“Laters,” I say, sliding out and shutting the door.
He doesn’t drive off when I walk down my driveway to my front door, which I find a little creepy, but continue on anyway.
I love everything about my home. It’s a sandstone brick home, with floor to ceiling windows along the front. A small veranda juts out from the front, and on the porch is an outdoor seating area with a glass table and two lush chairs. I like to sit out here and read when the sun shines in the morning, with a coffee in hand. The house has three bedrooms and an open plan living area.
As I reach the door, I unlock it. Glancing over my shoulder, I see he’s still there watching me.
It’s definitely creepy, that stare he has going on.
Just because he’s beautiful doesn’t mean I should have trusted him.
What an idiot I am.
Locking the door and sliding the chain firmly in place, I wait to hear if his truck leaves. It takes a few minutes, but eventually he drives off.
I head to the window to look out, and the breath I was holding finally escapes me in a sigh of relief.
“You have to go to work,” my mother says the next day when she comes over to visit.
“Not today.”
And I don’t.
I don’t want to.
“Today is the day. Are you ready?” my mother’s voice chimes into the phone.
It’s my grandparents’ funeral today, and I have to remember my heart can take it. That my life still goes on, with or without them in it.
“I’m pulling up now. Goodbye, Mother.” Turning left, I drive into the crematorium parking lot—behind it is where the funeral will take place. I park in the same spot he was parked in the last time I was here. When I look around, I don’t see his truck.
He didn’t come to murder me, so maybe he isn’t as bad as I had assumed. Walking out the back, I spot all of my family who is gathered and ready for the service to start. My mother wraps a hand around my shoulders and holds me to her. I sometimes forget that even though I was their granddaughter, she was their daughter. And her hurt is probably as great, if not more, than mine.
The service is beautiful, everything you’d expect from a loving family, and maybe even more. My mother grips me to her the entire time, and I do everything in me to not break down as I have been the last few nights as I fall asleep, with my eyes covered in saltwater and unable to see. My pain is now only seen in my sleep, no one else will witness it.
“Honey, how you holding up?” My father pulls me from my mother’s tight grip and pats my back. Then he pulls back and pushes my sunglasses down so he can see my eyes. I know what he sees—heavy dark eyes that are withholding tears.
“I’ll be okay.”
“I know you will.”
I push away after the service, waving goodbye as I head back to my car. When I do, I see him there again—he’s walking out with his bag over his shoulder, and his truck is parked directly next to mine.
“You carry bodies with you every day?” I joke.
He stops, turns, and I know his eyes are narrowing in on me. “You’re back. You’re either stupid or—”
“Or?”
He shakes his head then continues to walk.
I unlock my car, reach for the door, then pause. “Want to go for a drink?” I ask, not looking his way.
“Are you dumb?” he asks, as I turn around to see him now standing in front of me, the bag no longer thrust over his shoulder. He’s dressed much like he was the day before.
“Pardon?”
He reaches up, taps my head. “Does this have a brain?”
“Well—”
“Did your mother ever teach you not to take rides from strangers?”
“Well, yes. But I met you yesterday,” I say.
“What’s my name?”
I bite my lip. Damn! I don’t know, but I don’t because I never bothered to keep asking after the first try.
“Rochelle…” My aunty calls me, and I turn my head to glance over my shoulder, but then look back to him.
“Come for a drink, please?” My voice is desperate.
“Meet me at Johnny’s in thirty.” He slides into his truck as my aunty gets closer, then he drives off. Johnny’s is in the heart of town, so it’s a short drive to meet him.
“Who was that man?”
I don’t answer, simply offer her a smile before I get into my car and drive away.
Heading straight to Johnny’s, I don’t detour or stop. I want to know more about this man.
Taking my black jacket off, my singlet, which is multi-colored, sits nicely with my black pants and boots. Walking in, I order myself a drink and sit by myself at the bar.