I stood, just listening and looking at the monstrosity before my eyes. It was lime green with bright red and blue letters. Atop the cab sat a large ice cream cone. It was a fucking ice cream truck, but Rain seemed completely unbothered by this little fact.
“How is it, mechanically?”
“It’s in very good condition. It’s only three years old. My brother had an ice cream route, and his old truck finally bit the dust. He bought this one, but sadly got sick and had to stop delivering altogether. He passed a few months ago, and I paid it off, thought about picking up his route myself. Who am I kidding though? Driving around all day listening to that little jingle and handing out ice cream to snot-nosed kids? No thanks.”
“I trust that the jingle can be shut down?” I asked.
“Of course. It’s the same van people use for laundry trucks and deliveries. He added all the ice cream stuff, so easy to take them away. If you aren’t going to sell ice cream, I’ll be happy to knock some off the price and remove the freezers from it. I can sell them elsewhere.”
“What do you think?” she asked, and I had to stifle a laugh. It was hard to get past the fact that she was buying an ice cream van as a vet unit.
“Wouldn’t you be happier with a new van without all this to deal with?” I asked, waving a hand around in the van’s general direction.
“No. I can’t afford it. This is what I can afford.”
“Isn’t it going to cost you a fortune just having it redone?”
“No. Ben Tankersley’s dad is going to refurbish it for me and paint it for just cost as a thank-you for helping with Marilyn.”
“All right. Well, I guess we should start her up and see how she runs.”
Ten minutes later, we were tooling down the highway in an ice cream truck playing “Pop Goes the Weasel.” It might have been the most surreal moment in my life, but I had to say that it did run like a charm. When we returned to the garage, we sat there for a moment, discussing it before she decided to buy it. Thirty minutes later, Rain was rolling back toward Muskrat Creek minus two freezers, a giant ice cream cone, and having learned how to turn the jingle off. With her out of my car, I was free to laugh my ass off at the ice cream truck without hurting her feelings.
We stopped off at the Tankersleys’ garage and dropped it off for servicing and painting. When they were done with it, there would be no more signs of ice cream, just a nondescript white van ready for a logo. That was where my friend Jenx would come in. He did graphic design for a living. We drove over to his print shop and sat down to hash out some ideas. Jenx sketched out possible logos to go with the name she’d selected, and we tried to decide which one looked and sounded the best. The bells on the door jingled as we sat there and Jenx turned to greet a customer by name.
“Harlan Simpson! How are ya?”
I froze in my seat. Harlan was Theron Perrimont’s boss down at the bank and an old family friend.
“I’ll get your cards for you,” Jenx told him, excusing himself.
“Jon, how are you?” Harlan said, once he was gone.
“I’m good, Harlan. You?”
“I’m grand. I trust everything worked out for you on that loan last week?”
“It did. Thanks,” I replied, hoping he’d leave it at that.
“This must be the lucky recipient here,” Harlan continued, turning toward Rain. “I’m so excited for you. It’s always good to see people starting a new business in our little town.”
Rain looked at him, clear confusion on her face, but he didn’t seem to pick up on the signs at all, continuing to prattle on. I found myself praying for Jenx to return very soon, but no such luck.
“It’s too bad about the lien on your property. Otherwise, we’d have had no problem in loaning you the money. Good thing you’ve got Jon here to back you up and guarantee the loan.”
“Here you go, Mr. Simpson,” Jenx called out to him as he returned from behind the counter, much too late to save me from the catastrophe that had just unfolded.
It took every ounce of energy I had to even look in Rain’s direction, and I saw exactly what I expected, a face flushed with anger. She had told me to stay out of it, that she didn’t want me to help, and I had done it anyway. I knew it was important to her to do this on her own after the problems with her ex-fiancé, and I hadn’t listened. Why hadn’t I listened? I’d wanted to help her and I’d fucked up again.