Driving With the Top Down (17 page)

But what could she say? If she whipped Bitty down with all that, she’d just be the jerk who’d attacked an old friend. She’d never prove anything, because the proof was, as they say, in the pudding, and Bitty was probably never going to see the pudding. She was just along for the ride for a short time.

“I do,” Colleen said, in simple answer. “I do hope it works.”

And it did. The bidding on the window frame was unenthusiastic and she got it for two hundred dollars. She also got a dusty 1940s dresser mirror, a double bedframe that was more than one hundred years old, and a miscellaneous handful of tchotchkes she’d inspect later.

“I know the saying about one man’s trash,” Bitty said, picking up a dingy brass powder compact, “but sometimes one man’s trash is another man’s trash, you know?”

“I know my business, Bitty,” Colleen warned.

“And I don’t, admittedly. So educate me.” Bitty held up the compact. “How would you sell this to me?”

“Well—” Colleen took it from her gently and held it up. “—do you see the insignia on it?”

“I see that there’s some lump of
something
there.”

“Look more closely. Do you see what it is?”

Bitty examined it dubiously. “Some sort of … I don’t know. An anchor or something?”

“It’s the eagle, globe, and anchor for the U.S. Marine Corps. But the compact, as you can see”—she held it up again—“is shaped like a heart. So this World War Two item was used by”—she opened it up to show the half-used powder and puff still in place—“some girl probably waiting for her boyfriend or husband to come back from the front lines.”

Bitty furrowed her brow. “Okay?”

“The fact that it’s been used, obviously more than a few times, says that it meant something to someone, wouldn’t you say?” Colleen held it up a third time. “I mean, how often do you dig this deep into any of your makeup? We just buy new stuff all the time, right?”

“That’s true.”

“But this was special to someone. And then it went unused. At some point she used it for the last time and didn’t use it again. Why?”

“I don’t know.” Bitty looked anxious. “We can’t know.”

“Right,” Colleen agreed. “We’ll never know. Except that there is this irreplaceable trinket, which I will polish to new on the outside and leave exactly intact on the inside, because so many people prefer the original content. And somewhere out there is a woman, maybe a current marine girlfriend or wife or maybe a marine herself, for whom this will spark the imagination and inspiration, and she’ll want it and pick up on the history of some other woman from long ago.”

Bitty had the dreamy look of one getting a massage.

Colleen couldn’t tell her that so many of these romantic stories came to her because she’d never really had a romance of her own. She’d never admitted, even to Bitty, that she’d been Kevin’s second choice. That the unexpected shift in circumstances that had led to their marriage might be the only thing still holding them together in Kevin’s heart. She didn’t know. She was so afraid to ask. So she carried on like the dutiful wife, did her best, and every time she felt she failed, it was magnified ten times by the underlying idea that she was never really supposed to be there in the first place.

But she wasn’t going to admit that to anyone.

So instead she laughed. “See what every day is like for me? I opened the shop because I kept buying everything I saw that I could make up a story for. It was out of hand. Kevin finally suggested it might be better for me to make a profit than to crunch through all of our savings.”

“He was always financially clever, that Kevin.”

“Isn’t he, though?”

“So do you make a good profit at the shop?”

Colleen tipped her hand side to side. “It’s okay. Some years are better than others. I haven’t been very inspired this past year, so it’s been a loss. That’s what I’m hoping to rectify now. I need to find great stuff on this trip, or I’m afraid I might have to—” She gave an exaggerated shudder. “—get a real job.”

“Well, now that I know what you’re looking for, I can help. For instance, I saw an old, beat-up clarinet over there.” She gestured toward some lots that were coming up next.

“Beat up?”

“Yeah, I mean, I’m sure it’s not
playable,
but, you know—” She shrugged. “—you could do something else with it.”

Colleen considered, then raised an eyebrow at Bitty. “Like what?” She glanced at the auctioneer as a new box of stuff was brought up.

“I don’t know, maybe … maybe wire it and make it into a mantel lamp or something?” Bitty suddenly looked uncertain. “Is that stupid?”

“No! That is so cool! I
love
that idea! Which lot is it in?”

“I’ll go look.” Bitty ran off, sneaking up to the upcoming lots with a look of secret delight on her face.

Colleen could have waited for them to bring it up and describe it, of course, but with Bitty
finally
being positive about something, she wanted to keep the mood going.

It wasn’t that she wanted to convert Tamara and Bitty into replicas of her, going gaga over antiques and painting and all that; it’s just that there was something for everyone in this world, and if getting them busy and out of their heads was going to help, then she was going to try to do it.

“That one,” Bitty said, pointing to a red milk crate that was probably three lots down from the current one. There was one of those old push toys for toddlers that made a popping sound when pushed. That was probably worth something too, but Colleen wasn’t in the thrift store business. Usually she just took what she wanted from a lot and left the rest where anyone could help themselves. Plenty of people like her were here, eager to scarf up a deal.

Colleen waited as the auctioneer went through the other things for a few minutes, and she could feel Bitty’s growing excitement. It was funny, really. Finally, the lot came up, and after several minutes of fierce bidding with a man who probably wanted the outdoor electrical extension cord, she won the lot for five dollars.

Bitty was delighted. “Score!” She put her hand up for a high five.

Colleen hit it, then asked, “Where’s Tamara?”

“Last I saw, she was going outside. I think she was probably having a cigarette.” Bitty shook her head ruefully.

“I hate that.”

“Me too.”

“Glad I didn’t do it past seventeen.”

“Me too.”

Colleen went outside, and after a few minutes that stretched into a few panicked minutes—Had Tamara been abducted? Had she gotten so bored, she decided to hitchhike out of here? Was she passed out somewhere on some sort of drugs Colleen didn’t realize she was taking?—she saw Tamara in the shade of a tree, stubbing out a cigarette that was long since extinguished and looking as if she’d been crying.

“Tam?”

The girl looked up, startled. “Oh! Sorry! I was just … On a call. Or trying to make a call. No answer.” Quietly she added, “As usual.”

“Everything okay?”

“Just trying to check in with my dad. It seemed—” She shrugged. “—like something I should do.”

“He knows you’re safe with me. If he’s in a business meeting, maybe he can’t be interrupted.”

“Yeah. I guess.” Tamara flicked the cigarette butt away.

Colleen looked at the cigarette butt, then back at Tamara. “So I must say this in my duty as your aunt—you know that gives you wrinkles, brown teeth, and unwanted facial hair, don’t you?”

“Unwanted facial hair?”

Colleen crossed her heart. “True story.”

“Okay, well, it’s out now.”

“I wish you knew how important it is to stop now before it’s a lifelong habit.”

“No offense, Aunt Colleen,” she hadn’t said “Aunt” in a couple of days, so this was the equivalent of a parent calling a child by first, middle, and last name, “but I’ve got enough
shit
going on that I don’t need more of it. I’m sorry, but—” She closed her eyes tight and shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

Colleen knew when not to poke a bear, and this was definitely not a time to poke the bear. She didn’t like the smoking
or
the disrespect, but it was really clear this outburst was about something very different, and Tamara had no one to talk to. Maybe if Colleen could ride it out, Tamara would realize she could talk to her.

“Okay, miss.” She reached her hand down, and Tamara took the help standing up. “We’ve all got shit going on, not least of which is we have a bunch of
shit
to pack in the trailer, so come help.”

“Yes, ma’am. You don’t need to use that language.”

“Apparently, I do. It’s the only way to be heard by some people.”

Tamara’s mood shifted, like a kite in the wind. “I had a bad day, okay? It was nothing personal.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“No. Thank you.”

“That’s fine. But keep the storm squalls to yourself, then, got it?”

Tamara rolled her eyes but smiled reluctantly. “I’ll try.”

Colleen remembered trying herself. It wasn’t always easy. “Good. Try.”

And she left it at that.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Colleen and Bitty, the past

“Do not push me into this water, Blake Leon, or I swear I’ll—” Bitty squealed, the sound followed by a loud splash. She came up from the water, smiling but play-angry. “What did I tell you?”

She pulled Blake into the lake by his ankles. Bitty knew he didn’t have to budge. The guy was a six-foot-two brick wall, made of lean but strong muscle. But still, he let her pull him in.

A few yards away, Colleen was with Kevin. He was sitting, legs extended, leaning back on his palms, and she lay in his lap, her hair a long, twisting sheet of blond and brown. As she looked up at him and he laughed at something she said, Colleen thought,
Yes. I finally found him.

They met in a way she could already imagine retelling for years to come: Colleen had been walking between classes on a winter afternoon when the light was getting low early, and a guy had approached her, his hoodie pulled down low, and tried to take her purse. She’d screamed, of course, and started to fight him off, when the cute boy from her Statistics class—Kevin Bradley—appeared from nowhere and pounded the guy until Colleen begged him to let him go.

She never told Kevin that she thought the perpetrator had been Guy Wilkins, from her Badminton class, who had arms like dental floss and who couldn’t have harmed a small, slow fly. He just had a weed habit he was trying to support, and somehow he’d decided Colleen was a good mark.

It was a mistake he probably wouldn’t make again. With anyone. So it was a good thing Kevin had been there, really.

And it was a good thing Kevin was there, because he had protected her—and whether the guy was a wimp or a hulk, Kevin would have done the same, and that had made Colleen giddy with adoration. He was willing to get his butt pounded to save hers.

It was just as people always promised it would be.

It’ll be when you least expect it.

When you know, you just
know
.

I feel like I’ve known him my whole life.…

Then, when she ran into him and his buddies at Henley’s a week later, the destiny seemed complete. Admittedly, he and his friends had been a little toasted, but she told herself that his wild enthusiasm for her that night was because that’s how he really felt, unfiltered by some idea of propriety.

It might have been the first time she had ever been sure of anything in her life. She knew from the second they’d started talking that he was the man she would marry. Of course she couldn’t
know
know. But she was pretty sure she knew.

Here they were. Bitty and Blake were perfect, Colleen had known that too, from the start. And now she had Kevin, with whom things had been perfect and blissful for two months. No, it wasn’t that long a time, but it had been so perfect. She was always laughing. She was always having fun. They were both game for anything, so the world really felt like their oyster.

There was talk of a recent ex-girlfriend, but she was an
ex
for a reason, right? Nothing to worry about there.

And Bitty … Oh, putting Bitty and Blake together might be her greatest accomplishment to date.

“They’re so cute, aren’t they?” Colleen said, stretching her head back and watching Bitty and Blake flirting in the water. You’d think they were newly matched or something. Not that they’d been together for over a year and a half already.

“So cute,” said Kevin, joking. Of course, he was a guy; he didn’t think they were cute.

“Really, though,” said Colleen, sitting up. “If they don’t get married, I’ll lose all faith in love.”

Kevin said nothing, his joking smile fading a little.

“Kev? What was that?”

“What? Nothing.”

She tilted her head at him. “Kevin.”

“Nothing. I don’t know anything.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’ve already given away that you do, just by saying that. Spit it out.”

Colleen could see that he really, really regretted letting on that he knew something. Especially since honesty was their one and only real rule.

“Kevin, I won’t say anything—you know I’m good at keeping secrets.”

He seemed to consider that, and then brace himself. “Blake is leaving.”

Colleen’s heart wrenched. “Leaving?… Where is he going, what do you mean?”

He sat up and dusted the dirt off his hands. “His mom is sick. She lives in Georgia. She can’t make any money or anything, and she’s all on her own. He’s going out there to help her out. Clean the house, make some money, help her with the bills and all.”

“Oh, no…”

“He’s telling Bitty really soon. I think he’s kind of freaking out about what she’ll say.”

“What she’ll say? I mean, she’s not going to, like, go banshee on him. But she’s going to be really upset.”

“Yeah. Sucks.”

“Is he … so is he dropping out?”

“He has to.”

“With only a semester and a half left? That is— No, he can’t do that. He can’t!”

“Life gets in the way sometimes, I guess.”

Colleen’s eyes shifted from Kevin’s guilty face to Blake and Bitty.

She had never seen Bitty the way she was now. Once upon a time, her friend had worried constantly. She was hesitant. Quick to feel insulted. Shy to a fault. Always looking perfect, and trying to act perfect. But since getting together with Blake—he had asked her to be his girlfriend while they drank Coke, not Diet Coke, in the back of his pickup truck. Not anywhere special, Bitty had said. They didn’t look out at a pretty skyline or gaze up at the stars. It was just a parking lot, with other cars, people walking by. “But,” Bitty had told Colleen, “it may as well have been the top of the Eiffel Tower, clinking champagne glasses. Only somehow, it was ten times more romantic.”