Page 164 of Terms Of Un-Endearment
That, at least, is one troubling thought I can do something about right now. I turn back to the house, and jog the half-mile back, slipping over sand more than once in my old Uggs. As I hurry through the back door, I hear the front door close. Piper’s just left.
I hesitate only a second before grabbing a zip-up hoodie.
Maybe Piper’s right about the guys at her bus stop—she’s obviously a better judge of character than I am—but for my own peace-of-mind, I want to make sure she’s safe. I can’t do anything once she’s on the bus, but there will be other people riding with her. That might keep any creepers from bugging her.
I pull the hood over my hair, then peek out the front door. Piper is a quarter block away. No one else is on the footpath, so I stay far behind, ducking behind a tall hedge when she crosses the street. The path paralleling Pacific Coast Highway is busier, and I’m able to hide behind other pedestrians until I can duck into the Starbucks across from Piper’s bus stop.
I spot her through the big picture window at the front of the store, along with the same guys from yesterday who are eyeing her off. She doesn’t seem to notice, but I sure as hell do—and they’re standing too close. When she casually puts distance between them and her, the flicker of irritation and worry that skitters across her face tells me she’s very aware of them. But they ignore her hints and move closer.
I step toward the door, ready to dash across the street, when an older woman slips her arm around Piper’s as if they’re old friends and gently tugs her away from the men, closer to where the bus will actually stop. The men scowl but leave Piper alone, and I sink onto a barstool.
The woman says something to Piper, who lifts her chin in a laugh, and the morning sun glints off her glasses. I wish I couldmake her laugh like that. She’s left her hair down today and it spills in loose waves over her shoulders. Her jacket is some floral, vintage thing that would look old-fashioned on anyone else, but she makes it retro cool.
“Would you like to order?” Someone says, but I’m too immersed in Piper to pay attention until I hear the same question two more times.
I push back my hood and glance at the barista behind the counter, who’s giving me a pointed look. He’s talking to me. “Oh, no. Thanks, though.”
I turn back to the window. Piper is talking now. Mostly with her hands. She does that when she gets excited. Waves them around while she’s talking.
“Are you waiting for someone?”
I look back at the barista. “No. I’m just watching someone.” I tip my head toward the window.
His eyes narrow suspiciously.
“Oh, no! Not likewatchingwatching someone. Just making sure she’s okay.”
His eyes narrow more.
“It’s fine. Really. She’s my sister. Stepsister. Sort of…” Everything I say only makes him more suspicious, and now the half-dozen other people in here are looking at me, too. “I’ll leave as soon as she gets on the bus.”
“You need to order something if you’re going to be in here.” He crosses his arms over his broad chest and continues staring.
I glance back at the window. Piper’s bus hasn’t come yet, and if I walk out now, she could see me. But if Britta finds out I ordered something from Starbucks, she’ll never forgive me.
I decide to take my chances with Britta’s fury. “I’ll take a flat white,” I call to him, then go back to my watch.
“You’ll need to pay for it,” he says in a monotone voice that is somehow threatening.
I pat my pockets and hoodie. I don’t have my wallet or phone on me. My eyes dart to the barista. His face remains expressionless, except for a slight tick of his eyebrows. In that motion, I hear everything he’s saying.
I’ve run in here in the worn trackies I was going to strip off to surf. I don’t have a shirt on under my hoodie, which is only zipped halfway. My Uggs are older than dirt and covered in sand. My hair—well, I don’t even want to think about how bad it looks right now.
Basically, I look like every other beach bum who probably comes in here a hundred times a day to use the bathroom without buying anything and leaving a mess behind for the employees to clean up. That’s the best-case scenario.
The other is that I look like the beach bums who not only leave a mess behind but also steal stuff on their way out. It’s a problem at businesses up and down PCH.
So, I do the only thing I can and walk outside before the barista comes from behind the counter to escort me out.
Fortunately, Piper’s bus pulls up at the same time.
Unfortunately, she takes a seat by the window. We make eye contact. Her brow wrinkles with confusion, and I want to crawl into a hole. But then her forehead smooths. She pushes up her glasses and smiles slowly. It’s not the spicy one she usually gives me that comes with a dare and a glare. This one is…sweet, maybe?
Like sucking on a Lifesaver candy after eating a raw jalapeno. I’m keen on both of them, but there’s something really satisfying about a simple Lifesaver.
I lift my hand in a wave as the bus pulls away. If Piper waves back, I don’t see it. I’m breathless. Light-headed.
Confused.
