Page 29 of Not Another Yesterday
She picks up on my energy and furiously wipes away her tears. “No, I didn’t do that,” she says. “I promised you I wouldn’t do it again, and I didn’t. I swear.” I nod, and she says, “I just went back on the road, tried to hook up with bands. I played small shows and gigs, auditioned, did open mics and stuff. In July I ended up in Georgia and actually got a job waiting tables at this little country-western place. They’d pay meto play on the weekends and then I’d wait tables during the week. The owner let me stay in a room above the bar. It was really nice because I was able to save up most of my money, you know?”
I nod without interrupting her.
“A couple of months ago I met this guy, Jordan. He was a musician and was sort of doing the same thing as me—just driving around, auditioning, playing gigs. We hit it off, started messing around with each other.”
I raise my left eyebrow at her. “Messing around?”
She smirks, the grin on her lips such a stark contrast to her red-rimmed, tired eyes. “Yeah, well, you know,” she says meaningfully. I do know. After all, I’ve “messed around” plenty before I met the love of my life. “Anyway, Jordan suggested we go back on the road together, and it just felt like something I wanted to do. I knew I didn’t want to be a waitress forever. So he sold his piece-of-shit truck, I quit my job, took my savings, and on the road we went.”
Miranda pulls a sour face. “It became pretty obvious to me right away that this wasn’t a good idea. We had been on the road maybe six weeks before Jordan became super possessive and jealous, and he’d always want to start shit with me. When I got a gig playing somewhere he’d try to tell me that I only got it because of my looks, not because of my talent. And maybe he was right, but whatever. I still got the gigs,” she says with a rueful laugh through her tears.
“A couple of days ago, we decided to head to Nashville. It was a total spur-of-the-moment decision. We drove until I just couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore. We stopped in Pikeville yesterday morning and checked into the motel at five. We ate something really quick and then we just slept most of the day. I was so tired, Rony.”
“Is that when he took all your stuff?”
She picks up her water, then sets it down again without drinking, her fingers trembling just slightly.
“No, but when we woke up yesterday afternoon, Jordan was already in a shitty mood. I don’t know why or what set him off, buthe was such an asshole, nagging and trying to provoke me. It just got worse throughout the afternoon. He started telling me how going on the road with me was the worst decision he had ever made and then he started calling me names and shit,” she says, anger tingeing her voice. “I don’t do that crap. I’ve had to listen to that shit from my dad for way too fucking long to let some asshole I’ve known for two months treat me like that. Anyway, I told him off, and you know what that motherfucker did? He fucking hit me.” She chuffs.
“What?” I growl, my reaction as visceral as always when I get wind of some lowlife piece of shit putting hands on someone I care about.
“Yep. Punched me right in the ribs,” she says, resting her left hand against her side. “Man, if he thought I was going to back down, he was sorely mistaken. I kicked him in the balls so fucking hard, I brought him to his knees. And then I told him to get the fuck out of my room or I’d call the cops on him.”
I smile at her. That’s the Miranda I know—never taking shit from anyone.
“But what I completely forgot was that Jordan had a key to my room,” she says, her face contorting in pain again. “He snuck back in while I was sleeping and, Rony, he took all my stuff. I mean, he took everything. Everything. When I woke up this morning, my bag with my clothes was gone, my purse, and my truck. My mom’s truck,” she chokes, fresh tears spilling from her blue eyes as she buries her face in her hands. Miranda’s mom died when Miranda was twelve and the only thing Miranda had left of her mom was her mom’s baby-blue ’88 Chevy Silverado. I reach across the table to rest my hand on her forearm.
She looks up at me. “He even took your old guitar. The one you gave me on my seventeenth birthday. The only things he left are the clothes on my body and my ID, which just so happened to be in my jeans pocket. But everything else is gone. All the money I had saved up, my phone, my guitar, my truck,” she says again, her voice strained. “What am I going to do?”
“We’ll figure it out, Randi,” I say calmly, then pull my hand back when the waiter arrives with a large tray balanced on his left hand and shoulder. He carefully sets several plates of food in front of Miranda, who works hard to compose herself, wiping her flushed face with a paper napkin.
My phone begins to buzz in my back pocket. “I’ll be right back,” I tell Randi as I slide out of my seat to retreat into the parking lot. “Start eating!”
Once again, I step outside to answer Cat’s call. “Hey baby.”
“Hi, sweet boy.” God, I didn’t realize how much tension I carried in my jaw until just now; I feel myself relax the second I hear Cat’s voice. “How’s Randi?” she asks sweetly, expressing real concern for a girl she’s never met.
“Not great,” I say. “We’re just grabbing some food right now. Apparently she hasn’t eaten in two days.”
“What? Oh my god, Ran. Did she tell you what happened?”
“Yeah, right before you called, actually.” I sigh. “Some asshole she had traveled to Tennessee with came into her room last night and took all her shit. Just everything. She literally only has the clothes on her back and her ID left, baby.”
“That’s awful. What are you going to do, Ran?” She knows me, knows I won’t be able to come to rest until I’ve figured out some way to help Miranda.
I rake my hand through my hair. “Not totally sure, but I can’t leave her here like this.”
“No, you can’t.”
I don’t know how I deserve her. I exhale loudly through my nose. “I’ll figure it out,” I say, more to myself than Cat.
“I know you will, sweet boy. You always do.”
“What are you doing right now?” I miss her; I wish I could pull her into my arms, wish I could sleep next to her tonight.
“Just got home a few minutes ago. Tor, Vada, Summer, and I got our last bit of Christmas shopping done today. I’m about to climb into bed. I’m exhausted,” she says with a yawn.
“I’ll let you go so you can get some sleep. I miss you, baby,” I say and close my eyes, pretending for a moment that I’m right next to her.
