Page 18 of First-Time Caller
Harvey skids to a stop and grins at me. “Proud of you, kiddo. You spoke your truth.”
“Stop calling me kiddo. You’re approximately eight months older than me.” I press two fingers between my eyebrows and close my eyes as realization hits. “You know.”
“Yup!” Harvey says proudly. “Sheila sent me the audio that’s all over the place. Said I should take notes about what you were saying. But then I realized that theyouI was listening to wasactually youand I almost spit my beer clear across the room. Didn’t know you had so many feelings.” He claps a meaty hand on my shoulder. “Good for you.”
“Wouldn’t have killed you to mention the shop!” Dan yells from somewhere near his office. I refuse to open my eyes and look. I’m going to stand here like this for the rest of the day. Time will march forever forward and I’ll be here, standing in the middle of the mechanic shop with my eyes closed.
It was easy to be brave when I thought it was Aiden and a handful of random listeners. People I don’t know. But apparently itwaspeople I know, and now those people know something deeply personal about me. Something I never intended to share with anyone.
My phone starts buzzing in my pocket again and I take it out with a sigh. It’s the unknown number again. The fourth time this morning. Feeling curious and more than a little sorry for myself, I shuffle back to the limited privacy of my station. Answering my phone is a solid enough excuse to ignore the way my coworkers are staring at me. It’s the lesser of two evils.
“Hello?”
“Hi,” a woman says on the other end of the phone, sounding breathless. “Is this Lucie? Lucie Stone?”
Unfortunately. I’d love to be just about anyone else right now.
“It is. Who is this?”
“My name is Maggie and I’m calling from 101.6 LITE FM. I’ve got a proposition for you.”
CALLER:What about Lucie?
AIDEN VALENTINE:Lucie?
CALLER:Yeah. The woman who called in with her kid.
CALLER:Has she found anyone to date yet?
AIDEN VALENTINE:I have no idea.
Istand outside the station with my mug of coffee, watching as Jackson tries to pull himself out of his car window. There’s a pale pink Volkswagen Beetle parked way too close to his Honda, making it impossible for him to open his door.
And I guess he decided the best way to proceed was to . . . climb through his car window.
“Jackson,” I call. “You good?”
He wrestles with his bag and tosses it over his head. It lands with a thud at my feet. His glasses are slightly askew, his face twisted in a furious frown. “I’m trying to get out of my car.”
I take a sip from my mug. “Is that what’s happening?”
“Yes,” he grunts, smacking his elbow on his side mirror. “It would be a lot easier if Delilah Stewart knew how to park.”
“Who is Delilah Stewart?”
“The woman who works at the news station.”
“That’s right.” I snap my fingers. “The weather girl.”
“The whirlwind of destruction,” Jackson spits. He wiggles farther out his window, his knee lying against the horn. We both flinch. “She has no respect for the weather and she keeps parking over the line.”
I glance at the ground. The pink bug is, indeed, parked over the line. Crooked. With the back windows still open.
“And there’s nowhere else to park?” I glance around the lot we share with the local news station, which is headquartered across the street. There are at least seven spots available, all without pink cars obstructing their doors.
Jackson stops wiggling around and gives me an offended look. It’s very hard to take him seriously when one of his legs is still sticking through the window of his car.
“This is my spot.”
