Page 43 of Road Queens
“Mmmmm.”
Amanda rejoiced (quietly). “Mmmmm” was Sidney for “my concerns have been temporarily appeased, though I reserve the right to revisit this conversation at any time.”
She really is a big bag of mush under the gear. Pretty sure her worst fear is public exposure of that tender heart. That and moths.
Sidney had shown up, dressed like she was going to hop on her Yamaha XSR900 Roadster and ride to Alaska: black jeans with armor padding at the knees and hips, purple and black textile jacket, and her HeartBreaker boots, also purple and black. Even the most experienced riders took a tumble now and again. Dressing for disaster was the way to go, and screw the heat.
And a helmet, needless to say. Sidney had recently traded up to a carbon solid. It had set her back eight hundred dollars—she’d transcribed extra clinic notes and decided against buying Coach loafers—but a decent brain bucket was crucial. Amanda and Sidney were in no rush to part with their kidneys, lungs, hearts, retinas, livers, and/or pancreases. Eventually, sure. But there was plenty of time for that. God willing.
Once upon a time, Sidney had always dressed like she was going to ride that day. But Amanda hadn’t seen her in head-to-toe regalia in some time. She doubted it was a coincidence. The real question: Did Sidney do it on purpose or naw?
Before she could ponder further, the frog announced Cassandra’s arrival.
“That fucking frog is the least annoying thing about this place. Hey, Cass.”
“Hi, guys.” She shrugged out of her old motorcycle jacket, and no wonder: outside it was seventy-five and climbing. Why Cass was in her old leathers when she’d gotten rid of her bike years ago might also bear pondering. “Something smells good.”
“Yeah, that’s your breakfast,” Sidney replied. “But I’m not sure I’m ready to watch you slurp up French onion soup at eight thirty in the morning. Again, I mean.”
Cass smirked. “Aw. You missed me.”
“She said nothing of the sort,” Amanda cut in. “Also, you missed a spellbinding rant from Sidney, but I can give you the highlights.”
“‘This is dumb, you’re all dumb, I can’t stand all the dumb, everyone should go fuck themselves all the time’?” Cass asked.
Amanda giggled.
“Fuck you both.”
“Thanks for breakfast,” Cass said, all teasing gone from her tone. “Really. You didn’t have to.”
“I got you some cake too. You still do that thing where you eat dessert first?”
“Life is short, and we can’t know the day or the hour, or however the saying goes. Yeah, I still eat dessert first. Thanks again.”
Sidney flapped a hand at her in response. “Like I could face your mom and tell her I left you to starve.”
“That’s—er—thanks.” To Amanda: “Sidney came to see Mom with me!”
Amanda was a little startled by Cassandra’s bright-eyed enthusiasm. “Just because you bailed doesn’t mean we decided to let your mom twiddle her thumbs in lockup.”
“‘Bailed.’” Cass nibbled her lower lip. “Yeah, I guess that’s one way to describe it.”
“Oh, you don’t like ‘bailed’?” Amanda asked sweetly. “Is there another descriptor you want to swap in?”
“No.”
Another of those hateful, short silences followed. Probably one of those careful-what-you-wish-for paradoxes: Cass was back in their lives—hooray, probably! But their easy camaraderie, so effortlessly established in middle school, was splintered. Amanda had to fight the urge to take Sidney’s left hand and turn it over, palm up, to see how much the scar from the day they’d met had faded.
But she had an equally compelling urge to boot Cassandra out of her store, lock it, and never speak to or of her again.
Except that would jettison Detective Beane from her life.
So?
Then her traitorous mouth popped open and, to her horror, words came out: “We can’t move forward until we go back.”
Sidney nudged her aside with a hip bump as she went for coffee. “Yeah, that’s one of those comments that sound cool until you think about it for five seconds and realize it’s nonsense.”
