Page 24 of Free to Believe
But I can’t get dancing blonde curls and dark blue eyes out of my mind.
14
Emily
Ishouldn’t have run so far today. Despite my enjoyment of being able to lord it over Phil during a FaceTime call earlier, I’m tired. Then I realized I only gave Dani a list of minimal dairy items to tide me over for a few days not knowing what would be available here locally to my liking. Groaning, I open the refrigerator. I have nothing to eat for dinner, not even yogurt. I’m going to have to head into town or call around to see if a local merchant will deliver.
Leaving Mugsy resting in a pile of blankets on the couch, I debate my choices. I could walk, but I know I won’t be able to carry the groceries home. I look up the Uber prices and practically choke. There’s something in my upbringing from Aunt Dee that, despite the wealth I enjoy now, won’t allow me to pay that much for an eight-mile ride. Talk about highway robbery! Now I begin to understand the reason why Holly was so worried about me without my Rover.
It looks like walking is going to be my only choice, because I refuse to pay the exorbitant prices to have some coffee creamer, brick cheese, and milk delivered. I’m equally unwilling to ask Jacob for a favor after the attitude he persistently throws at me. God, I can’t wait for my vehicle to be back at my disposal.
I head down the stairs to the gravel driveway when through the window, I spy an old bike in the garage. I’m sure I can bike the eight miles into town. Right? I mean, Nantucket is an island and islands are flat. I should be able to handle this with no problem at all. Walking around the side of the garage, I test the doorknob. It smoothly opens. Excellent.
I make my way over to the bike and pull it from the pile. I navigate it around a Honda Pilot, praying I don’t ding the paint. Successfully getting it outside, I give it a critical overview. It looks like it just needs to be cleaned up with a metric ton of Lysol wipes. Then, I can lose myself in the glorious view from somewhere other than this apartment.
* * *
The inventorof the bicycle should be brought back to life and shot to death in front of a firing squad.
I have no idea what I was thinking. The directions on my iPhone said thirty-nine minutes. It’s now been closer to an hour and ten minutes. Since I’ve started, cars have driven by me at unusually high rates of speed, cursed at me from their convertible tops, and flicked me off out of their moon roofs. I hope and pray one of those assholes is on a bike once my Rover arrives in a few days. Then we’ll just see who gets the last laugh.
I’m just turning off the Sconset Bike Path and onto Sparks Avenue when disaster strikes. The chain breaks on my only mode of transportation. The chain whips against my calf, causing me to yelp in pain and go careening off the path. Luckily, I don’t fall off even though the pain I’m now feeling is excruciating. Sitting down on the sidewalk, I assess the damage.
Shit, I’m bleeding.
Rooting around in my over-the-shoulder purse for a tissue, I yell toward the sky, “Oh, for fuck’s sake! This is how you want to play? Fine. I’ll walk all the miles home. My food will probably be rancid by then, but who the hell cares?” Pushing to my feet, I wince at what I know will be a massive bruise on my shin by the end of the day, if not by the end of the hour.
Hobbling, I push the offending mode of transportation the last two-tenths of a mile to the Stop and Shop parking lot. And it’s there I see it. Rising up over the metal shopping carts like some oasis in the desert. A storefront called Sacred Grinds.
There is no way in hell that place doesn’t sell coffee.
With a new purpose for making it across the parking lot, I ignore the pain in my body. I disregard the blood trickling down into my ballet flats. I shove that evil piece of scrap metal to the curb and stride inside. I’m a woman on a mission.
The air is scented with the most glorious sounds and smells ever. I hear the grind and hiss of the espresso machine. My nose lifts as freshly ground beans make their way into what has to be an exceptional cup of coffee. It has to be. After the day I’ve had, if it sucks, I might just cry.
And then I spot it sitting by the barista.
A large jar of caramel.
Mine.
I don’t care how much I have to pay.
“Holy crap! I mean excuse me, ma’am. Are you okay?” A young woman with some of the most extraordinary colored hair I’ve ever seen comes racing around the counter. She’s holding a first aid kit and a bunch of wet towels. “You’re bleeding into your shoe!” she exclaims.
I’m so dazed by seeing the first possibility of happiness since I stepped foot on this island, I offer her a distracted “Hmm?”
“Maybe you hit your head too. Jeez. I’m the only one working. I wonder if I should call my dad. He would know what to do.” She worries her bottom lip back and forth between her teeth.
Realizing I’m about to see a teen meltdown if I don’t get it together, I offer her a smile. “I’m okay, sweetheart. Really. Thank you for being so concerned.” Looking down at my leg, I shake my head ruefully. “I was biking into town, and at the last minute, the chain on my bike snapped. Do you mind if I…” I gesture to the first aid kit.
“Oh no! Of course not. Help yourself. Can I get you something to drink while you’re cleaning up?” This girl is so sweet, I just want to bundle her up and bring her back to Connecticut with me. She reminds me a lot of my sisters at that age.
“If it involves caffeine, cream, and is drenched in caramel sauce, you’ve got a winner.” I wink at her.
“Then you absolutely want our Love Me Brew. It’s all of that plus shaved chocolate on top.” The young barista moves behind the counter and washes her hands. Looking over at me past her colorful mane of hair, she tells me, “We sell the caramel by the jar if you like it.”
I glance upward. “This is my reward for dealing with that death trap, isn’t it? Thank you, Lord.”
