Page 39 of Hot Mess Express
And why do I feel more rested this morning than I have in weeks?
I get up, leave the bright main chapel, cut through the lobby, and stand at the entrance to the annex. The ladder is gone. At the end of the closest table sits all of the tools and loose screws, neatly organized into a small box.
I don’t remember doing that last night.
Or did I?
I tuck the box under an arm, take it to the storage closet, andput it on a shelf—right next to the ladder, which I guess I must’ve put away, too. Did I do work in my sleep? How the hell can I not remember doing any of this? I stop at the church doors before I go and glance back one last time, thinking about Jeremiah and a chat I vaguely remember us having before he left. He stood behind me on the ladder to help keep balance. And then he …
Then he …
“Wait a damned second,” I catch myself blurting ten minutes later over my cup of coffee at the corner café. A flash of falling off the ladder. Bridger’s stunned face. His eyes burning with outrage like my ass meant to fall on him. “That wasn’t Jeremiah!”
“Who wasn’t Jeremiah?” asks the man seated next to me.
I flinch away from him. “None of your business.”
He frowns back. “Then don’t go makin’ it everyone’s business shoutin’ out whatever’s goin’ on in your weird head.”
I take my cup outside and go for a walk, my mind storming with thoughts. Last night feels like a dream, except the longer I’m awake, the more I remember it. That Bridger was somehow there at the church. That he was the one holding the ladder. That the two of us actually spoke civilly. Sorta. And that I fell on top of him.
But what came next?
And all of that still doesn’t explain why I’ve got his jacket.
I debate heading over to Juni’s and checking in with her, but something tells me she barely noticed my absence last night. She never seems worried about me. Or anything at all.
So I end up on my own street instead. My actual home, at the bone-dry, deadest-ass-corner of Spruce where the trees don’t even grow, only the weeds, especially through the cracks in the streets. I walk over the dead wasteland we call a front lawn and let myself in through the front door. Mom and Dad never bother to lock it.
She’s in her favorite chair by the TV, but ignoring whatever’s on, playing a game on her phone instead. Probably Scrabble. “Did he say yes?” she asks. When there’s no answer, she looks up. “Oh, Anthony, ooh … I … I didn’t …” She tries to get up, fails, tries again, fails again, then gives up and stays right where she is. “Oh, what’re you doing home?”
“Did who say yes?” I ask, coming in and stopping by the TV.
“I thought you were your father. He’s on some business thing right now, some meeting-business thing—never mind that, are you okay, sweetheart?”
“Areyou?” I cross my arms, inadvertently hugging the jacket to my chest. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a fall?”
“Oh, that? No, I wasn’t gonna …” She laughs and waves it off. “No, no, why would I bother you over that? It was nothing.”
“How’d you fall? What’d you land on? Somethin’ broken?”
“Does it look like something’s broken?” She laughs again. “I’m fine, thanks for worryin’, but no more worryin’ is needed. I’ve got a score of over 200 this game,” she tells me with a wiggle of her phone, “whoopin’ this guy’s butt, got all the good letters.”
I was right.Scrabble. “What’s this meeting thing Dad’s at?”
“Want some breakfast?” she asks instead. “Dad may be comin’ home with donuts, if he remembers what I told him before he left, donuts includin’ the holes, mmm, I coulddiefor those holes.”
“Nah, I got a … I got this.” I lift my coffee, realize I drank it all, then go to the trashcan by the back door and toss it in. Then I let out a sigh. “Starting to feel like a ghost in my own house.”
“Jif totallyisa word,” she huffs.
“You should’ve called me. I’m still your son, y’know. I’d like to know when things happen.”
“Jif, I said!” she hollers at her phone, shaking it. “I’ll be back in ajif! J-I-F!How’s that not a word?? Am I spellin’ it right? Is ittwoF’s?”
“Mom …”
“The J falls on a triple point square, too!” She twists around in her chair. “Are you sure you don’t wanna stay for donuts? Should be back any minute now. Or you got somewhere you need to be? Anotherside hustleof yours?”
