Special Delivery: Special Delivery, Book 1 (2 page)

It was
huge
. The trailer was the same length as normal trailers, but the bright blue cab was an absolute monster, twice as long as the usual ones.

It also had a very nice ass sticking out of the hood.

The driver stood bent at the waist, leaning so far in the only parts of him visible were his legs and a pleasantly shaped, jean-clad backside. As Emma continued to launch her apartment campaign at him, Sam ducked behind a black Dodge pickup and headed as close to the trucker butt as he dared. Still unsatisfied from his bathroom appointment with Keith, it didn’t take but a few seconds of Hot Trucker Fantasy to send all spare blood cells due south. Probably the guy had a face like the bottom of a boot, which made it all the better it wasn’t visible. Sam admired his features from as close a distance as he dared, knowing later tonight he’d be imagining himself bent over a fender with strong, grease-coated hands gripping his hips and sliding back to part him before the trucker—

“
Sam
.”

Sam blinked, stumbled and jerked his attention to the phone. “Huh?”

“You aren’t even listening to me.”

“Sorry.” Sam stepped over another series of bushes and started up the hill toward his aunt and uncle’s house. “Something on the road caught my attention. What were you saying?”

“I asked if your aunt is at the pharmacy this afternoon.”

“Today? You want to ask about the apartment
today
?”

“Well, yeah. We could be in by the end of the month. It’d be great.”

Sam vaulted the last series of bushes and fumbled with the keys to his basement entrance. God, he’d wanted a few days to plan his strategy. Maybe this would be better—get it over with. “Sure.”

“
Yes.
Okay—so, I’m gonna head. When will you be in?”

“Give me fifteen minutes. That’s the fastest I can manage.”

“Don’t be late.” She hung up.

Sam tugged the ear buds out and put his keys in the lock.

The house was empty and silent. Sam moved through the immaculate den and down the hall to his room, where he dumped his backpack on the bed before falling onto it himself. He lay there for a few seconds, staring at his bookshelf without really seeing it. Reaching into the plastic crate beside his bed, he pulled out a can of sparkling water and cracked it open. He sipped at it while he surfed the Internet on his phone, not quite adept at it yet but still loving the idea that he
could
do it whenever he had cell service. He played a word on his never-ending Facebook Scrabble game with Emma, tried to think of something to tweet, but then gave up, put his phone away and wandered upstairs.

Living in Aunt Delia and Uncle Norm’s house was like living inside a Pottery Barn showcase, and it drove Sam crazy. As always, the opulence and waste disgusted him. To Delia, her picture-perfect home was a source of pride. Sam had grown up in a crowded, messy trailer with a mother who couldn’t stand on her own after he was ten, let alone arrange knickknacks and silk flowers. Delia’s house only made him lonelier.

Once in the living room, though, Sam didn’t feel quite so solitary.

The urn Delia had chosen for her sister’s ashes was elegant and gleaming and not at all what Sharyle Keller would have wanted, and certainly it hadn’t been Sam’s vote. Even so, he always felt better when he saw it, because he knew his mother was inside. He went up to her now, placing his fingers on the bottom of the urn and resting the butt of his palm against the gleaming walnut mantle.

“Hi, Mom.” His fingers curled around the vase’s gilded handle. “Miss you.”

He never felt any weird vibes from the urn, never felt ghostly fingers caress his shoulder, no matter how long he waited for them, but it still felt good to stand here, touching the container holding the little bit of her remaining outside of his memories. The anxiety of having to ask Delia and Norm about the apartment eased, and even the shame of Keith faded a degree simply by being near her. That was the way it had always been with his mom. She fixed everything.

He stood there until he felt completely calm. Then he leaned forward and kissed the base of the ornate china. “Gotta go to work. Love you.” He headed for the front door.

He reset the alarm, hurried out and locked the door before bee-lining for his beat-up Civic Delia made him hide around the side of the house behind a boxwood hedge. When the Civic took a moment to turn over, he glanced at his watch and frowned, knowing he’d lingered too long and Emma would be mad. Actually he was so late now he might be tardy for his shift. It was difficult to say whose anger made him more anxious, Emma’s or Delia’s.

Once he got the car going, he had to use the highway to get out of Cherry Hill Estates, and despite his lateness, Sam slowed when he saw the blue semi still parked beside the road. The driver shut the hood and headed for the door to the cab, and as Sam drove past at almost ten miles under the speed limit, he got a good look at the man’s face.

Not the bottom of a boot, he acknowledged, quickly editing his upcoming fantasy. Not the bottom of a boot at all.

Emma waited for Sam at the front of the store when he got there. Delia stood nearby at the counter sorting through a purchase order. Behind them, half-obscured by a shelf of antacids, his uncle blithely surfed the web.

Sam’s uncle Norman was one of the last independently operating pharmacists in the state of Iowa. He owned Biehl Drug, a store so old it had been there since the town of Middleton was founded in 1889. By rights an independent pharmacy couldn’t compete with a Walmart pharmacy
and
a Walgreens in town, but Norman had some good nursing home contracts, and to pad his income he played the stock market and rented property. He rented a
lot
of property, to the point he had a near monopoly on most of the apartments in town. Delia managed all of them. Delia managed
everything
, including Uncle Norman.

She looked up when she saw Sam, and she didn’t smile, only flipped another page on the order sheet. “You’re almost late.”

“Sorry.” Sam reached around the counter to pull out his apron and fumbled with the ties after he looped the noose of the bib over his head. “Did the truck come in yet?”

Emma’s pasted-on smile strained. Sam glared at her. What, he was supposed to initiate the conversation too?

Delia continued scanning her order sheet. “Yes. It’s all in the back, waiting for you.” She lowered the form and gave Sam a pointed look. “The diabetic supplies are almost out, and they didn’t get put on the order list. Why didn’t you tell me when you checked stock last weekend?”

Sam held up a defensive hand. “I did tell you. I put a note in your in-tray.”

“Well, I didn’t see it. Now we’re out, and you know very well Harriet Meeker will talk of nothing else at the Ladies’ League as soon as she discovers it.”

Sam
had
put the note in her tray, and he was about to point out if she hadn’t found it, it was her fault, when he caught a glance at Emma’s pleading, desperate face.
God, woman, but you owe me.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Do you want me to go buy her usual at Walmart and keep it on hand in case she shows up?”

Delia waved his offer away. “Just tell me next time.” She dropped the pile of mail in disgust and rubbed her forehead as if trying to grind out a headache.

Sam looked to Emma automatically for some support and found her still giving him intense
talk about the apartment already
vibes. Sam folded his arms over his chest and stared meaningfully at Emma.
No way,
he telegraphed right back.
You’re starting it.

Emma gave him one last pleading look, but when Sam shook his head, she wiped her hands on her apron and turned to Delia. “Mrs. Biehl. I had this idea, and I wanted to know what you thought of it.”

Delia put down the invoice, softening a little. “Yes, Emma? How can I help you?”

“I talked it over with my parents, and we decided it’s time I got an apartment. You know, for responsibility and all.”

Delia smiled. “I think that’s wise. Were you wanting to rent one of ours? Because I know a perfect place opening up this summer. The one above the bookshop on the hill?”

Emma’s hands stopped bunching in her apron and clasped in front of her chest instead. “Oh, Mrs. Biehl, that would be great.” She beamed at Sam. “Wouldn’t that be
perfect
for us
?
”

Sam tried to shake his head in warning, but Delia’s eyes were already on him, sharp as a hawk’s, her smile washed away. “Us?”

Sam held up his hands. “I—”

“I thought maybe Sam and I could room together. Right, Sam?”

They both looked at him, expectant, and Sam faltered. What was he supposed to say? He felt flustered and angry. This was Emma’s scheme—couldn’t
she
say something?

Back in the pharmacy, Sam saw his uncle glance up from the computer.

Delia folded her arms as she addressed Sam. “How were you planning to pay your half of the rent?”

Sam felt, somehow, there was some answer he was supposed to give, something which, if he could guess what it was, would make this go right. He searched for it, he really did, but his mind was a blank, and the silence pressed on him. “I, uh, don’t know.” Sam looked at Emma and then at his uncle, but he found no help in either place. “I—I don’t know.”

Delia picked up the purchase order and resumed scanning. “When you find a roommate who can pay her half of the rent, the apartment is yours.” She glanced at Sam. “Your stock is waiting.”

Sam’s uncle returned to his computer, and Sam turned away, feeling foolish but not really knowing why. When he headed toward the stockroom, there was no surprise at all that Emma followed him.

“What is
wrong
with you?” she demanded as soon as the door closed behind them.

Sam picked up a case of adult diapers from the pile by the door. “Don’t yell at me. This was your plan, not mine.”

“But you didn’t say
anything
. You didn’t even try.”

“You didn’t give me any time to get anything ready.” Sam opened the flaps of the box. “I don’t
have
money. I don’t know how to pull it out of my ass.”

“It isn’t about money.” Emma pushed the box closed. “I thought you wanted this. You’re always telling me how much they drive you crazy. I thought you wanted out of there.”

“I do.” God, he wanted nothing more. “But she’s never going to agree. You heard her.”

“Why do you always let her roll over you? Why don’t you stick up for yourself for a change?”

“What am I going to say? What sort of leverage do you think I have? They’ve paid for everything for me since I was in high school. They’re paying for my college. They pay for my food, and they give me somewhere to live.”

“They pay for your college because they have to. They feed you because it would look bad if you starved. If J.K. Rowling hadn’t made it such a mark of Cain, I swear they’d put your room in the closet under the stairs. Your mother named them your guardians, and this is the responsibility they took on when they accepted the job. You don’t owe them.”

Sam picked idly at the plastic wrappers visible beneath the open flap of the box. He knew Emma was right, knew he should stand up for himself, but he didn’t know how to explain to her he didn’t know how. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Emma opened her mouth to launch into another lecture, but before she could, the door to the store opened and Uncle Norman stuck his head inside. “Emma, I need you up front.”

“Sure, Mr. Biehl.” Emma poked a finger into the center of Sam’s chest. “We’ll talk later.”

I’m sure we will.
He wasn’t looking forward to the conversation already. He watched her go then pulled out his phone. He scrolled through his playlists, selected
Kylie Favorites
, and tucked his ear buds in, ready to let Ms. Minogue take all his worries away.

She hadn’t cleared the first verse of “No More Rain” before the door from the front opened again. This time Delia came into the stockroom.

His aunt was a small, slight woman, but her diminutive size somehow rendered her all the more terrible. Her features were similar to Sam’s mother’s, but while Sharyle Keller had been as soft and cozy as a stuffed animal, Delia was as cold and un-cuddly as a china doll. Sam’s mother had loved yeast and sausage and chocolate, and once her disease relegated her to a wheelchair, she had no hope of burning it off. Hugging Sharyle was a warm, soft experience. Delia ate organic salad with tofu, counted calories and put in at least three miles a day on the elliptical machine across the hall from Sam’s basement bedroom. Even if he’d wanted to hug his aunt, he’d have bruises from her bony frame.

Delia appeared unlikely to hug him now.

She nodded at the half-opened box and folded her arms over her chest. “Were you thinking you should get paid for doing nothing in
addition
to asking for free rent?”

Sam pulled his ear buds out and started unloading the box. “Emma was talking to me.”

Delia gave his pocket a cold look. “I hope that
thing
isn’t going to make your job performance even worse. If I catch you surfing while you’re clocked in, I’ll dock your pay.”

“
Hey.
” Sam shoved the package onto a shelf. “I do my job. I work hard.”
A hell of a lot harder than Uncle Norman.