Page 54 of Zeppelin
Not just for this house, or for friendship, or for the baby.
Before I can overthink it- okay, I’ve already overthought the shit out of it- I pick up my phone and type a text and hit send.
Me: Hey, I know you just got back, and this is a big ask even if you’re not exhausted already. My mom hurt her back and isn’t going to be able to do the market with me tomorrow. I can’t ask Bronte ormy brother to help, and I was wondering if you could? I’d really appreciate it. If you can’t, or you’re busy, it’s not a big deal. I just thought that I’d ask. Thanks. Ginny.
I reread the text a dozen times before I give a disgusted snort and set my phone face down on the battered farmhouse table. Could I have made that any more awkward? The thanks, and my name at the end pretty much sealed that deal.
He might not even read it. He might not even have his phone turned on. I could tell that when he was on the road, he didn’t, because my texts never read delivered, sometimes for whole days at a time. If he didn’t read it, that wouldn’t be the worst thing ever. Maybe I don’t want him to. I shouldn’t have texted. Shit. Fuck. Ugh.
My internal meltdown comes to a screeching halt when my phone dings. I swat a particularly enthusiastic mosquito out of my face and reach for it. I’m going to have to do something to clear this house out, or I’ll wake up chewed half to death. My arms are already a mess of bites and my legs are no better, just from sitting here in a t-shirt and cutoff shorts.
Zeppelin: Could I meet you there?
My heart stutter stops and my stomach flips. My hands are suddenly so clammy they’re wet against my phone. My fingers move woodenly over the screen.
Me: Sure.
It takes me a minute, but I drop a pin for the location and include the start and end times.
Zeppelin: Thanks.
A minute passes, then my phone dings again.
Zeppelin: Unless you want me to come there and drive with you? Are you still sick in the morning? I want you to be safe.
It’s not just my heart and my hands. It’s my eyes that get in on the action. My chest, my throat. Everything constricts and gets waterlogged. I have to make peace with the fact that I’ve become a crier. It’s mostly hormones, and I’ve given up getting annoyed about it. But it’s a little bitextra. He cares. Iknowthat he cares, but seeing him lay it out like that after all these weeks of near silence hits me hard.
Me: I am, but I’ll get up early so I can get it over with before I leave. I’ll be okay. That seems to work.
Zeppelin: Okay. See you tomorrow.
Me: Thank you. I seriously appreciate it.
Me: More than I can say.
Zeppelin: Yeah. No problem.
I wait for a few minutes, but he leaves it at that. Should I leave it too?
I set my phone down and decide to deal with the mosquitoes in the house so that I’m not tempted to do something like text him back.
My brain still pounds it out for the whole forty minutes that it takes me to hunt down, swat, and slap the asshole insects. I cycle through it all, despite my attempted distraction. Everything from apprehension to near elation. I’d like to pick a spot to fall in between, but it’s not happening.
Finally, I head to bed. I’m afraid my thoughts won’t stop racing. I missed a few mosquitoes, and their whine is so annoying that I know I’m going to have to get up and deal with it or they’ll keep me up all night, but I’m so exhausted that I need just another minute. It turns into another and another, until, for the first time in weeks, I fall asleep relatively quickly.
Chapter 15
Zeppelin
“Excuse me, but this is a reputable organization. It’s a family thing with a family atmosphere.”
Those aren’t exactly the first words I want to hear after pulling up outside the arena and parking my bike. I left my brain bucket on the handlebar and as soon as I turned around, an old bag of bones was ambling up, motoring her way across the gravel parking lot with a whole lot ofno good, old biddyrage showing on her wrinkled face.
She stopped ten feet away from me as if I might be ultra contagious, and let me have it, finger wagging and all.
The farmer’s market takes place inside the arena, but the whole parking lot is bustling with trucks, SUVs, vans, and even cars, all unloading and carrying things inside. Ginny’s truck and trailer are on the far end of the parking lot, but I haven’t seen her yet.
There are plenty of other onlookers. People all around the parking lot are frozen, staring me down. They’re more than a little tense and a few gasped as soon as this old woman started in with her assumptions and prejudices.
