The old truck was quite a chore to drive. It lacked power steering as well as fuel injection, which meant she had to prime the damn thing before trying to start it. That was something she’d always struggled to do just right, so flooding the engine had become almost expected. Now, thankfully, but for reasons unknown, she seemed to have it down to an art.
Only took me twenty-plus years.
But she supposed it was better late than never, especially since she’d just learned that the old truck was now hers. Yesterday, that kind of news would’ve truly touched her, bringing back bittersweet memories that she’d relive with both laughter and tears. That had been yesterday, though. When she and her aunt and uncles stood united and tight, woven together in love and grief. Today, all that had changed with news that went beyond her inheritance of the truck. News that had brought on heartache and anger.
She’d retreated to the truck then and driven around all day, trying to relive the past rather than think about her new reality. She’d thought about the truck and how she’d ridden in it as a child with her grandmother, eagerly bouncing on the bench seat, while an old song from an a.m. station crackled through the radio as she clicked and unclicked the buckle on the lap belt until her grandmother told her to stop.
If her grandmother were with her now and knew of her current anguish and relentless worrying about the day’s events, she’d tell her stop, just like she had with the lap belt. But she wasn’t there, and the weight of the day tried to engulf her again, as if it had been hovering in the air, like the storm clouds, waiting for her to emerge from the truck before it downpoured.
She gave the truck an affectionate pat and headed for the front porch. A handful of wandering lightning bugs lit up and floated across her path, a welcome to both her and the oncoming darkness. A welcome that was lost on her.
“You’re home a little early today,” Janice said when Carla entered the living room. She folded her arms across her chest as she leaned against the doorframe to the kitchen. She was barefoot wearing knee length brown shorts that were a shade darker than her crew neck shirt. The deep colors only seemed to enhance her auburn hair which hung in thick waves upon her shoulders.
Is there any color she doesn’t look good in?
Carla sank her hands into the pockets of her trousers and felt her keys. She pulled them out and set them on the coffee table, the feel of the truck key too much all of a sudden. She glanced at some of the magazines sitting next to her keys.
“Arizona Highways?” She looked up. Janice shifted and she straightened from her lean. She appeared nervous. But why?
“The photos are really beautiful,” she said. She took a step toward the table as Carla sifted through the magazines.
“Desert Living?”
She found more. There were close to a dozen different magazines with the same subject matter.
“You’re interested in Arizona?” She was more than surprised, especially after all her talk about home and roots and red mud running through their veins.
Janice crossed to the table and gathered them together. She picked them up and disappeared into the den. She returned empty-handed and tried for that welcome home smile again. She didn’t totally succeed.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Carla asked.
“It’s just a recent thing. Guess having you here made me a little curious.”
She was fibbing. Carla could see it in her uneasiness, and she’d seen the issue dates on the magazines as well as Janice’s home address, so she knew she’d been getting them in the mail for some time. Question was, why was she so uncomfortable in telling her the truth?
Carla was too tired to try to find out. For whatever reason, Janice wasn’t willing to share her reasons for her apparent long-held interest in Arizona.
She closed her eyes and felt her body go slack.
“You look beat,” Janice said.
She sounded concerned.
Carla opened her eyes and saw an equal amount of concern in her gaze. She was once again voicing her perceptions, something that had been missing lately. There had been a noticeable difference between them that left Carla feeling confused. Though they’d made up at dinner that night after their disagreement, they’d both seemed to pull away after that. The guilt over the pain she’d caused Janice with her careless words had made her uncomfortable, and she’d been uncertain as to whether or not she should continue in burdening her with the daily stresses she was experiencing in dealing with family and friends. It didn’t seem fair to do that to her when she was already going out of her way to have her in her home.
As to why Janice had pulled away, Carla could only speculate. She hoped that the pain she’d caused wasn’t still affecting her.
With that in mind, along with the worry she was obviously causing, as evidenced by the look on Janice’s face, Carla considered downplaying her fatigue. She wondered, however, if Janice would readily accept her attempt. An attempt, Carla knew, that would be half-hearted at best. She just didn’t have the strength to try. She was simply too worn out for pretenses.
“Yeah,” she finally said. It was becoming difficult to think. Difficult to even remain upright. She needed to sit. But where? Was supper ready? Should she hang out with Janice in the kitchen if she was still preparing it? She was lost for direction and frustrated in needing any.
Things were so strange now. She felt like an outsider in a stranger’s home.
“I think I’m just going to go to bed.” She started to turn, but Janice moved to her and took her hand.
“Come,” she said.
She led her to the couch. Carla hesitated, still unsure.
“Sit,” Janice said.
Carla did and she let out a sigh, the cushions feeling like clouds. Janice sat beside her, Carla’s hand still in hers. She began to massage it with her thumb, a quiet gesture of soothing support. And with its continued repetition, a gesture that reassured she was willing to be there beside her for however long Carla needed.
She seemed to be back to the old Janice, and the familiarity of her loving kindness flooded Carla and caused a lump to rise in her throat.
“What do you say, Sims? Do you want to talk about it?” she asked after a long while. She touched Carla’s brow, brushing her hair back with her fingertips. It was an affectionate move, like what a woman did to the one she loved. Carla warmed at both the light touch and the sentiment. It amazed her how her kind, melodic voice and soft skin-tingling touch seemed to be exactly what she needed at that moment.
How does she always know what to do and say?
How can she be so in tune to me?
Carla wanted to look into her eyes to complete their connection, but seeing the sincerity and caring she could already feel through her hand would surely cause her to either reach for her like a lover or completely break down.
It was safer to keep her eyes trained on her lap and talk.
“Hm?” She brushed her hair again. “I know something’s wrong. But if you don’t want to talk about it that’s okay. We can just sit if you’d like.”
Carla forced down the oncoming tears. She didn’t speak.
“You can, of course, go to bed if you’d like, but—” Janice touched her cheek. “You just look so upset that I’m hesitant to leave you all alone. I feel like I should be here for you. With you. Even if it’s just to sit by your side in silence.”