Page 60 of Somewhere Along The Line
If he’s as obsessed with me as Sami believes, it could be the start of something good.
Dad and I arewaiting on opposite sides of the driveway when the truck pulls up, a full-size U-Haul riddled with dents. It backs carefully toward the house with a shrill, consistent beep, and then a sturdy guy, looks to be mid-twenties, hops out of the driver’s seat and makes his way over to me.
“Are you Mr. Newhouse?” He glances down at a donation request form and then up to my face.
“Technically, but you’re looking forthatMr. Newhouse.” I point over to Dad whose smaller frame is obscured by the truck.
A second guy leaves the passenger seat and comes around to roll open the back panel, exposing the empty box minus a few moving blankets.
In an hour or two the truck will be full.
My mind launches a game of Tetris to figure out the most efficient way to maximize the space. I’ve never packed a truck like this, but it makes sense to start with the biggest items first. Maybe items that are of uniform shape. I turn to head inside, eager to move smaller items closer to the front door.
“James?” A small, soft voice echoes out of the truck. My head swivels to see Piper climbing down from the cab where she must have been squeezed between the movers.
Piper’s here.
At our house.
In the flesh.
My compartmentalized worlds collide and the dust from the crash clouds my brain, making me dizzy. I blink and blink and blink, expecting she’ll either disappear or I’ll come to my senses and be able to speak.
I can’t conceptualize what’s happening right now.
What is she doing here?
“James? Hey.” Piper gives her customary wave and there’s no denying she’s in my driveway, walking toward me with the same frayed jeans from the day of our errands, plus an oversized Hope First sweatshirt. Her hair is pulled back in a neat bun.
Why is she here?
Flashes of memory pummel my mind as I string together a series of events, each that felt unrelated:
The mailer from a non-profit seeking furniture donations with picture of a mom with a baby on the front.
Piper tells me she works for a non-profit that serves single-parent families. Did she tell me the organization’s name that day at the park? I don’t think so.
I pass the postcard to Dad and tell him to schedule a furniture pick-up when he’s ready.
I attend Piper’s fundraising gala and become acquainted with Hope First.
And now Piper’s here, with volunteers, to pick up the stuff my dad called to donate.
I am the densest person alive for not putting this together. Of course the flier belonged to Hope First.
Of course Piper is here for the donation pick-up.
“James?” She’s standing in front of me now, bobbing her head to try and catch my eyes. The heat from her hand, which she rests gently on mine, draws my attention back to reality.
Piper's here. At the house. Right now.
“Wow, Piper, hey.” Wouldn’t feel right without the ‘wow.’ “I… didn’t know I’d see you today.” Had I known, I wouldn’t be wearing a pair of sweatpants, an old T-shirt, and a jacket from Dad’s closet that is two sizes too small.
“Well, you are aware of where I work…” She tilts back on her heels and glances around. I can tell she’s nervous by the way she rubs her hands up and down on top of her legs.
“Oh, I… I didn’t set this up.” I clear my throat awkwardly, running a hand over my unkempt hair, hoping to tame it. “My dad scheduled the pick-up. I didn’t know it was with Hope First.”
Piper nods, and a wave of disappointment crosses her face before her expression turns neutral. She must’ve thought I set up this appointment to see her, that this was another one of our excuses to keep orbiting each other.
