Page 54 of Pickled
“No.” It wasn’t a lie. I didn’t have a headache, just every once in a while, my head hurt. They were two different things. “It’s just bright.” I patted the side of the car. “Drive it like it’s—”
“Stolen?” Ace laughed.
“Like it’s your older brother’s.” I shook my fist at him.
Ace saluted. “Have a good night, mailman.”
My smile was involuntary. Ace was the funny brother, and I was okay with that. “You too…” I paused, trying to think ofsomething witty and funny, but the best I could come up with was “coach-sitter.”
“Ooh, burn.” Ace clutched at his chest. “Good one.” He rolled his eyes, put the car in first gear, and stalled it. “Whoopsie-daisy,” he shouted, started the car, and then left two trails of rubber down the interlocking stone driveway as he peeled away.
I couldn’t be mad. He was helping me. So what if I was temporarily out of the game. I had an amazing brother and a sexy-as-hell neighbor who made me casseroles and had something important to “talk to me” about. I was going to get cleared to get back on the ice. Life was good.
18
PIPER
The carpool lineat Olive’s school was always a slow nightmare. Today, it somehow seemed worse. All the car windows were rolled down, but the air inside the car was so humid that sweat trickled down my spine, and my work T-shirt was firmly glued to my back. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. I didn’t dare shut the car off; it had struggled to start again today. A new battery was still not in the budget.
My phone buzzed with a text from Lisa.
Did the player eat your crumble? Then she sent a text of emojis: a winky face and a peach…
Excitement brewed in my belly. I couldn’t wait to hear if Gideon liked my lasagna. It had taken over three hours to make it. We were still “just friends,” but part of me hoped the care package would soften the blow of the truth-bomb I was about to lob his way.
Haven’t heard from him, I typed back. The ice packs should keep the food I left on Gideon’s porch edible until dark. I couldn’t imagine Ace keeping him out late while he wasrecovering from a body slam into the boards. I inched forward as the sidewalks filled with excited school kids. While I waited for Olive’s classmates to start trickling out the doors, I thought about the time I’d spent at the hospital. I got to meet Ace and spend more time with Goldie. After the game, I wasn’t sure if I should go, but Goldie persuaded me, and Judy backed her up. Judy was turning out to be a bit of a wild card, but she meant well, even if her methods were a little unorthodox. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to see Gideon, but Ace had given us updates as they came.
I startled as the car door creaked open. “Mom!” Olive jumped into the back seat. “Miss Wilson wants me to try out for the badminton team!” I had been so deep in my reflection of my time at the hospital that I hadn’t seen Olive approaching the car.
“That’s amazing, sweetheart.” I pulled myself together, put the car in gear, and shifted focus to my daughter.
“Tryouts are next week, on Friday. Do you think we could see if one of the Myers sisters has time for a lesson? I think they teach badminton too.”
Fridays, Mrs. Lockelhurst usually kept me late to help her get ready for the weekend. “I’ll check and see.” It wasn’t a lie; I would look into the lessons, but something told me they would be worth at least three Honda Civic batteries.
Olive filled me in on her day as we drove through the gates of Rosewood Estates. As we passed Gideon’s house, I strained to see if the blue cooler was still on the porch. Butterflies battered their wings in my stomach—the little Igloo cooler was gone.
We parked in front of the coach house. Olive knew the drill. “I’ll be done working in a few hours. You can read or paint until I’m home to make dinner.”
Olive nodded. She was a good kid. Was it poor parenting to leave her alone in the coach house while I toiled away in the main house? Probably, but it was only on the days when she didn’t have after-school programs, and I kept a radio clipped on my belt. The other radio sat on the island in the kitchen.
My call sign was Cinderella, and hers was Gus Gus. She chose the names, and I didn’t have the heart to ask her to pick a different one for me, one that wasn’t a maid…
Shortly after Olive disappeared into the house, the radio on my belt crackled: “Gus Gus to Cinderella: I’m here.”
“Roger that, Gus Gus. Cinderella, over and out.” I clipped the radio onto the loop of my bleach-stained cargo pants that served as my cleaning uniform.
Inside the Lockelhursts’ massive utility closet, I gathered my cleaning supplies and organized the little caddy I used to go from room to room. The toilet brush tipped over the side of the carrier, but I managed to catch it with my bare hand before it fell to the pristine marble floor. I grimaced, put it away, and turned on the sink with my elbow. Who was I kidding? How was a double-layered lasagna going to fix the lies I’d told? Ricotta cheese or not, I was still the woman with a kid who cleaned toilets for a living.
The big task for the month was reorganizing Mrs. Lockelhurst’s walk-in closet. After three weeks and barely making a dent in her massive wardrobe, I started to wonder if it was a two-month project. Her closet was bigger than my entire coach house.
It also took a long time because Mrs. Lockelhurst insisted on approving the keep and give-away piles—one item at a time. When I got upstairs, she was waiting for me, perched between the two piles. I jumped right in. “Where did we leave off?” I held up the fortieth silk kimono.
“Keep.” She pointed to the pile of robes.
As I placed the piece on top of Mount Silk, the doorbell rang. “That’s weird.” Mrs. Lockelhurst checked her cell phone. “I’m not expecting anyone, and Reggie usually calls me when he lets someone through the main gate.”
I had already grabbed the next piece, a classic Chanel jacket. “Keep,” Mrs. Lockelhurst said as she hurried to answer the door.
