Page 26 of Sugar Coated Lies
“Hello?”
“Thank God, you’re alive. I was about to send out the feds,” Sadie says in all seriousness.
I laugh. “The feds wouldn’t come for someone like me. Besides, I’d have to be missing for more than forty-eight hours or something like that for the police to care.”
“Impressive. I see you were paying attention to all my shows and just pretending to do homework.”
“I was doing homework!” She knows this, and now anyone within earshot of my parking spot knows this, too. “But it’s hard not to listen to your shows when you have the volume cranked, and people are screamy and running for their lives.”
“I miss having you as a roommate.” She sighs.
Roommate is a stretch. We shared a dorm. It was old and dirty, and the hot water didn’t often work. But we had fun.
Sadie and I are good at making the best of a rough situation. We grew up together. Her mom was as poor as my family was. She never knew her dad, and her grandparents were already deceased, so I shared mine with her, and they adored Sadie. But her mom married a wealthy man during our sophomore year of college, and her life improved while mine deteriorated. Grandma died, and I dropped out of the University to move home and care for Grandpa. I lived vicariously through her stories and rejoiced her success when she graduated.
“How’s big city life treating you?” I move the box of pastries to the floor in case I break hard on the way home—deer are known to cross the streets along that route.
“I don’t know if Atlanta qualifies as a big city like New York or Chicago, but it’s nice. I miss the quietness of Honeycomb sometimes, and the stars. You don’t see many stars here.”
“That sucks.” A frown tugs at my lips. We used to climb out my bedroom window and lie on the roof of my parents' small farmhouse to stargaze when we were young.
“Do you think you can come visit soon? I miss you like crazy.”
“I miss you, too! And I’d love to visit, but I can’t leave Grandpa alone. Once our bills are caught up from my new job, I might be able to save enough to pay Carol to stay with him for a few days, then I could visit.”
“Perfect. You don’t need any money when you come.”
“You know I’m not comfortable mooching off anyone, even you.”
“And you know I know you would offer the same if our roles were reversed, so it's settled. Besides, you have to pay for someone to stay with your grandpa. It’s the least I can do in return.”
I let out a breath, because she has a point, and I really want to see her in person. “I have a long drive home. Got any stories to occupy me on the way, or do you have to go?”
I slide my purse farther up the seat, accidentally tipping it over. The contents spill onto the seat and pastry box, and my wallet falls open. My driver’s license is missing.
“Dammit.”
“What?” Sadie asks with concern.
“I don’t have my license.” I must have left it with the iPad when I used it to fill out the employment forms. I hope it’s not lost. “I need to call you back.”
“I could stay on the line in case you need me to call the cops. Pecan farms can be scary at night. Most massacres happen in remote areas like that.”
I snort. “I’ll be fine. There is nothing dangerous about this place. Trust me.”
“If you’re sure?” she asks, hesitant.
“I’m sure. I’ll call you on my way home.”
“Okay. I’ll be waiting.”
“I know.” I end the call and race back into the store in search of Millie.
The place is empty, not that it was busy today. Millie said the weekends get the most action because they do special stuff for kids like bounce houses and slides, and they have a playground. Even then, it’s locals or passersby, making a stop on their way to their final destination.
I don’t know why my family never visited this place. I guess because we assumed it was a farm and nothing more. My childhood could have been filled with more, had we known. Grandma would have loved it here. I think Mom and Dad would have, too. On their days off, they were always taking me to parks and making sure I got ample outside time before they died.
Millie isn’t behind the counter at the cafe. I poke my head in the kitchen. She’s not there, either. Maybe I can find Easton.
