I could say that I knew down to my gut they not only could take care of themselves, they wouldn’t do anything stupid to put themselves in jeopardy. What was happening with this bad guy wasn’t about that. They weren’t about that. And they wouldn’t put their loved ones through that.
So I had to trust, and I’d spent a decade trusting the wrong man so I’d learned.
This time, I had it right. I knew that down to my gut too.
Feeling content in this, having sorted it out in my head, I quit brushing, spit, rinsed, and moved to my man. I shoved close, forcing him away from the counter, and went in.
He kissed the mark he gave me.
I kissed the mark he gave himself, touching my lips to the joker card.
Then I tipped my head back and whispered, “I’ll go pour the coffee.”
He kept brushing but his eyes, already warm at my touch, got soft.
I allowed myself time to take that in before I moved away to get my man and me some coffee.
* * *
At my first coffee break at work, I was no longer feeling content.
This was because we’d had a slow morning and Sharon, me, and the other cashiers had a chance to gab.
I’d shared I was seeing someone and was meeting his friends that night.
They were ecstatic for me (they all didn’t know everything about Aaron, but they all knew he was a jerk).
Then Sharon asked me what I was wearing.
And I instantly started to panic, because meeting your man’s friends did not say tube top or clingy T-shirt dress or tank with cool sequins.
Especially when one of them lived in assisted living!
And I had nothing postpregnancy weight that would do.
Not one thing.
So I had to form a plan, which I did.
And now I was in the break room with phone in hand and it was ringing in my ear.
“Yo, girlie, what’s shakin’?” Elvira asked in my ear as greeting.
“Panic stations!” I cried.
“Uh… what?”
“I’m meeting Joker’s friends tonight,” I told her on a rush. “Not, like, biker friends. Like, the woman who looked after him when he was a kid and his dad was off carousing and left him home alone without dinner. And when I say kid, I mean, he was eight.”
“Yikes,” she muttered.
“Also the guy who gave him a good man in his life, seeing as he didn’t have one, is going to be there too. And his family!”
“Lordy, Carissa, this shit’s big.” Elvira told me something I already knew.
“I know, and I have nothing to wear.”
“Uh-oh,” she mumbled, totally understanding me, as I knew she would since she was a girl.
“I’m at work but Tyra says you can get time off to shop,” I said leadingly (and hopefully).
“Right. Got it. I’m on it,” she replied immediately.
I blinked at my locker.
That was easy.
“Really?” I asked.
She didn’t answer. She just said, “Budget.”
“Um… well, I need shoes too.”
“Budget, girl,” she demanded.
Gosh, this hurt. It really hurt. Surprisingly, after months of money being so tight it was a wonder I could breathe, I had thousands of dollars in a savings account and my monthly expenses had decreased dramatically.
But it had been tight and anything could happen (like your car needing four new tires). I had a buffer now when it felt like I’d never have a buffer in my life. It was good to have. And I was terrified of drawing it down, definitely not doing it for new clothes.
Further, I hadn’t spent money on me for so long, focusing on Travis and his needs (as it should be), it felt strange to consider doing it.
Strange as in guilty.
“Carissa,” Elvira prompted impatiently.
“Okay, maybe two hundred, at most, all of it together.”
Eek!
“You need undies?” she asked.
I actually kinda did but I didn’t know how to ask Elvira to take care of that. Anyway, only Joker would see those, and unlike my nighties, he’d never mentioned my undies (which were, admittedly, not all that much to write home about) so I didn’t think they were a priority.
“You need undies,” she decided for me. “When you gotta be at their table?”
“Six thirty.”
“Your house. Five.”
“I get home at ten after five.”
“Your house, ten after five.”
“Okay,” I whispered.
“On it. Later,” she said then I heard her disconnect.
“Did I just make a mistake?” I asked the locker.
There was no reply, and I needed to throw back some coffee and get to my register, so I couldn’t wait for what was never going to come to me from a bunch of steel.
I could also fret no longer.
And anyway, I’d set Elvira on her course. She was Elvira. I hadn’t known her a long time but one thing I did know.
Unless I was a man named Hawk who put the kibosh on it (and I wasn’t), there was no turning back now.
* * *
At my lunch break, I went to my locker to get my phone to see if Joker had texted me (because he always texted me when I was at work, another way he was sweet).
I pulled it open like I’d pulled it open repeatedly for months.
But this time, I did it and froze because, staring unseeing into the locker, a memory hit me, and on its heels came another one.
These being that all my stuff, excepting the guest room furniture, was out of the storage locker. Everything was unpacked. Everything was put away.
But the sketch Carson Steele gave me before he left town then came back as Joker was not at my house.
“Oh no,” I whispered, because I had also suddenly remembered something in all the turmoil of the last year that I’d completely forgotten.
I had stuff in the attic of Aaron’s house. A couple of boxes filled with yearbooks, some photo albums, commemorative coins my mom’s uncle used to give me for reasons I didn’t understand but I’d always kept them.
And that was where Joker’s sketch was, framed and tucked away because Aaron didn’t like it, no matter that it was of me and it was beautiful. When we moved in together after the wedding, I’d put it out and he’d told me (not asked me) to put it away.
I’d put it away.
And then, in a dither that my life was a mess, I left it behind.
“No,” I whispered again.
I needed to get it back.
Darn it!
I grabbed my phone, turned it to me, and slid my thumb on the screen.
As usual, Joker had texted me, and as usual, it was sweet.