He smiled at the photo as he turned the ignition, the truck roaring to life beneath her. She could see the appeal of a vehicle large enough to bulldoze over a tree and felt oddly safe sitting in the cab.

“My daughter is six months old now. She’s got me wrapped around her finger just like her mama.” Marty grinned, putting his truck into gear and slowly letting off the clutch to pull away from the scene of the accident. “Do you have any kids?”

People always felt the need to ask Talia that. Or maybe it was just that she was more aware of it. It was a simple enough question, and at least Marty wasn’t one of those people telling her that she wasn’t getting any younger or demanding to know when she would have them. She hadn’t dealt with all of her issues in regards to infertility, and inquiries surrounding the topic always put her in a sour mood. Reminding herself that Marty was only asking because he was enthralled with his own kid, Talia plastered on a smile and shook her head.

“Nope, no kids. Yours is beautiful, though.”

It wasn’t a lie. The baby in the picture, though she still had that newborn alien-esque look about her, was adorable.

“She is, isn’t she?” Marty beamed with pride, soon breaking out of his spell with a clear of his throat. “So, are you new in town?”

“That obvious?” Talia asked.

“There aren’t any plates on your car yet.”

“Right. Yeah, I actually lived here till I was seven, and then my mom and I moved to New York City.”

“Move back for family?” Marty questioned, pulling onto a side street that Talia pointed for him to turn down.

“Not exactly. My dad lived here, but he passed away recently. He was the owner of Lydia’s. That’s actually where we’re going,” Talia explained. “I’m the new owner.”

“Ah, so your father was Jeff Cohen, then.” In the span of that single sentence, Marty’s demeanor had changed from friendly to unbearably tense.

Talia bobbed her head, looking out the window to avoid eye contact. If Marty knew of her dad, then he probably did not have the best opinion of him. The only nice thing that her father had ever done for her was leave her his grocery store in his will. Originally, Talia thought he had left her with a mountain of debt, but, per the books she looked over, Lydia’s was profitable. It was her first day on the job, and so far, nothing was going swimmingly. She had left everything on a whim to come here, so she sincerely hoped the store’s affairs were somewhat in order when she arrived.

Determined to fill the awkward silence that always seemed to plague conversations involving her father, Talia pulled out her cell phone to search for a towing company. A few minutes later, she had arranged for her car to be delivered to the nearest mechanic shop, and Marty pulled into a parking spot outside her new place of work. She scrutinized the building warily. It needed a new coat of paint, but other than that, it wasn’t in terrible shape. The classic brick she remembered from her childhood looked the same, sturdy and unassuming. A splash of color would certainly help counter its drab appearance, but the bones were good. A pressure wash, a touch-up of the lines in the parking lot, and some new windows, and it would have real curb appeal.

When Talia stepped down from Marty’s truck, her eyes landed on the motorcycle parked out front. She let out an exasperated puff of air through her nose. It would be just her luck if that belligerent motorcyclist from earlier was inside. What, was he just waiting for her to arrive to scream more unwarranted assumptions in her face?

“Thank you for the ride and,” Talia shifted her eyes back to where they came from, “everything.”

“No problem, Miss Cohen. You have a great day now.” Marty saluted her with a tip of his ball cap and backed out of the parking spot, leaving Talia to face her future alone.

Taking a deep breath, Talia trudged toward the glass door, which slid open when she stepped in front of it. Pleased that there was a motion sensor, she tilted her head to the side in admiration, hoping the inside held up to the same technological standard.

Although everything was visibly dated, the sectioning of the store was tidy, and the floors were clean. It was a stereotypical grocery store that lacked pizazz and had obnoxious fluorescent lights that gave it a sterile vibe. Cuter signage, softer lighting, and something other than white walls would help. Changing the cleaning supplies out for more natural options would fix the subtle bleach scent, too. Talia could do it—she could make this place scream “welcome to Lydia’s” instead of “welcome to the emergency room.”

Talia’s mental checklist of all the updates she wanted to complete was interrupted by the sight of Motorcycle Asshole standing in line at one of the registers. He was holding a brightly colored box under one arm. She narrowed her eyes on it in curiosity, coming to the conclusion that it was a box of tampons. He was clearly trying to hide it, looking embarrassed to be purchasing something that didn’t match his leather, masculine vibe. Unable to resist the compulsion to screw with him, Talia marched over to the register.

“Ah, is that why you’re having a rough morning?” Talia asked as she approached, pointing at the box under his arm. Placing her hand over her heart in mock pity, she gave him her best sympathetic expression. “Is it your time of the month?”

---