Page 13 of Sally Jones

“Twenty-eight. I’m a year older than your brother.”

“Good grief, have you paid for your cremation service?”

He sighed. “That football guy is there. Your ex-boyfriend.”

I sat up straight. “How do you know that?”

He glared at me. “Everyone in Austin that follows football knows it. Are you in touch with him already?”

It dawned on me that he was jealous. “No, I’m not. And I doubt he’s single—or will recognize the new Sally Jones.” Clint Davis, my ex from high school, had always had a kind of facial blindness. His focus was all the way on football.

“You’re going back to your maiden name? Sally Jones. That’s not as hidden as I’d like.”

He was right. I’d changed my name before the bomb at my parents’ house. A name change is a lot of paperwork and hassle. Besides that, I was Sally and I refused to let them take that away from me.

His phone lit up with activity, text messages coming in at the same time as phone calls. He pulled over. His face changed as he glanced through the messages then listened to a voice mail.

“My mother’s been in a car accident.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Oh no,” I said. “Is she okay?”

Hank put a hand over his eyes. “My sister was late getting there and Mom managed to find an old set of car keys. Drove off in that Cadillac in the garage. She hit a tree. She’s in the hospital with a broken wrist and a concussion. If she hadn’t remembered to put on her seat belt, she’d be dead.”

I found a flight back to Austin out of Albuquerque for Hank. He was grim and silent for the rest of our short drive.

At the security checkpoint, he took me in his arms, and we held each other for a long time.

“Sally, I…” He cleared his throat and pulled back to look into my eyes. He placed my hand over his chest. “You’re the only one in my heart.” He kissed me one more time then turned around and walked through the gates.

I watched him until he disappeared into the crowd and turned a corner to walk toward his gate. Hands in the pockets of my big hoodie, I made myself leave.

Of course, I’d thought we’d have more time. I’d been concocting all sorts of vacation plans for Hank and I as weslowly road tripped north. But I was alone, more isolated than I’d ever been in my life. I wasn’t supposed to call family or friends or visit anyone I knew. Just hide.

What’s my solution to approaching debilitating depression? Retail therapy. The new Sally Jones was a quirky kind of gal, I decided, who wore bright red lipstick and old lady clothing. In my hotel suite I spread out everything I’d brought in my two suitcases and prepared to say goodbye. Too many of those pieces reminded me of my marriage.

I found a charity and unloaded. Somehow, it was a recognition that I’d been through a seriously bad time when I’d been all about denial. I found myself hyperventilating a little, jumpy and nervous.

“Get a grip, girl,” I muttered to myself. I hitched my designer handbag up higher on my shoulder—I wouldn’t get rid of that piece of art for anybody—and marched on to spend the day with sales ladies, my favorite fast friends.

The forty hours of driving to Oregon loomed like a five-person cheer-squad pyramid on my shoulders. Picking my route was the first hurdle, which boiled down to a choice between Los Angeles or Las Vegas. I decided to avoid traffic—instead I would travel through mountains and over desert—and pointed myself at Sin City.

I left Albuquerque after a day and traveled over to the Grand Canyon where I stood, by myself in a mob of strangers, gazing out at a vast and stunning rip in the earth. The road trip made me as lonely as I’ve ever been. Why had I pushed away Hank?

We texted each other. He wanted to hear from me daily and was my point of contact for my parents. They’d stayed on their cruise like sensible people, and were in touch with Hank for news about me. We were all hoping the cell of dirty little domestic terrorists would be caught soon.

Hank: Mom’s going to be okay but it’s even harder to carefor her now with her injured wrist. I’m on the waitlist for the assisted living home. They’re telling me about two months. Hopefully we can keep her alive that long.

Sally: Glad your mama is okay. Buy her a big bouquet of flowers for me. Leaving the Grand Canyon. On my way to Zion National Park in Utah. The new me needs a hobby. I bought a journal, watercolors, glitter glue, and every cute sticker I could find. Maybe nude figure painting? Send me some dick pics so I can get started.

Hank: Shlongs don’t photograph well and I’m one of the men who know it. Go for self-portraits then send them to me.

Sally: I bought that house I showed you with a quick close. My realtor did a video walkthrough and I decided good enough and went for it. Advertising for renters now. Hotel rooms aren’t any fun without big man-sized teddy bears around.

Hank: Am I a teddy bear?

Sally: You’re THE teddy bear.

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