Innocent Ride Page 2

  Robbie was the youngest employee here, beating me by six months. The first day we met was his first day of work after graduating college. Like me, his four years of study and the useless paper that came with it had granted him nothing in his field—yet. (I wasn’t throwing in the towel. I had plans!) He’d followed me to the cafeteria, and I’d guided him around the office and introduced him to Pete, Carrie, and Oliver. From that day on, I’d felt some small responsibility for the kid. It quickly became habit to watch out for him. At times there seemed a loneliness about him that made me want to reach out and comfort him. He was a kid, still figuring out his place in the world, just like me.

  “Candy, what’re you doing tonight?” Oliver asked. “Besides reading smut and making love to a chocolate bar.”

  “It just so happens I am finishing up a book….” Which was true. And how could he know about the chocolate bar hiding in the back of my pantry?

  “Don’t tell me you’re reading that sparkly vampire stuff,” Pete said, gesturing to the big black book sticking out of my bag. “My wife’s reading it, too.” He shook his head.

  “Sally’s reading vampire smut?” Carrie said, incredulous.

  “Of course she is,” I said. “She’s a romantic, right Pete?”

  Pete slurped his soda, choking out a little cough.

  “What’s wrong with vampire romance?” Oliver said. “It’s a trend. Anyway, Candace, tonight—”

  “Don’t bother, Ollie,” Carrie said. “I’ve tried getting her out. She’s a hermit.”

  I happened to like being a hermit. I got more done that way. I walked over to the table, steamy green tea in hand, and sat down, dunking and swirling the teabag.

  “Maybe she just needs to go for a ride,” Robbie chimed in, throwing me a smug grin. He leaned into his seat, folding his hands behind his head. That was…really unlike him. Mind, this was sweet, wholesome, homegrown Robbie Curtis from the small town of, um…well, I couldn’t remember the name of it, but somewhere in the middle of Nowhere, Kansas.

  “A ride?” Oliver laughed. “You were serious about the motorcycle thing?”

  “You got the bike?” I said, a little more impressed than I'd expected.

  Robbie displayed a proud grin.

  “What happened?” Pete said. “Your horse break down?”

  “Ha. Ha.” Robbie let his sarcasm hang out there for Pete to catch. He erected his posture and lifted his red-shadowed jaw, determined. Then he got up, swept over to the coffee machine, poured what seemed like a whole mug of sugar, and topped it with a drop or two of the percolated brew.

  “Kidding, man,” Pete said. “What’d you get?”

  “Kawasaki 600cc,” Robbie answered, elated. He walked back to the table and settled into his chair, stirring his coffee.

  “Small bike, huh?” Pete gave a thoughtful nod. “I’m more of a Harley guy.”

  “Harley’s all show,” Robbie said. Then he leaned back in his seat and crossed a leg over his knee. “For me it’s all about the ride.” He leaned a little further back, then fell.

  Everyone laughed.

  Robbie gathered himself.

  “And how does your fiancée like this ride of yours?” Carrie asked with a fair amount of challenge in her voice. All heads turned to Robbie, whose confidence flushed out of his face, draining it of all color. Now that was the Robbie we knew. We all knew the story. It was between the bike and the wedding. Apparently, he had made his choice.

  Oliver cleared his throat. “Anyway, as I was saying…Candace, I have someone for you,” Oliver sang the last part, something he did way too often.

  “Someone?” I asked, suddenly nervous.

  “Name’s Angel…and he…well, I can’t remember what he does. But he’s very successful; I know that much. A real down-to-earth kinda guy, too. And cute. What? That’s what the ladies tell me.”

  “Down-to-earth doesn’t sound like Candace’s kind of guy,” Robbie said with a note of finality in his voice. He stirred his coffee’d sugar more vigorously.

  “Hey, cowboy, relax,” Oliver said, waving Robbie off like a bad idea. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t set Candace up with a creep.” Then he turned to me. “I think you’re perfect for Angel. I mean, you’re pretty good looking….” He gestured at my body.

  “Um…thanks?” I said, totally sure that hadn’t been a compliment.

  “I mean, what do you think?” Oliver looked at Carrie. “She’s definitely on the curvy side.”

  “She’s beautiful,” Robbie said. It made me choke on the sip I was in the middle of. All heads turned to Robbie in amused shock. Pete laughed first, then drew from his straw, shaking his head. Oliver started laughing. And if that wasn’t enough, Carrie followed suit. Robbie cleared his throat, his face crimson. “Er…I mean, you know…in her own way.”

  Frankly, I couldn’t see what was so funny. I might have had plain black hair and eyes the color of boring, milk chocolate, but I wasn’t that bad. At least I was in shape. A healthy shape, anyway. Okay, maybe I wasn’t in shape, per se, but at least I was healthy, sort of. There was a little love on my hips, but that was normal today! It was the sugar! The processed poison…how did it have such power over me? It was such an evil curse…a drug…the real love in my life…my own personal heroin, its effects hanging on my body for everyone to see and laugh at.

  “C’mon,” Oliver said. “What better things do you have to do? Angel’s definitely your type.”

  “I dunno, Ollie. I appreciate the offer, but I don’t really date.”

  “There it is!” Robbie said. He raised his hands as if his favorite player had just scored a goal. “She doesn’t date. Said so herself.” He leaned back in his chair and pulled a sip of his poisoned coffee. “What?” he asked when no one stopped staring at him. What was with him today? I couldn’t put my finger on it, but he was definitely acting weird.

  “Honey, that’s why you don’t have a boyfriend,” Carrie said to me, then she turned to Oliver. “What about me, Oliver? Where’s my date? I’m good lookin’!”

  Oliver shook his head no way. “Girl, you don’t need my help. You’ve got men fighting over you eight nights a week.” That was true. Carrie had no trouble in the dating department. She proved that every weekend, and some weeknights, too. “Candace could use all the help she could get.”

  “Hey!” I said.

  “I’d say she’s about a seven,” Pete injected, nodding his head in serious contemplation, oblivious to the fact that we’d moved on from that topic. “That’d be like a ten in New York.”

  “Oh, Pete, did no one tell you we’re in Kansas?” I had a feeling Oliver had been eagerly waiting for the perfect time to throw that back at Pete. Pete threw a wadded napkin at him.

  “I’m right here,” I said. “I can hear everything you’re saying.”

  “Well, it’s too late. I already gave Angel your number.” Oliver examined his nails, suddenly too good for this conversation. “He’ll be calling you, so please tear yourself away from the sexy billionaire long enough to answer the phone.”

  That’s when we heard glass shatter and Robbie crying, “Shit!” When we looked, he was bent over picking large pieces of his mug up from the floor.

  I grabbed paper towels. Carrie found the broom, starting in on her dating dos and don’ts. Eat at his pace. What if he eats too fast? Eat fast. Laugh at his jokes. Even if they’re not funny? Yes. Don’t talk about that romance stuff. Men don’t like it. Don’t be so needy, they don’t like that either...

  But I was needy and I liked romance. When could I be myself? After the wedding? Did that mean he wouldn’t be himself either? How exactly was all this designed for love? How could he love me if he wasn’t getting to know me?

  “We’re not talking about love, here,” Oliver said. “We’re talking about dating.”

  As if on cue, all our heads turned to the giant, ominous clock on the wall, always bound by it. We slugged out of our seats, filed out of the break room door, and through the partitioned laby
rinth spanning the entire second floor, each breaking off into our own cubicle of the maze.

  Inside my box, I checked the time again. We had another minute of freedom. We had to punch in at exactly eight o’clock, not a minute before and not a minute after, or there were severe consequences. It was the system. No one asked why. I donned the bulky headset and stood up for one last stretch.

  Oliver, who occupied the cubicle next to mine, was also standing. Carrie, across the narrow path, stood just as Pete, who sat next to Carrie, popped above his divider, followed by Robbie, on the other side of Pete, and a handful of other reps across the sea of cubicles. At the far end of the labyrinth, Sally stood in her own cubicle scanning the floor dutifully.

  At eight o’clock on the dot, I pushed the button on the screen. Then, one by one, heads disappeared into their cubicles, puppets falling behind their stages. An amalgam of the mandatory recited script could be heard throughout the center.

  The first few minutes passed without a call in my ear. I incanted in my mind, “I am a channel of love to all that I come into contact with,” which was scribbled on a sticky note and taped to my computer screen as a reminder. The first beep in my ear started the day. The rest of the day I tried not to think about my vertex, tossing out the idea that it could be someone here at work.

  Could Angel be the one my chart was referring to? Alice had said it could also be someone I hadn’t met yet. I shook my head. My destiny wouldn’t come to me through something as ordinary and non-magical as a date. The universe knew my heart better than that. Besides, she’d also said it could be someone I already knew. But everyone I knew was at work. Most of my friends had followed their jobs out of the state after college. The few that remained were either deep in their own relationships or not into women. Hopefully, Angel wouldn’t call. Then the universe would be forced to bring me a magical encounter.

  Chapter 3

  TODAY WAS BREWING day, and good thing, too, because it supplied enough distraction from everything Alice had predicted for me…and from this Angel thing. I’d been home for three hours and so far, Angel hadn’t called. Hopefully he wouldn’t, and that would leave room for the magic.

  It was time to check the blog before dedicating the rest of the night to bottling and brewing. Ten new subscribers since last time I checked. That was ten new souls off sugar! I considered that a win. And I could reach so many more…if only the Department of Agriculture would cooperate. I threw a glance at the torn and crinkled envelope that had been sitting on the kitchen table since it arrived on Monday with its denial of my brewery plans.

  After uploading a long-overdue blog post, this one on the second fermentation and all its probiotic benefits, I rolled up my sleeves and starting bottling my latest batch of kombucha. The liquid fizzed in each bottle from its natural carbonation. In half of them, I added guava juice, which I’d prepared last night after my meeting with Alice. I capped the bottles tightly and added labels, guava scribbled in sharpie. I boxed the bottles and set them by the door for tomorrow. One day of secondary fermentation was all it needed. Then, using the remaining half of the batch, I started a new batch on its first fermentation with the tea I’d brewed last night.

  Just as I sealed the cloth over the kombucha jug, the counter started vibrating. I’d forgotten to turn my phone’s ringer on after work. My throat tightened.

  “Candy Cane!” came through when I put the device to my ear.

  “Mom!” I said.

  “How are you? How’s the house?”

  This was technically my mom’s house, though she’d been gone for two years and had only come back for the holidays twice. She and my seven-year-old brother, Shannen, who visited more often than she did, traveled the globe helping orphans. Mom insisted I stay in this house. It’s the family house, she was always saying. A classic country Victorian centered on two acres of Kansas grass and a couple of pregnant gardens. The wrap-around porch was enough motivation for me, though I enjoyed the neighbors, too—not breathing down my neck, but not far enough away for me to feel alone.

  “Where are you?”

  “Still in Guatemala. It’s beautiful here. You should come! Forget that silly job! How many people can you help with that?”

  “Mom, I have to earn a living.”

  “Yes, yes.” I could hear her smile through the phone. “There are other ways to do that!”

  “How’s Shannen?”

  “Missing you. Oh, that reminds me, he wants me to ask if you’re wearing his hug.” I looked down at the red sparkles wrapped around my flat feet and clicked my heels. It made me miss him.

  The last time Shannen and I had been together was last spring, and we’d only had one weekend while my mom took care of business in the states. We’d spent all of Saturday playing Star Wars, acting out every scenario possible, each ending with the triumph of the dark side. Then Shannen announced it was time for Star Wars Monopoly.

  Sunday had been reserved for shoe shopping in Kansas City. Shannen had his assault planned before we left the house. “Can we start with Footwear? Then I wanna go to The Shoe Store. And Designer Shoes. How many shoes do I get?”

  “W-w-wait. Who said we’re buying shoes?” I had teased.

  His shoulders had slumped and he’d lowered his big brown eyes.

  “Okay. One pair.”

  “Three,” he negotiated. He was making a sound financial decision, tapping his chin precociously.

  “Two-and-a-half.” I grinned.

  His lips formed a line.

  “Okay, two. But at least one pair must be tennis shoes, Mom said. And I’d like you to help me pick out a pair, too.”

  “Deal.” He held out his hand for a shake and I accepted.

  He did his happy dance and we packed his suitcase. Then we jumped in the car and drove to Kansas City. When we arrived, Shannen pulled the shopping center map from his pocket and pointed to a circle he had drawn in himself. “There first!” He grabbed my hand and launched into the crowd.

  At Footwear, he tried on five pairs of tennis shoes and tested them by running around the store. The clerk crossed his arms and scolded me with his glare. Customers didn’t seem bothered, though, other than an old lady who’d glued her reproachful eyes on Shannen during his first lap.

  “How do they feel?” I asked after each test run.

  “Eh.” He shrugged. Then he found the magic pair. “These shoes will make me super faster!” Faster was important. We bought them and moved on, joining the herd of shoppers, stopping for a cookie, and eventually lunch.

  After eating on a quaint café patio, we finally made it to Designer Shoes, where Shannen fell in love with the most expensive boots on display. “Do I look like Darth Vader?” He modeled like a professional before he jumped into character with the swoosh, swoosh of his invisible lightsaber. There was no way to get out of buying these. Shannen really wanted them. And that was enough to justify charging them to my credit card.

  I looked around for myself, but Shannen was first to find the perfect pair for me. “Look, Candy! You can be Dorothy. You know, because you’re in Kansas.” He held up two sparkly red slip-ons. I tried to think of what I’d wear with them, but decided it didn’t matter. Red went with everything, at least in my wardrobe because nothing really matched. I’d never been able to understand fashion grammar. “They can be like a hug. Wear them whenever you want to hug me.”

  After I paid for the Dorothy shoes, Shannen and I strolled hand in hand around the rest of the shopping center.

  At the airport, the next morning, we said goodbye at the gate. His round brown eyes glistened. “Don’t forget my hug.”

  I promised I wouldn’t. One last embrace, and I watched him disappear down the jetway.

  “Hello?” My mom’s voice interrupted my reverie. “You still there?”

  It took me a moment to remember the last question my mom had asked. “Tell Shannen, I wear them every time I need a hug.”

  After thirty minutes on the phone, I watered the kitchen herbs. Ros
emary, lavender, sage, oregano, and basil hung in the window nook. I ran my fingers along a stem of lavender and inhaled its sweet scent. It was my favorite. I could use it for everything. Sometimes I even added it to a fresh glass of kombucha. I poured water into the base of the large aloe vera that sat on the window bench that lined the kitchen nook, the perfect position to catch the sun from all the right angles.

  When I turned around, the thin white envelope on the kitchen table grabbed my attention again. I picked it up, removed the letter, and read it for the fifth time. As if this time, magically, it would have a different answer. No magic here; the letter was the same. I sighed, re-stuffed the envelope, and dropped it on the counter.

  Even now, I had no interest in dealing with the Department of Agriculture. And even if I had wanted to fight that battle, I had no idea what I could do. They were a huge institution with way more power and resources than I could ever dream of having. Why did they have to make things so difficult for small startups? I checked the clock. Nine-thirty at night was still early...

  I opened the cupboard. Nothing sweet but a chocolate-almond bar. No matter where I hid those things, they never stayed forgotten. Might as well get rid of the temptation, right? I tore open the wrapper and indulged in one bite, then another, until every last drip of chocolate dissolved onto my tongue.

  Why couldn’t I say no? I’d gone all day without sugar. I sighed, grabbed my steamy, sparkly vampire love story, and sank into the giant sofa in the living room. Just as I was finishing the lovers’ first kiss, music blasted from my phone and wrenched me off the sofa. I answered.

  “Candace?” The voice was rich and so smooth it immediately charmed my senses into submission. Then my stomach tightened as the threat of an ordinary date loomed.