Page 8 of Be My Reason

“Hey, Thelma,” I hear as I walk through the door to our upstairs apartment.

“Thelma?”

“Oh, come on,” Emma whines, as I round the corner into the small but impeccably designed living room that separates our bedrooms. “I know you don’t watch a lot of TV, but you have to know who Thelma is.”

“Flintstone?”I raise my eyebrows at her in question.

“Really, Lyn, you must get your head out of those business books andhang out on the couch watching old movies once in a while,” she admonishes me. “Thelma. As in Thelma and Louise. As in we are BFFs going on a road trip. Sound familiar?”

“Whatever.” I roll my eyes as I place her breakfast on the coffee table and head over to my bedroom. “I’m taking a quick shower and then we can leave. I’ve already got my suitcase packed and ready to go so I won’t take long.” I shut my bedroom door as I hear her mumble something about Brad Pitt in a cowboy hat.

In the shower I mentally go through the list of things I must not forget to take.My books and my notes top the list as I’ll be studying for finals in our hotel room when Emma is at the convention. Although I hate to admit it, being away from the bakery this week will be kind of a blessing. It will allow me to concentrate on studying for the last three finals I have in my on-line business classes before I graduate in a few weeks. I smile at myself. I will soon be a college graduate and although it took me twice as long as most people, I’m finally going to earn my degree in small business management.

I quickly dry my hair, letting it stay in long, loose waves.I put on some mascara and lip gloss and dress in something semi-professional because I will have to accompany Emma to the convention today since our hotel room won’t be ready until after three o’clock.

After we struggle to get our bags down the stairs, I can’t help but poke my head around the corner into the bakery kitchen and look longingly through the window to the front at the morning crowd that has started to trickle in.“Don’t even think about it, Lyn.” She grabs the strap of my bag and pulls me along. “We have to leave now if we want to make it in time for the keynote speaker.”

I reluctantly follow her out the back door. “Tell me again why I’m going to a design and build convention with you when I own a bakery?”

“Because you love me and you want to support your BFF who happens to be the best corporate interior designer in Savannah.” She smiles brightly with her chin up.

“Oh, you mean there is more than one?” I tease.

“Bitch.” She slaps my arm playfully. “Plus you know I won’t know a single person there so I need you for moral support and after-hours fun so I don’t sit and stare at the walls of the hotel room.”

As we pack our bags into the trunk of her car and head out, I think about what she said. She doesn’t need moral support. My best friend does not know any strangers and with her looks, she would not be at a loss for people wanting to hang out with her. I think it is just an excuse to get me away from work for a while and ‘let loose’ as she says. I guess I’m okay with this, as long as she doesn’t expect me to ‘let loose’ the way that she does. Emma doesn’t date men. She sleeps with them and then moves on. She never seems to develop feelings for any of them and she seems completely okay with that. I, on the other hand, am quite the opposite. I couldn’t imagine going from one guy to the next and never having a connection with them. I’ve slept with two guys in my life and that’s one too many if you ask me.

As wehead toward the Interstate, we inevitably pass the dirt road the leads to The Bend, a place I haven’t visited in eight years and never plan to set foot on again.

Emma looks over at me sympathetically.“What?” I snap at her.

“Nothing.I was just wondering if it still bothers you to drive by this place.”

Maybe I do drive out of my way sometimes to avoid it. Okay, if I’m being honest, I take the beltway in the opposite direction, twenty minutes out of theway, to the only other road that gets me to my parents’ house. “Not in the slightest,” I lie and take a few silent deep breaths.

“Mmm hmm,” she mumbles. “That’s why you won’t open your eyes right now or look over in that direction. Oh, and your fingers are turning white from the way you are squeezing the seat.”

“Hmmpf,” is all the response she gets from me. “I think I’m going to crash for a little bit.” I close my eyes and drift off, trying not to think of a certain dirty-blonde-haired boy who loved to play baseball.

We make the four-hour drive to Raleigh in record time, only stopping once for gas and a drive-thru burger that will add two miles to my run tomorrow. We switch drivers at the gas station so that Emma can freshen up before reaching our destination. We arrive just in time for her to see the speaker she was talking about. But only if I drop her off at the front so she can run in while I navigate the massive parking lot to find a spot.

“This thing lasts about two hours.Go to the main hall to browse the exhibits and I’ll text you after my session so we can meet up.” She hops out of the car and hurries into the huge convention hall.

I drive down row after long row of cars to finally find a spot about a half-mile from the building. “Are there really this many designers and architects?” I say out loud to myself.

After pulling into the spot, making sure to leave plenty of room on either side, lest Emma kill me about getting a ding in her ‘baby’, I pull out my phone and send a text to Michael.

Me:Made it to Raleigh. Miss you already.

I’m about halfway to the convention hall when my phonechirps at me.

Michael:Glad you are safe. Miss you too. Bed will feel lonely tonight.

Me:Only four nights. We’ll make up properly on Friday.

Michael:Looking forward to it. On call, have to go. Call me later tonight. Love you.

Inside the huge convention hall, I follow the signs to the conference wondering what I will do to keep myself busy for a few hours.I settle on people-watching. It is always good to help pass the time. Many of the people here are dressed professionally, which is why I’m wearing my black pencil skirt and light-pink fitted blouse to try and look like I belong. Emma once told me that interior designers are very big on appearances because if they don’t look like a million bucks, how would a client think they could design something that does? Who can argue with that logic? I have no trouble distinguishing the architects from the designers—it seems the architects didn’t get the memo on the dress code. They are mostly on the casual side, some even donning t-shirts and jeans.

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