Page 14 of Moved
He seemed surprised by my question and my refusal to call my dad. “He’s really worried about you.”
“Yeah, I’m sure he is. But it’d be better if I had some breakfast in me first.” He looked at the phone and then at me, hesitating. I didn’t let him over think it. “Thanks for the curtains and blinds, by the way. How did you hang them without me hearing? I didn’t think I slept that heavy…”
He ignored my question. “Do you want to eat with me? I can make pancakes. I’m out of milk, too.”
Pancakes reminded me of his jacket, which, given my volatile mood, was too nice a memory to bring out just then. “That’s okay. Thanks anyway.” I moved to start walking up the stairs but paused when he spoke.
“Gillian, if you don’t talk to him, he’ll drive up here.”
“You call him. Tell him I’m fine, but I’m too mad at him to talk nicely.” Ignoring his sigh, I walked upstairs and called back, “I’m going to the shed to run.” Time to play.
I changed into my workout clothes and jogged down the stairs. The door remained closed. In the pole shed, I cranked the radio high and, ignoring the treadmill, picked up a five-pound free weight. When I heard the door open, I made as if to lift it, looked at Racer, and arched a brow.
“Do you mind?” I shouted.
He frowned at me, gave a single nod, and strode through to his side of the shed. The door clicked closed, and I grinned.
****
I breathed deeply, jogging and enjoying my freedom despite the ache that had crept into my side because of my steady pace. The rhythmic crunch of my feet hitting the gravel soothed me. I continued for a while before coming to an intersection. The paved crossroad with a sign calling it Main Street gave me hope that I was getting close to town. I went right and continued running. Eventually, I saw mailboxes in the distance. I glanced at my watch. Almost thirty minutes had passed. I slowed to a walk, letting the breeze cool my sweat.
The first driveway led to a trailer on a cement block foundation. In the yard sat a beautifully rusted Pontiac. I wasn’t a car person so I wasn’t sure what model. Without the little chrome emblem, I wouldn’t have known the make either. Regardless, the sign in the window stating five hundred dollars or best offer lightened my step.
“Morning,” a man called, stepping out of his home.
He looked close to my age, dressed in work-stained jeans and a thin, dark jacket. He walked toward me with a friendly smile.
“Interested?”
“It sure would beat walking,” I said with a smile of my own.
“Gillian.”
The sound of Racer’s voice made me jump. The angry tone in it made me want to cringe.
“Morning, Mr. Bledak,” the man called, looking a little to my right, the direction from which I’d just run. I watched the man’s steps slow and his smile fade.
I turned, keeping my smile in place. “Hi, Mr. Bledak.”
Racer had the hood of his sweatshirt up. It cast his face in shadows. He walked toward me with his hands in his pockets. Unlike me, he wasn’t out of breath or sweaty.
“Why are you here?” He didn’t bother keeping his voice down.
The man cleared his throat, mumbled something about forgetting his lunch inside, and took off toward the house. I glanced at his retreating form for just a moment before turning back to Racer.
“Where’s the grocery store?”
His clenched jaw relaxed minutely before clenching again. The man was a ball of annoyance and tension. How could he live day to day like that? Just one week had me ready to jump out a window.
“Just down there.” He nodded in the direction I’d been heading. I turned to look. Sure enough. A small grocery waited on the next corner.
I gave him my best puzzled expression. “Is that where you and Dad went?”
He narrowed his eyes and titled his head as he studied me. “Yes.”
“So you drove this way?”
This time his face relaxed completely, going carefully blank. To his credit, he didn’t once glance at the car on the lawn.
