Page 9 of I Heart Mason Cartwright
Mason
I decideto get to know my travel companion a little better. Especially since we still have another ninety minutes on the road and time is dragging.
“I just realized, I don’t even know your last name,” I say.
“It’s Brooks. You?”
“Cartwright,” I say. “So, what do you do for work?”
“I’m too busy to have a job,” she says.
“How can someone be too busy to have a job?”
“I told you, I have a lot to do.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, where do I start? Okay, well for starters I’m the president of my sorority’s alumni chapter—go Deltas! I co-chair the Southlake Women for Functional Change, I’ve got my Daughters of the Republic of Texas work that I do, plus I panel three different pageants.”
I’m not surprised to hear she’s a pageant girl.
“And,” she continues, “since I won the Southlake’s Finest Pageant and the Miss Bluebird Pageant, plus was a runner-up in the Queen of the Lone Star Pageant, I’m always relied upon for my opinion on various causes and issues. Not to mention upcoming pageants. I have to mentor other pageant girls, teach them the ropes, help them shop. And, I’m the Southlake Representative of the Friendship Ambassadors for the state. Plus, Mommy just signed us up to judge a beautification contest in some poor neighborhood. It’s exhausting how much I am responsible for.”
She doesn’t stop there. She just keeps talking.
“We have the fundraisers that we plan, and there’s the big gala at the club every year for the orphans, I think. Or, that might be the one for the kids with learning disabilities. Not that it matters which it is, I suppose. Anyway, we have quite a few that we help with. We aren’t the only ones who do it. There are a lot of women who use their time to give back.”
“But you don’t get paid for any of that?” I ask.
“No, it’s giving back. That’s what giving back means. It’s free for the people.”
That’s not quite what it means.
A song that I like comes on the radio and I turn it up. She sighs. Loudly. And turns her body away from me.
I guess we’re finished talking. Which I’m fairly certain I am fine with.
I sing along with Gary Clark, Jr., my favorite blues musician, and take in the scenery. This has to be one of the most beautiful stretches of freeway I’ve ever been on. Huge trees blanket the sides of the roads, the snowcapped mountains off in the distance, wild grasses growing in the center divider separating the north and southbound lanes. The air smells clean, the sun is shining, there’s not a lot of traffic. I’ve made this drive quite a few times before, but I don’t remember taking the time to enjoy it like I am now.
It helps that AshLynn is actually being quiet for a moment, and we’ve still got a way to go before we are even close to the Port of Seattle. With any luck at all, the rest of the drive will be this nice.
AshLynn spends a lot of time on her phone. Texting, scrolling social media, posting selfies, and declining phone calls.
After the fourth time, I say something about it.
“It’s just my parents,” she says in response to my question. “They want to make sure I’m still headed to Seattle to see my sister. I’ve texted them already. That should be enough.”
“Maybe they are just worried because you are in the car with a stranger,” I suggest.
“No. I told them you . . . were a good guy.”
“I sense some hesitation in your answer.” I state the obvious. “Why’d you hesitate? Is that not really what you said?”
“Of course it’s what I said. Besides, I never would have gotten in to the car with you if I hadn’t been sure of your intentions. I’m good at reading people.”
If she was that good, she would have known there was a point last night that I just wanted to bail at three in the morning and leave her chatty ass behind.
We drive along in silence for a while, finally exiting the freeway toward downtown Seattle. According to AshLynn, her sister, Willow, recently moved to Bainbridge Island, bought a big fixer-upper on the sound, and is renovating it herself. As someone who has renovated many a home in the past, I’m excited to see what she’s doing with it.
