Page 2 of Logan
“Shit,” Charlotte says. “Kate’s gift was in the trunk.”
“Never mind,” I say. “It wasn’t that good anyway. I mean… what does she expect. Giving us two weeks notice for a wedding. If you think about it… it’s her fault I didn’t go to the garage. If she’d have given us more notice maybe I wouldn’t have been so desperate for a new pair of shoes.”
“Who are you kidding,” Charlotte laughs, wrapping her arm around my shoulder. “You’re always desperate for a new pair of shoes. You’re like a crack addict.”
“Am not.”
“Are, too.”
“Am not,” I say again, this time a little firmer.
We go on like that for a few minutes. Bickering and snapping at each other until we’re bringing up all kinds of things from the past. The time I told mom she’d eaten all the cheese on thanksgiving, and dad had to drive around in the snow for hours trying to find a store that was open so we could have macaroni and cheese with the turkey, and all the while it was me who’d fed it to our pet dog, Plop-Plop. Or the time Charlotte told all the boys at school I’d had my first period during gym class and everyone called me Period Girl for two years straight until we went to senior high and I died my hair blue and insisted on people calling me J-Bomb.
Bad times…
I'm just about ready to grab her by the hair and tackle her to the ground when a back limousine saddles up beside us, interrupting our less-than-loving, sisterly embrace.
A tinted window gracefully slides open. A gravelly British voice flows out, caressing my ears like a peacock feather on the end of a very long, invisible stick.
“Excuse me, ladies,” the voice says, a tanned, devastatingly handsome face appearing at the window.
I'm not sure what I like more, the deep European timbre of his words, or the mouth those words are coming out of.
I look up at the sky to see whether my shoe-shaped cloud friend is still there, but it's disappeared. Is this what you were trying to tell me? I wonder.
“Any chance I can be of assistance?” he asks.
“No,” I say, already pulling open the door to his car and sitting down on the firm, clean, leather seats. “As it happens, me and my sister often drive out to remote areas in wedding attire, set fire to our car, and then stand on the road fighting… beats sitting indoors watching TV all day.”
“I’d never stop watching TV,” he growls, “if you were always on it.”
