Page 12 of The Fast Lane

So. Yes. I needed the caffeine.

“Oh, you brought me presents.” Mae took the bag from me.

We made our way to her small office, which had recently been painted a sunny yellow. Her desk, like everything else about the library, was organized and neat. Several pictures were hanging on the corkboard above it. Mae with her mom and sister, Mae and Chris, Mae and me, all normal-sized photos. But crowding them were oversized photos, all featuring Chris—an action shot of him during a game, another of him posing shirtless while snuggling a puppy, another of him dressed in a suit that had clearly been tailored for him, and yet another of he and Mae kissing.

“When did you get a shrine to Chris?” I asked, pointing at the photos. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Football god and actual Eagle Scout. I was not coveting; I was appreciating.

“That was all his handiwork.” Mae slid into a chair at the small round table we often had meals at and peeked in the bag. “Uh-oh, chocolate croissants.”

Having been my person since the fifth grade, Mae knew everything there was to know about me, including what happened on the day of that accident. She also knew chocolate croissants were harbingers of bad news.

“First, the croissants, and second, you’ve not made a single comment about this scarf.” She set out a couple of napkins and placed a croissant on each before leaning back in her chair.

I hadn’t even noticed the scarf—a gauzy blue number roped around her neck, which stood out even more with her snarky librarian t-shirt (this one read, Don’t Make Me Shush You) and jeans.

I smirked. “Okay, Captain Obvious. You know, you can use make-up to cover it. Or be loud and proud. Your hot football player fiancé likes you a lot. Besides, who’s going to notice?”

“You think?” She pulled off the scarf and tossed it on the table.

Yikes. The hickey was even more pronounced today than it had been yesterday. I took an overlarge bite of my croissant and mumbled around it, “Yeah. You’re good.”

“Alright, enough about me. Tell me what’s going on.”

“So, the thing is…” But instead of talking, I fiddled with the hem of my t-shirt, then pulled my hair out of its ponytail and reworked it into a messy bun, and then took another huge bite of my croissant and chewed. Slowly.

Mae waited me out, eyeballing me over her iced coffee with concern.

Finally, I wiped my fingers off on my thighs. “Cal asked me to do something.”

“Does it involve anything illegal?”

“No.” Although I don’t think Cal would be opposed to me drugging and kidnapping Abe. I took a deep breath and told her what Cal asked.

He wanted me to swing by Colorado, surprise my brother, hug it out, and convince/force him to come to the wedding. Oh, and keep it all a secret from our parents.

No. Big. Deal. What could possibly go wrong?

I stuffed the rest of my croissant in my mouth and waited for Mae to say something.

“That’s…a lot.” She frowned. “But how would that work? Aren’t you riding out there with your parents?”

The transportation of the Ramos family to Oregon had become quite the ordeal. Mom had roughly seventy-three thousand “wedding things” to bring with her plus her father, my grandpa Mack, who refused to fly. Frankie could only take off a few days for the weekend, so he and his girlfriend, Ruth, were arriving on their own, and then there was me. I went wherever they told me. Which happened to be in the backseat of my parents’ car.

Or that’s what the plan had been.

I took a sip, the tang of the overly sweet coffee giving me a jolt. “Cal thought of that. Mom’s been panicking about fitting all the wedding crap and me and Dad and Mack in the same car. Then she wanted to take two cars, but Dad put his foot down.”

“How many centerpieces can one woman make?”

My mother had gone all out, put all her years of pent-up crafting to work after having given birth to a daughter who would rather eat live spiders than do things like needlepoint and quilling—whatever that is. Don’t get me wrong, I was creative, but not in the arts and crafts way. My creativity tended toward more colorful pursuits.

But Mom had made candles and origami flowers, name cards for the rehearsal dinner and the reception. And there was the wedding arch, which disassembled for easy transport.

“A lot, apparently.”

“Back to my original question, you’re not going to be able to ride with them. How are you getting there?”

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