Текст книги "Running on Empty"

Автор книги: L. B. Simmons

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by

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Running on Empty

Copyright © 2012 by L. B. Simmons

Cover by Okay Creations (www.okaycreations.net)

Edited By Jennifer Roberts-Hall

Formatting by JT Formatting

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the author.

This book is a work of fiction. Any names, places, characters, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination and are purely fictitious. Any resemblances to any persons, living or dead, are completely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Acknowledgments

About the Author

For My Beautiful Daughters –

My darling girls,

As with everything I do, there is always a lesson. Even when I write. But just in case you miss it, I’ll give you the shortened version. Life is too precious and too short to safeguard yourself from hurt. Be willing to experience all life has to offer. To weather the ups and downs as you face them. Take the good with the bad. Because no matter the collar roaster ride life hands to you, you should hold on tight and enjoy the ride. Make the most of it. It’s the only way to ensure you have no regrets.

Remember your stories.

Remember your childhood.

And remember that I will always love you and you will always be my babies. Even when you’re fifty years old.

“What the hell?” I mutter to myself, eyeing my reflection. I scoot closer to the mirror, practically sitting on the counter, and inch my way forward to get a better look at what exactly is going on with my hair. My dark brown hair is damp, falling in wavy layers to my shoulders. This is normal. What’s not normal is this one little area that’s just not cooperating. I tug at the one inch section of my long hair that will not lie down. It’s just sticking up, straight in the air, mocking me. Pulling on it, I notice that there’s a thick white film covering the entire section. And it’s sticky. Great.

I wipe my fingers on my old fluffy pink bathrobe and continue examining my hair in the mirror. This is not right. I know I just put a new product in my hair, but it’s supposed to make it soft and shiny like the gorgeous model on the commercial, not stick up like a ten year old boy with a cow lick. I grab the nearest brush, My Little Pony – of course, and attempt to tame this bastard.

“This is freakin’ ridiculous,” I say out loud as the brush catches when I try to pass it through my hair. I yank the brush as hard as I can and literally cringe in pain. I think I just pulled the entire section of hair out of my head. When the brush finally makes its way down the rest of my long hair, I catch a whiff.

“Mint?” I set the brush on the counter and reach for the serum I just put in my hair. I put my nose to the end of the pump. “Hmm, not mint.” I pick up the damp towel that just came off of my head and wet the end under the faucet in an attempt to get rid of whatever this mystery goop is in my hair. That’s when I finally see the culprit.

“You have got to be kidding me!” I suddenly want to rip every single strand of hair out of my head in frustration. I do not want to deal with this mess this morning. I just want an easy morning. When do I get to have an easy morning?

“Kyndall!” I yell from the bathroom, echoes bouncing off each wall, slamming mercilessly back onto my skull. It hurts my head. Or, maybe that’s just the residual pain from the recent hair assault I inflicted upon myself. I wait a couple of seconds…no response.

Hmm, this must mean that the TV which is not supposed to be on, is on.

“Kyndall!” I shout again, this time stomping my foot for added emphasis. I know she’s the only one who can be responsible for this mess. Not only because her older sister wouldn’t dare, or because her younger sister can’t reach the sink, but because this sort of situation…well – it’s just Kyndall. Like the time I found three days worth of my home cooked meals “hidden” in one of my decorative baskets in the kitchen. The brief stint at vegetarianism didn’t last long, but it would have been nice if she would’ve at least told me about it. Lots of ground beef was wasted and I have a lot of boxed meals that require it.

Sighing loudly, I start to step out of the bathroom when I hear the steps of my lovely seven year old daughter getting closer. I watch her pink tutu skirt bounce up and down as she skips happily down the hallway.

“Yes, Mama?” Oh, so innocent.

“Baby? Can you tell me what’s going on with the towel here? Can you tell me what this stuff is?” I bend down and hold the towel right in front of her face so she can see the blue goop to which I am referring.

I watch her eyebrows come together as a result of her full force concentration. “Um, toothpaste?”

“Yes, toothpaste. Can you tell me why there’s a big glob of it in the middle of my towel?”

“Well…” she pauses briefly and widens her eyes, obviously frustrated that I haven’t figured it out on my own. “It was all hard when I tried to squeeze the tube to get more toothpaste out, so I did what you told me to do last time. I wiped off all the extra toothpaste from the top and started over.”

So I guess, in essence, I have done this to myself.

Okay…

“Kyndall, sweetheart. I used a paper towel…not a towel, towel. We don’t use regular towels for that kind of stuff.”

Kyndall looks down at the towel and back up at me. “I’m sorry, Mama. I was just trying to do it myself.”

I can’t help but cave when I look at her beautiful blue-grey eyes. I just don’t know how this sweet child always manages to get herself, or me for that matter, into these unfortunate situations. I let out a sigh.

“It’s alright, Kyndall. Let’s just forget the use of any kind of towel. How about when it happens next time, you just rinse the top of the toothpaste under warm water to get the hard stuff off? Easy enough?”

“Yes ma’am.” She reaches up to touch the toothpaste infested section of my hair. “Eww – that’s sticky!” I lift my eyebrows, asking her if she really wants to reopen the argument. She drops her hand immediately. I assume that’s a no.

I let out another deep breath. “Okay. Now, where are Nycole and Rylie?”

“They’re watching cartoons in the living room.”

Ah-ha! I knew it!

“Can you run and tell them to hurry and eat because we need to load up to leave in about five minutes or we’re going to be late to school?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks, baby.”

“Mama?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“I love you infinity.”

“I love you infinity times infinity”

I give her a quick kiss on the cheek. I turn her little body toward the door and give her a light shove. “Now go tell your sisters!” I joke and smack her little behind. She laughs and skips down the hall. I watch her thick shoulder length brown hair bouncing up and down with a smile on my face. Turning back towards the mirror, my smile dissipates.

I look at my tired eyes and pale face. I pull the skin down under my eyes to examine the red blood vessels that seem to have taken over. I think I used to be pretty, at some point…but that seems so long ago. Lately, I’m the frumpy mom that I always told myself I’d never become. I mean sure, I dress decently enough for work. But I just look (and feel) so tired. Run down.

I don’t generally wear a lot of make-up, so the fact that I have long dark eyelashes helps. But my big brown eyes that used to look so alive with excitement and joy have been replaced with sad, tired, mournful eyes. And my hair? Let’s just say I support the ponytail look wholeheartedly.

I turn my attention back to my hair. Seriously, what am I supposed to do with this mess in five minutes? Hmm…ponytail it is. I sigh to myself as I think about how lovely it would be to actually have time to do my hair in the morning, to style it with something other than a hair band. I mean, having an actual style would be nice. But, to be able to take the time to style it, well, that would be beyond comprehension..

I would be unrecognizable at work. I would walk in to the office and it would be like one of those hair commercials; wind in my hair, hot guy gazing at me adoringly because I have beautiful styled hair. I would flip my hair in slow motion…

“Mama! Rylie’s picking her nose again!” I hear loud shrieks as the girls start running around the living room. “Eww! Mom! She keeps acting like she’s gonna wipe it on us! Help!”

Snapping out of my reverie, I quickly throw my thick brown hair back into its usual lame ass pony tail, trying to not think about the section of my hair that’s starting to bubble up. The same section of hair that is slowly forming a crusty top layer as the toothpaste begins to dry.

Oh well, I think to myself, turning on the sink and throwing some water on it to make myself feel better. Who knows, maybe I’ll get lucky. Maybe the water has some magical mysterious element to dissolve the toothpaste. Giving myself one last look of disapproval, I dart quickly from the bathroom. I round the corner and enter the living room, finding all three of my beauties sitting quietly on the couch.

I guess the nose picking fiasco has ceased.

Nycole, my oldest, appears to be frozen in time; her spoon has only made it halfway to her mouth and seems to be stuck there. Brown curly hair perfectly braided, headband in and big brown eyes glued on the TV.

“Nyc.” Nothing.

“Nyc.” I clap my hands. Still nothing. Oh my God. She’s in the TV.

“Nyc!” I shout, giving it one last try. She jumps in response, milk and cereal immediately spilling onto her neatly pressed plaid skirt. She shoots me a glare. I shoot her one back because honestly, that’s just uncalled for. I walk over and turn off the TV.

“I’m pretty sure I told you guys no TV. None of you have even remotely touched your breakfast, and now we have to go.” They all look down at their full cereal bowls with huge, longing eyes.

“Sorry,” I say, shaking my head in disbelief. “In the sink girls, come on…we’ve got to get going. We’re already running late.” I watch as they slowly get up from the couch and make their way to the kitchen.

“I told you not to turn it on, Kyndall. Now I don’t get my breakfast. Way to go.”

“Yeah, Kyndall. Nycole told you.”

I stand there, arms crossed over my chest, waiting for them to make their way back to the living room. My eyes land on Nycole as soon as she enters.

“If you knew it wasn’t supposed to be on, then why didn’t you turn it off, Nycole? Lead by example. Don’t just place blame. You’re nine years old and fully capable of operating the TV – I know you can because I’ve seen you do it. You know better.” I end my statement with a raise of my eyebrows.

“Yeah, but–”

“Nope. No excuses.”

“But–”

“Nyc .” I’m fully anticipating another rebuttal, but evidently she gets the point and stomps off. I guess she wants to make her point too. Noted.

I turn my eyes to Kyndall. “Kyndall. You know better too, don’t you?”

I watch as her eyes swell with tears. “Yes, but, I just wanted Rylie to be quiet. She kept copying everything I was saying. Everything Mama. She wouldn’t stop. It was the only thing I could do to get her to be quiet. I’m sorry.” She looks down at the floor. I walk over and raise her chin so she looks at me. “I know it’s hard, but next time, just come get me. I can take care of her, that’s my job. You just come to me when she keeps doing stuff like that.”

I wipe a tear from her cheek with my thumb. “I’m not mad sweetheart, okay? Just go wait by the door. I’ll be there in a second.” I give her shoulder a quick squeeze. She offers me a slight smile in return and makes her way to the front door.

I turn my attention to the hellion of the group. I watch her while she attempts to do the robot. She flashes me her trademark dimples, no doubt trying to diffuse the situation. Her long spiral curly hair falls forward along with her head, dance clearly over. Right arm extended and bent at the elbow, she ends with a perfectly performed “hinge move”, her forearm still swinging back and forth. I stand there until she looks back up at me from underneath her mile long lashes, trying to wipe any evidence of a smile off of my face.

“Rylie, what did I say about copying your sisters?”

She giggles and responds with, “Rylie, what did I say about copying your sisters?”

I close my eyes and count to ten.

“Rylie?”

“Rylie?”

“Seriously, stop it.”

“Seriously, stop it.”

“I stink.”

“You stink.” Damn it.

I attempt to use the only weapon I have at the moment. Silence.

I quickly scoop her up by her waist, wrapping her underneath my arm, and make a mad dash to the kitchen. She giggles hysterically. I could tell her I’m not trying to be funny, but I really hate the copying game, so I don’t.

I manage to scoop up the three backpacks and my laptop case from the kitchen table with my other arm, because I’m super mom, and make my way to meet Nycole and Kyndall at the door. I set Rylie down gently. They all laugh with each other and I take a brief moment to look at my girls.

My girls; the loves of my life. Now the only loves of my life and I’m content with that. This is my life and I accept it 100%. Sure, I would have chosen differently if I’d been given the chance, but it’s my responsibility to teach these girls to make the most of what life has handed them. If I had just given up the day our Derek had been taken from this earth…where would we be now? No, I have to be strong for all of us.

Sure, some days are harder than others. I have breakdowns every now and then, but I think that’s normal. And I try to shield the girls as much as I can from moments when mommy’s feeling a bit “down”. But these girls...they mean more to me than my own life. I’ll do everything in my power to keep them from being hurt ever again. That is what defines me. I already had my happiness and I live for them now. I’m okay with that.

Getting back to my already hectic morning, I take in a calming breath through my nose before opening the door. I hand the girls their lunches and back packs before herding them out of the house. While walking to the car in a single file line, Rylie (who’s unfortunately walking in front of me) insists on stopping randomly every few seconds.

Bug on the ground. “Mommy, look!” She stops. I trip.

New flower identified in the yard. “Oh, smell this Mommy.” She stops. I trip.

Half-eaten tootsie roll in the driveway. “We don’t eat candy on the ground, right Mommy?” She stops. I trip.

Chewed up gum that Nycole spit out yesterday. Didn’t I ask her to pick that up and put it in the trash? “Um…Nycole didn’t listen to you! I listen to you, Mommy.” Rylie stops. I stop. And glare at Nycole.

I patiently stare; so intently, that I can actually see the synapse fire in her brain. Nycole walks over, picks up the gum, holds it as far away from her body as she can, and throws it in the outside trash can.

“Thanks, Nyc.” I try to keep a straight face as she wipes her hands on her shirt. I mean, the gum did come out of her mouth; I’m not sure what the big deal is. I watch as she grabs the hand sanitizer out of her back pack and that does me in. I can’t contain my snickering any longer.

“Seriously, Nyc. Is it that big of a deal? It’s just a piece of gum…that came out of your mouth.”

“Mom, I can’t believe you made me do that. It’s been sitting in this nasty driveway since yesterday. That’s just gross.”

“Well…you could have thrown it away yesterday, like I asked you to do. Maybe next time, you won’t ignore me when I ask you to do something. ” I throw open the back of my Suburban and hurl my laptop case in, closing it just as quickly as it was opened. “Let’s not do the drama queen thing this morning. I’d love to have just one morning where we all get al–”

“Kyndall! I called seat check!” Nycole yells while Kyndall snatches the seatbelt and quickly buckles herself in, excited grin on her face the entire time. Just one morning is all I ask. Just one morning where we can make it to the car with no major catastrophes or ridiculous arguments.

“Nyc…just take another seat, please. We don’t have time for this.” I step up onto the side rail and reach over Rylie to buckle her in. Right after I hear the click of the seatbelt, I find myself grabbing at the arm of Rylie’s booster seat for my life while my feet slip out from underneath me. I wince in pain as both of my shins scrape against the rail, from my ankles to my knees, until my feet finally reach the ground.

“Shit! Shit, shit, shit!” I yell, jumping around from the immense pain radiating from my lower legs. I can feel them pulsating and the pain makes my eyes water.

“Mom!”

“Mama, are you okay?”

“Um…Mommy said shit! Shit, shit, shit!”

I immediately stop jumping and turn to look at the girls. All of them have their mouths wide open, watching my very mature reaction to what just happened. Great. I’m sure Rylie’s school will be calling me later today with the wonderful news that she has taught all of her classmates to say shit. Just. Freakin’. Wonderful.

“Rylie – we don’t say shit. Don’t. Say. Shit. Do you understand me?” Rylie nods her head, but smiles as though she has no intention of listening to me. I point my finger at her. “Don’t say it, Rylie. I’m serious!” I watch her big brown eyes glance over at her sisters, mischievous grin still intact.

I look over and see Nycole and Kyndall covering their mouths and giggling as they watch our interaction. They’re definitely not helping this situation any. And, although I really want to laugh with them, I can’t. I know it will only encourage her, so I force the giggle back down my throat and address the other two. I can feel my mouth start to turn upwards, but I try to keep my face straight. I’m pretty sure it’s not working, judging by Rylie’s smile. I turn my eyes to the other girls in a last ditch effort to remedy the situation.

“Sorry guys. I should’ve handled that better. Can we just forget that any of this happened?” I look at them with pleading eyes. I watch a sly smile slowly spread across Nycole’s face.

“I don’t know, Mom. I think you should have to buy us something. You know, to keep us quiet.” She throws in an exaggerated wink to make sure I get her point.

“Nyc, have you lost your ever livin’ mind? You know I don’t do things like that!” I look at all of them with my serious mom face and then I can’t help but let out a chuckle, pain long forgotten. I roll my eyes in defeat. “Oh, alright…One thing at the gas station and that’s it! Got it?”

They all squeal at once. “Yay! Love you, Mommy!”

I sigh. “I love you too, girls. More than you know.”

Sitting behind the steering wheel, I let out a long, deep breath. Gas or no gas…that is the question. I was just at the freakin’ gas station! I can’t believe I didn’t notice this sooner. Actually, now that I think about it, the low fuel level warning has been chirping at me for a couple of days now.

Looking at the needle, I contemplate whether or not I can make the twelve mile drive from Rylie’s daycare to my office without stopping for gas. 7:58 AM. It’s not like I’m actually worried that Harlow will be pissed that I’m late…again. It just makes it easier to rationalize my decision to not get gas. I’m pretty sure there’s a reserve gas tank built into these things, right? For procrastinators like me? Unless I’m already dipping into the reserve tank, which would prove to be rather unfortunate.

Shifting into drive, I inhale deeply and turn right to jump onto the interstate. I lose myself in my thoughts, thinking about this morning and how the chaos continued full force. After the gas station, where none of my children picked anything remotely healthy as their replacement breakfast, Nycole and Kyndall found themselves in a very heated discussion about whether or not one of Nycole’s friends actually had Justin Bieber’s phone number. A discussion that ended with high pitched screaming that I swear could have broken the sound barrier, and quite possibly my windows, but I had to side with Kyndall on this one.

Finally ridding my car of the feminine theatrics, I drove Rylie to her daycare. A bad habit I’ve developed is brushing her teeth while in the car at the parking lot of her school. A bad habit she’s developed is literally aiming her sneezes at people. Both habits rolled into one? Well, that equaled another ill-fated incident involving toothpaste. Rylie laughed heartily at my expense after she aimed her toothpaste filled sneeze spray at my black shirt. I think my girls have decided to gang up on me using toothpaste as their ‘modus operandi’. Seriously. With a toothpaste-splattered poplin top, I carried my four year old baby girl (who was still laughing by the way) into her classroom, quickly kissed her goodbye, and jetted out of there before she could use me as her latest show and tell demonstration.

I noticed the familiar warning regarding my gas level when I got back into my car. I guess I didn’t hear it earlier this morning over my lovely children yelling and screaming at each other. Days like this, I really miss Derek. He always made sure I had enough gas to make the morning rounds. He absolutely hated when I had to get gas by myself and made every effort to make sure I never had to. After three years, you’d think I would have managed to not depend on my husband to still do certain things for me. Yet, three years later, here I am, once again on empty.

And now I find myself driving down I-35, becoming increasingly nervous that I made the wrong decision. I push my foot down on the gas pedal to pass some poor old couple that evidently started driving when the Model T came out, when…nothing. My car starts slowing and as I push down on the pedal, I realize that I have indeed made the wrong decision. My car has stalled. I pull over to the side of the interstate and throw my car into park.

“Seriously? Can anything go right today? Harlow’s going to freakin’ kill me!” Ten minutes late is still within Harlow’s “not going to kick ass” window, but I have a sneaking suspicion that this is going to throw me into some unknown realm of Harlow fury.

I pull out my cell phone and punch in the number to our office.

“Prestige Staffing, Harlow Reed speaking.” She sounds flustered already, so I’m definitely not looking forward to this conversation.

“Um, Harlow…it’s Alex.”

“What’s up love? Are you on your way? We have that interview with the potential candidate for Synergy Accounting in, like, twenty minutes. So please, tell me you’re on your way.”

Not really sure how to break this to her, I opt to remain quiet while she figures it out herself.

Three…two…one…

“Tell me you’re on your way, Alex! I can’t do this one on my own. We both need to be here to make the decision. This one’s too big for only my opinion. It’s a freaking senior executive potential hire, Alex!”

Okay, Harlow’s usually a little high strung, but this is a little out of the norm…even for her. Odd. Maybe the pressure has finally gotten to her.

You see, Harlow and I started our own staffing firm right out of college – Prestige Staffing. We started our own business so that we could smoke in our office all day long, consume adult beverages during work hours, and do nothing but giggle and gossip all day. However, we both eventually quit smoking, quickly figured out that we were no good at anything while drinking and, since we couldn’t get any business while intoxicated, we had absolutely nothing to giggle or gossip about. So, we decided to start taking our business seriously.

Currently, we’re responsible for recruiting and interviewing potential hiring candidates for almost every company in Waco. Together, we can usually tell whether or not the person will be a good fit for the position before recommending them to the company for their own interviews. We have a proven track record, with over 95% of our referrals being placed with the companies. The commission on this potential candidate is HUGE. Yeah, Harlow’s definitely pissed.

“Listen, I know you’re upset–”

“Upset? Are you fucking kidding me? I. Am. Pissed!” Yes, just as I’d figured.

“Listen, I ran out of gas on I-35. See if you can stall him for half an hour. I’ll flag down an 18-wheeler if I have to. I will be there. I’ve never let you down and I’m not going to start now. Just hold him there as long as you can, okay?”

“Okay, Alex. But hurry the hell up! I have no idea what to stall him with. We only have enough coffee for one pot and no breakfast because you were supposed to pick that stuff up this morning, remember? I can’t stall him forever with my witty banter and mile long legs; there’s only so long that the poor man can ogle me. Your ass better be here in thirty minutes. Get. Here. ASAP.” I’m pretty sure I hear about three more F-bombs before catching dead air.

Oops. Maybe it’s a good thing I ran out of gas because neither the coffee nor the donuts made it into my possession today. I knew there was an actual reason I went to that gas station this morning!

“I’ll be there soon.” I say to absolutely no one but myself.

I step out onto the interstate...well, the side of the interstate, and attempt to flag the first few motorists I see. No luck. Obviously I’m not the only person running extremely late for work this morning. Sighing out loud, I resign myself to the fact that I’m probably going to have to walk to the nearest station, which will definitely put me outside Harlow’s thirty minute time requirement. Turning on my heel to start the trek, I hear the rumble of a motorcycle slowing down behind me.

I hesitantly turn around, using my hand to shield the sun from my eyes, to catch a glimpse of whatever scary biker man has decided to be my hero this morning. I fully expect to see an old man with a beer belly and bandana covered head; complete with B.O., missing teeth, and a sweat stained wife beater. Like the hook-handed truck driver from Adventures in Babysitting! I am, however, pleasantly surprised by the delicious mirage that appears before me.

I watch the man lift his right leg over the bike and place it on the ground. Wow. This guy is huge and freakin’ tall. But anything would be tall to me, considering my five foot frame.

I hear the slow clanking of the buckles on his boots as he starts to walk toward me. Man, those are some freakin’ masculine boots. My eyes slowly graze upwards and I notice the worn look of his jeans; frayed a bit at the bottom, holes at the knee and snug at the hips. Do I dare keep going? Seriously, the temperature just raised 20°C out here. And this is Texas…in late August…

Not easily deterred, I do, in fact, keep going. His white v-neck t-shirt is stretched as far as it can go across his chest and biceps, falling a little more loosely over his stomach, while still managing to hug his hips. OMG. I’m totally not going to look any further; I can sense disappointment on the horizon.

Damn it. My eyes have a mind of their own as they keep wandering upward. I catch a glimpse of his light brown hair. It falls to his neck, with shorter layers everywhere, making the ends turn up slightly all over his head. It’s a hot mess. I never knew what that term meant until this moment right now. It’s perfectly messy. I wish my hair looked that good. I reach up and attempt to push down the bubbly toothpaste section of my hair. Okay, I’m actually starting to find this guy annoying.

I figure it’s better to just look at his face and get it over with. Like ripping off a band aid, the quicker the better, right? Either it will be horrendous, which at this point I’d prefer because no one should be this perfect, or he’ll be completely gorgeous and then I’ll keel over and die right here of embarrassment. Either way, I’d like to just get this part over with.

I quickly glance to his face. I privately note his sculpted jaw, perfect nose, and his beautiful mouth, his perfectly kissable mouth. And his perfect teeth, all of which I can now see because as he’s getting closer to me he’s…laughing at me? What the hell?

I’m about to give this random man a piece of my mind when I happen to catch a glimpse of his eyes. I find them a vaguely familiar shade of green, a light olive green. I narrow my eyes, allowing myself to really look at him. I look at his eyes, then his face, then his hair, then his shirt, jeans and boots. Oh. My. God.

“Well, Blake Morgan. What the hell are you doing back in town?”