Page 35 of Resting Grump Face
“Mashed potatoes it is!”
Gently, I push Earnest back in his seat. “Please, focus, Guy. Do not lose the car and definitely do not cause an accident.”
“Sienna, Sienna, Sienna,” he replies without a worry in the world. “Do you think this is my first car chase? As you can tell by my skillful driving,” he activates the left turn signal when taking a right turn, “I have done this before.”
“You have?”
“Certainly! Numerous times… at the carnival in those little bumpy cars.” Guy pushes his sunglasses back up and turns on the radio. “But I promise to refrain from any bumping whatsoever.” Our car swerves a little when he tries to avoid a pothole. I grab the Chairman, hold him tight and make sure my seatbelt is properly buckled in.
It takes another 15 minutes until the car ahead of us finally stops and I realize where we are.
13
RYKER
Look, it’s not like I don’t enjoy it when women throw themselves at me. It happens every so often and it’s flattering. It’s just that usually they’re not two or three times my senior. They’re usually also not holding me at gun-point while asking me all sorts of invading questions and writing down the answers on a notepad.
“How long have you been single then?” The woman, who introduced herself as Robyn Banks, asks as we get out of my car.
For a second, I consider overpowering her or at least letting Miles know to get away and call for help, but she is an old lady. I could never hurt her and I wouldn’t want the police to hurt her either. And despite the gun, she doesn’t seem like an actual risk to herself or anyone else, to be honest.
“Why? Are you looking for a husband?” I ask with a smile.
She laughs and waits for me to close the door, the hand with the gun still in her coat’s pocket. “Oh, I doubt you could handle me, sweetheart. Besides, I probably just look like a criminal right now, and that’s almost never a sound foundation for a sustainable relationship. Neither is dating someone who actually lived through the California Gold Rush, by the way.”
I can’t help but laugh at the deprecating humor and offer my arm for her to hold on to. Together, we walk towards the big building complex in front of us. It’s a little past its prime, but, just like my kidnapper, it still has a lot of charm.
Maybe this isn't so bad.
I mean, sure, I might find myself tied up in a basement, but at least I won’t have to work on Saturdays anymore. Plus, I bet Phoenix and Ben would get a kick out of this when I’ll send them a postcard from the old folks’ home.
“You know, I’m fairly certain you might be interested in my granddaughter,” Robyn adds eventually and pats my hand.
“Oh,” I reply as I open the big door at the entrance for her, “I am not really looking to date anyone at the moment to be honest.”
“That’s precisely what she would say too. I’ll make introductions later on.”
Obviously, this should be entirely out of the question, but if this granddaughter is anything like her grandma, she's probably got some serious spunk. I guess this is already a somewhat convenient abduction to get away from work, and if my gut feeling is right, it might turn out to be a very entertaining one as well.
The entrance hall is spacious. A few older folks are lounging on benches, and, from behind a counter, a pair of eyes shoot up when they discover us marching their way. The man at reception gets up with a big grin and greets us, “Welcome to our little halfway-house to heaven… or hell.” He winks at Robyn, who smirks in response and throws her scarf over her shoulder.
“Table for two?” Paul Bearer, as it says on the little plaque that’s crookedly screwed onto the counter, asks. Robyn nods and hooks even tighter into my arm. He sinks back down into his chair with a grin and motions to his left. “Well, enjoy Seasoned Supper. Best Geezers Grubhub in town!”
The two of us make our way through another door and into an old-timey cafeteria, though with the high ceilings and intricate decor, it looks more like a ballroom than the old folks’ canteen it is. Robyn guides us to the serving counter where she picks the special of the day for both of us. A minute later, we’re sitting down at an empty table in the middle of the room while more and more seniors gather for lunch. My watch says 11:56 AM.
“Please, don’t get me wrong,” I state as I reach for the cutlery. “And definitely please don’t shoot me. I have —to my surprise— been enjoying being kidnapped by you quite a bit. But you still haven’t told me why. Did I do something to you in any way? Do you need something from me?”
Robyn looks up from her plate when a bunch of people plunge down next to us on the empty chairs.
“These aren’t taken yet, are they?” A man asks cheerfully, takes off his pilot glasses and slides them in his collar. “It’s meatloaf day!”
I nod slowly, then shift my gaze to another old guy to my right who quietly repeats ‘Meatloaf!’ to the meatloaf on his plate. Next to him, a grandma who looks like she knits sweaters that would make even the most fashionable of hipsters jealous, has taken a seat. And next to her is an empty chair that appears to get strangled by two hands digging into the backrest.
Sienna de la fucking Vega.
I almost drop my fork.
From my left, the guy with the sunglasses reaches out, puts his pointer under my chin and closes my mouth on my behalf. “It’s impolite to stare,” he whispers with a wink.
