Page 16 of Misadventures Of A Single Mom

Ty remained with them, recapping what had happened. As he wasn’t a member of the department and the city hadn’t been called in for support, he only acted as witness to the incident. The sheriff took notes while the firemen poked with their tools through the rubble to make sure there were no hot spots. Often Ty would point to different parts of what remained of the house or his maimed truck. I was either too far away to hear what he said or my ears hadn’t recovered full function yet. On occasion, he pointed at me and they all had a good chuckle. Who knew what they were talking about, but I could only guess. They seemed to be enjoying themselves at my expense. I grumbled from my spectator seat as I imagined their words.

“Do you know the people who live in that house?” I asked. Mrs. Huffman took my coffee cup and refilled it from a Thermos.

“Cookie, dear?” she asked, holding out a plate.

Of course, I took one. I never turned down a cookie from an old lady. And I was in shock. Sugar was good for shock. I contemplated adopting her as my grandma as I sipped my coffee.

“The Moores live there. Alma and Ted.”

I had a terrible thought and tried to swallow the bit of homemade chocolate chip cookie past the lump in my throat. “You don’t think they were home, do you?”

Firefighters had been in and out of the house. If they’d discovered someone—dead or alive—they’d have been brought out by now. Hopefully.

“They moved to Arizona last fall. Had enough of the winters. Ted retired last year from the post office, Alma the year before,” Mr. Huffman told me. He too, ate a cookie. A few crumbs landed on his tummy that jiggled like a bowlful of jelly.

“Alma was a school teacher. High school English,” added Mrs. Huffman, taking a sip of coffee.

“Then who lives there? I came to a garage sale over the weekend, so someone has to be taking care of the place.” Although not that well. Unmowed grass, gas explosions.

“Right, that was a good sale. Got myself one of those new-fangled quesadilla makers,” Mrs. Huffman said. She’d murdered the word quesadilla so the end sounded a lot like armadillo. “They have a son who stays there. Morty. Works at the Rocking Double D ranch.”

“That boy’s always been a little…odd,” said Mr. Huffman.

I wasn’t sure what odd meant to him. Even at the forty-fifth parallel this was still the Bible belt and so it could mean anything.

“Odd?” I wondered, hoping he’d clarify.

“He’s twenty-four and lives in his parents’ house. Never had a lot of motivation in life. Even as a little kid. Watched TV. Played those shoot-em-up video games all the time.”

Did this Morty Moore have enough motivation as a grown up to steal a vial of semen off my stoop? Was he in over his head with something? Someone? Did he have enough smarts to take the semen from where he worked? If he did, why did he put it in a garden gnome? The gnome part really was odd. Maybe he did do it, after all.

I’d had enough of being pampered by the Huffmans. I thanked them for the refreshments and headed back across the street.

My phone rang from my pocket and I stopped in the middle of the blocked-off road. I read the display.

“Hi, Mom,” I said brightly.

“I just came from a sale at the mall. I was fixin’ to get some new lipstick at the makeup counter but picked up some jammies for the boys and some sun hats instead.” My mom sounded as pleased with a sale at the mall as I did by a good find at a garage sale. I’d learned it from her. Her malls were just better—and cooler. No sense sweating outside at garage sales in the summer in Savannah. No find was worth heat stroke.

I caught Ty’s eye and he headed my way.

His shorts had a pocket ripped at the seam. Dirt smeared his T-shirt on one broad shoulder. He still looked pretty grim and yet hot as hell. His biceps bulged, his forearms were corded. His legs were dusted with sandy-colored hair, but I ogled the well-defined calves. He worked out. A lot.

“That’s great, Mom!” I replied, all of sudden very dry mouthed. “I…um…can’t really talk now. I’ll call you later.” Before she could get in a goodbye, I ended the call. Didn’t want her to learn anything about the little mishap with the house. There was a time and place to tell your mother you were almost exploded and it wasn’t now.

“Thankfully no one was inside, no one was hurt.” Ty’s eyes grazed over every part of me that he could see. New nerves fluttered up and rattled me.

“Sorry about your truck,” I said as I watched a small clump of firemen stand around it, probably contemplating how to get the fridge detached. A few bags of frozen vegetables were strewn on the ground by a front tire.

He grimaced, rubbed his thumb over my forehead. I must’ve had some dirt smeared there. “It’s just a truck.”

Why was he so nonchalant about it? I’d be super upset if my car just got leveled by a fridge. It reminded me a little of the Wicked Witch of the West. “I did offer to drive.”

Ty glared at me and his jaw clenched tight. I realized I might have just poked a bear with a stick. He looked left and right, grabbed my upper arm, gently this time. “Come with me.”

I followed him around to the back side of the fire truck, away from all the action, the people. He leaned in close so his eyes were level with mine.

“It’s just a fucking car. I can get another one.” His blue eyes dropped to my mouth and back up again. “But you, you’re irreplaceable.”

---