Page 4 of Space Oddities

But isn’t that a laugh. The past three months have been nothingbutmistakes. I got too comfortable. Dropped my guard when I should’ve stayed vigilant. Made friends I don’t want to give up.

And now someone’s found me.

I don’t know what I would’ve done if it hadn’t been for Jules, who was staying in my trailer the night the private investigator came a-calling. She managed to scare the man off, but I’m not stupid enough to think that he won’t be back. Just because he didn’t see my face doesn’t mean he didn’t see my pickup. Another mistake. I was too sentimental. I should’ve traded in the truck as soon as I left Georgia. The vintage model is too easily spotted.

I already alerted the park office that I’m breaking my lease. It sucks that I have to pay it through to the end when I’m not even here, but I have the money. I’m lucky that my one-time side hustle has evolved into a full-time job with a great paycheck.

I should probably leave the state. My uninjured foot bounces up and down like a rabbit, my nervous energy needing some sort of release.

Maybe I should just try camping out for a while in a state park? No leases to sign, less of a paper trail. I’ll take a break from bar work.

I don’t need the money that comes from waitressing and bartending, but it’s perfect for people watching. It gives me ideas.

Remembering the night I met Jackie at Big Texas Saloon, I smile. I spent a good ten minutes making up a story about the girl with the glasses and science T-shirt. I don’t remember much of what I had imagined except that it was slightly beyond the scope of suspended belief. Even so, within a few minutes of taking her order and saying hi, Jackie blew apart my fiction with her truth of being a NASA engineer and her lovely little genius asides about static matter and binary code. Truth is stranger than fiction, as they say.

Then I met Rose. Then Jules.

Still smiling, my vision blurs with tears.

I never had good friends, even growing up. Especially not smart, confident women who have each other’s back time and time again. Friendships like those should be sacred.

And yet I have to give ’em up.

I take a deep breath, easing the burning behind my eyes, and catch sight of a four by six piece of card stock pinned to the bulletin board on the far wall of the trailer. A wedding invitation.

Sugar. Jackie’s wedding.

It would be a mistake to go. A stupid mistake. If the private eye found me here, he might ask around the bar about me. Find out who I’ve been hanging out with. It isn’t hard to dig up information on the famous Dr. Jackie Darling Lee and her Texas oil magnate fiancé.

But I can’t. I just can’t miss the wedding.

My leg starts vibrating again as I think.

Maybe I’ll camp out at Somerville State Park. It’ll be a hassle, but it’s close enough that I could drive my pickup back here for the dress fittings and rehearsal dinner. I could leave straight after the wedding.

Or I could—

Knock. Knock.

My eyes fly to the door, and in the next second I’m holding tight to my trusty shotgun.

* * *

Ian

“Who is it?”Trish’s southern drawl sounds out from behind the metal door of her trailer, followed by the distinct sound of a shotgun cocking.

My heart races as I size up the home on wheels. “Ian.” I back up, not knowing if that will lessen my chance of getting shot or increase it.

“Ian?” Before I can answer her, the window curtains to the left of the door flutter open, and Trish’s pixie-like face appears behind the small pane of glass.

I wave awkwardly. Everything about me right now feels awkward. It is not a feeling I’m used to. Or like.

The look of surprise on her delicate features quickly morphs into a frown. The curtains swing back in place, and then a myriad of locks start turning.

Jules was right: Trish is afraid for some reason. I hadn’t really bought into my friend’s adamant lecture on how Trish needs me to stick to her like glitter on a stripper (her words, not mine), but now it’s obvioussomethingis going on. I get that a woman living alone needs to be vigilant, but Trish’s trailer park is in one of the better parts of town with a low crime rate. This isn’t some run-down stereotypical trailer park you might see on some TV sitcom. The wide lots in the surrounding area are home to half-million-dollar mobile homes and well-to-do retirees on a pit stop from their life on the road. Honestly, I’m surprised that a waitress could afford the rent here. Trish’s Airstream, while being well kept and cool looking, is the smallest, cheapest home here. There doesn’t seem to be any cause for armed greetings.

The door swings open with such force I jump back, letting it bang against the side. “What areyoudoing here?” Her eyes aren’t focused on me, but instead move left and right over my head as she scopes out the area.

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