Page 8 of Lemon Crush

Another piece of her erased.

She doesn’t need it anymore.

“I know that, damn it,” I said, laying the jacket neatly in the container and snapping the lid back on. I left the garage and closed the door behind me with a quiet snick that sounded disturbingly final.

Unable to bear being here for another second, I stopped at the apartment long enough to grab the keys and Mom’s iPod before hopping into the VW.

I backed out of the driveway with an excess of caution—I’d already had one car towed today and wasn’t looking for a repeat, but I needed to take a turn around the block to clear my head.

After a minute or two of driving with the windows rolled down and the iPod playing a comfortingly familiar stream of music, I could finally breathe again, humidity notwithstanding. I cruised down the street, following the 30mph speed limit, amazed as always that shifting gears came back to me so easily. I usually preferred automatics, but muscle memory was apparently a thing, even for me.

I passed a neighbor aiming a hose at her laughing, bathing-suit-clad kids, and then a few run-down houses interspersed with some new builds. They had very little in common, other than the spiky, dry grass in their yards and their taste in decorations.

Lone Stars. Everywhere. In case anybody forgot where we lived.

Instead of circling the block, I found myself heading deeper into the seemingly endless neighborhood. Seriously, when theychose “Everything is bigger in Texas” as the unofficial state motto, they weren’t kidding around. It usually took a solid half hour of driving, at minimum, to get to the nearest grocery store, restaurant or freeway on-ramp.

I occasionally wished the city planners had gone for “convenient” instead of “bigger.” And by occasionally, I meant every time I had to drive anywhere. At least I had this easy-listening and eclectic soundtrack to keep me company.

Paul Simon’s “Loves me Like a Rock” transitioned to Shakira’s “Gypsy,” which flowed right into Peter O’Toole’s film version of “The Impossible Dream.”

I turned up the volume.

“This is my quest. To follow that star. No matter how hopeless. No matter how far.”

To shake off my blues, I sang theatrically along with the lyrics I’d had memorized by the time I was in kindergarten. Mom appreciated a good hopeless quest and had adored Don Quixote, both the book and the musical version. Maybe it ran in the family, since I’d followed my own star into a writing career and was currently tilting at a new windmill that seemed even more unlikely.

“This is my quest, Jiminy. You’re going to be a real live racecar.” I patted the steering wheel. “It’s as close to the ending from your namesake’s fairytale as I could get.”

Now that I’d taken the first, obviously batshit crazy step of deciding to become an amateur racecar driver, I needed to start doing research to see what I was getting myself into. I’d never driven in a race before, unless you countedSuper Mario Kart. Although, I supposed my LA freeway experience might become invaluable.

When my best friend’s distinctive ringtone blared over my off-key attempts at greatness, I turned off the iPod and put my phone on speaker. Speaking of California. “Hey,Chick.”

“I’m going to my second meeting with the wrestlers tonight to talk about this train-wreck of a treatment for their movie idea. They want to be the next Rowdy Roddy Piper or The Rock, but all I’m seeing is garbage. Anyway, I’m planning to seduce the big sweet one into a hotel room before I take their money and write their crappy screenplay, so I’m looking for suggestions. MyCasino Royaleoutfit or a towel?”

“Hello to you too,” I said with a helpless grin. I hadn’t realized how badly I needed to hear a friendly voice right now. “Quick question before I answer: Do you have any other options besides a tux and nudity?”

“Do Ineedother options?”

My loud laugh made an old man who’d been checking his mail jerk like I’d goosed him, and I offered him an apologetic grimace through my open window as I passed. “Sorry, I forgot who I was speaking to. The hotel might have a dress code, so go with the tux.”

“I know the manager. I could get away with the towel. It sounds like you’re driving. You wouldn’t happen to be popping by for lunch, would you?”

“As much as I love you, I’m not driving all the way to San Diego today.” I stopped at an intersection and then turned onto a larger farm-to-market road.

“Then talk to me, sunshine. You dropped off Morgan this morning?”

“I did.”

“And…? What are you not telling me?”

I sighed. “That Myrtle nearly killed us all, and it’s entirely possible I’ve finally lost my mind.”

I told him about my pre-morning madness. Then I told him about putting the apartment up for rent, and my conflicted feelings about it. The only thing I’d left out was the car race. My plan wasn’t done percolating yet, and before I shared it with him, I needed to know what I was talking about.

Being Chick, he took my entire saga in stride. “Your morning sounds more eventful than mine.”

“Tell me this is a good idea.” I needed someone to say it, even if they had to lie.

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