Page 47 of Paging Dr. Hart
Loud voices raised in argument end the kiss all too soon. Shelly’s voice, slurring. My head whips up and swivels until I find my friend arguing with a man. Shelly’s face is flushed maroon, and her jaw is tight with anger. She stalks toward the man with her arm raised like she might strike him.
Rafe leaves me and marches across the room to retrieve an irate Shelly, dragging her back to where I wait. She sways on her feet, clearly drunk, the near-empty wine bottle dangling from her fingertips.
“Shelly? Why were you fighting with that guy?” I ask.
“He said my hair is ugly,” Shelly yells, “that jerk.” She puts her middle finger up, flicking the man off while scowling.
“Okay. Calm down.” I grab Shelly’s arm and draw her close, restraining her.
Unflustered, Rafe tells me, “Come on. I’ll drive you both home.”
“What about Shelly’s car? She drove here. I would take us, but it’s a stick shift. I don’t know how to drive it.” Shelly sways drunkenly in my arms.
“I’ll make sure her car gets home.” He motions to a guy I didn’t notice before. The man comes over, and Rafe whispers to him. Immediately, the stranger gets Shelly’s keys out of her backpack and leaves. I watch the whole interaction with unease. How the man was so deferential toward Rafe unnerves me. It was like he was just standing around, waiting for Rafe’s next command.
The three of us leave the party and walk through the crowded parking lot to Rafe’s truck. Along the way, Shelly systematically tries to open the door handles of each car as we walk past. When the passenger door of a small red sports car pops open, she squeals with delight. She scrambles into the car and begins pawing through every seat and cupholder.
My mouth gapes with disbelief. “Shelly, what are you doing?”
Continuing her investigation of the glove compartment, she slurs. “Let’s see what we can find.” A drunken shout sounds out from the car as she pulls $5 out of the glove compartment. “Look at this!” She waves the bill in the air, grinning, then shoves it into her pocket.
I protest. “You can’t do that.”
Shelly’s voice is muffled as she bends down to look under the car’s seats. “If they’re dumb enough to leave their car unlocked, then they’re asking for this. Don’t worry. I won’t take anything too valuable. Once I saw a lady’s diamond engagement ring sitting in a cupholder, and I just left it,” she says as if that excuses the petty theft she’s doing.
Wait. She’s done this before?
I glance at Rafe to see his reaction, hoping he’ll back me up and get her to stop this madness. But his face is impassive, and he slows to let Shelly do her work.
I try again to get her to stop.
“Don’t be such a goody-two-shoes,” she tells me. “No one’s going to miss this stuff. You know I need it a lot more than they do.”
Finding two more unlocked cars, she steals from each of them. My stomach has turned sour, either from the strawberry wine or watching my best friend rob strangers.
The car ride to my apartment is silent as a tomb. Shelly stares out the window, clutching her belly like she might hurl. Rafe’s truck may not be fancy,but I still don’t want it decorated with the Spaghetti-O’s she and I ate before we left for the Strip.
At my parking lot, I help Shelly down. Leaning back into the cab, I say good-bye to Rafe and then pause. I want to say something poignant, given our epic kiss earlier, but insecurity keeps me silent. I wonder, does he regret it now?
The dim glow of the streetlights doesn’t reach into the dark truck. Rafe is wreathed in shadows, his expression hidden. Just when I’m about to retreat, he reaches out and gently grazes the back of his knuckles along my cheek and down to my jawline. His voice is as rough as his hands. “Night, Tiffany.”
“Good night,” I whisper, breathless from his touch. A minute later, he’s gone, his broken taillight flashing once before he pulls onto the main street. I stare after him, hand pressed to my cheek, which burns from his caress. My fingers move to my lips, bruised from my first kiss.
39
Present, Orlando, Florida
After checking into our hotel, Ethan and I decide to go to Magic Kingdom since it’s the original Florida park. The bus is crowded, and the road is bumpy. We sit side-by-side, jostling into each other with every turn. After one particularly sharp corner, Ethan puts his arm around me, pulling me close. “For stability,” he tells me. This bus full of crying babies and tired tourists should be the least romantic place on Earth, so why is my heart thrumming?
Dappled, shifting sunlight comes in through the bus windows. It plays across Ethan’s face and adds auburn highlights to his hair. A few strands fall into his eye, and he sweeps them aside, tilting his head back. I stare, captivated by the shadow of his jaw, the movement of his throat as he swallows. My blood pulses when his fingers tighten on my hip with each swerve in the road. I’m almost sad when the bus ride is over and we’re deposited at the large iron gates that lead into the park. As we walk through the turnstiles, my eyes widen.
There it is. Magic Kingdom.
Tourists wait in lines to take pictures by the iconic, gray-roofed train station. The tantalizing smell of fresh popcorn drifts through the air. Children happily shriek and dart between their parents’ legs.
A parade passes by in front of us. Large floats full of beloved Disney characters go by while accompanying music pours out of speakers attached to filigreed lamp posts. The last float in the cavalcade has sorcerer Mickey Mouse waving to the crowd with his pointed wizard hat perched tall on his head. I wave back like I’ve seen a long-lost friend.
We’ve only been in the park for five minutes, and already I’m so happy.There’s a certain magic in the air. The happiness of thousands of vacationers all jammed together spreads from one person to another until we are all bathed in it, this communal joy.
