Page 61 of Missile Tow
“I’m learning about your business,” I added. “Training on the Lotto machine next.”
He leaned against me affectionately, scrunching his nose and poking his tongue at her, looking like a brat. “Your language is foul for an old woman, Bertie. And Van doesn’t have to learn Lotto if he doesn’t want to.”
“How the hell am I gonna retire if he doesn’t learn everything we sell?” she asked, grabbing and throwing a pack of Marlboros at him. “You don’t have me for frickin’ ever, ya punk!”
Chip grabbed the pack of smokes out of the air and closed the distance between them in a flash, wrapping her in his arms.“And where the hell you gonna go, woman? Admit it. You’d miss my sweet ass too much to go anywhere.”
Watching Chip interact with her warmed my heart. They shared a genuine affection between them, and their love for one another was obvious. She meant something important to him. And he to her.
There were clear signs that validated who Chip was as a man; his loving manner, his dedication to the community he lived in, and the respect he gave to his friends and neighbors were wonderful attributes he possessed. But the bond with Bertie was a joyous thing to witness.
“I’m making way for him,” Bertie said, smiling at me. “You two will manage just fine without me.”
“That’s a big ask, lady,” Chip said, releasing her arms and returning to my side. “This handsome man standing here might not like living in Missile like we do.”
“But that’s what I want for Christmas,” she softly complained. “And I don’t think my two Christmas boys wanna break my heart, do they?”
Chip nervously readjusted his stance, not looking at me. “Hey,” he said. “About Christmas. I’m not positive, but I’d bet I’m dis-invited to Mrs. Hatfield’s for Christmas Eve dinner.”
“Nice segue, Calvin, but I just told you two boys what I want for Christmas,” she pushed. “So don’t disappoint me, and nice try.”
I felt bad that she was putting Chip on the spot. “It’s awfully early to commit to that,” I interjected. “And, you know, we’d have to discuss things before we could say for sure if I could live here.”
Bertie turned her attention to Chip. “Do you want Van to live in Missile?” she asked.
“Well… yes… of course, but…” he stuttered.
“And you?” she asked, cutting off Chip and redirecting her attention my way. “Can you see yourself living here?”
Her line of questioning felt intrusive, premature, and absolutely uncomfortable, but her direct approach made me feel emboldened as well. I wanted to throw caution to the wind. I wanted to say out loud what I felt inside.
“I can see myself living with Chip anywhere we chose to live,” I stated. “And yes, that would include Missile. But,” I added, making sure Chip was listening. “We’ve just met. These sorts of decisions are probably too early to commit to after a week and a half.”
“Bullshit!” Bertie exclaimed. “I met, courted, and married my husband in less than a week. And if Buzz were still livin’, we’d still be together. You can take that to the bank, son.”
Chip glanced my way before turning back to Bertie. “We’ll take it under advisement,” he said.
“I’m not just yakkin’ to be heard,” she defended. “When you know, you know. And you boys are meant to be together. That I know as much as I’ve ever known anything.”
“Like Chip said, we’ll take your advice to heart,” I said.
She narrowed her eyes, moving them between us. I had a distinct feeling she wasn’t done talking. “What do you two have right this very minute that’s better than how you feel about each other?” she interrogated. Both of us shrugged our shoulders. Better than interrupting her as she attempted to educate us. “Ya think shit like this happens to everyone, every day?” Bertie was fully into her rant by then, and far from over. “Let me spell it out for ya,” she continued. “You were both born on Christmas Day, for Christ’s sake. It’s even in the name. Andyourexes? They’retogether?Hello?Just admit it—I’m right. You’re destined for one another.”
Just as I was about to address her far-fetched reasoning—reasoning I happened to believe in—the mercantile phone rang.Bertie looked to me as if to indicate it was time I took calls as part of my training.
“Missile Mercantile,” I answered. I listened to the caller, unsure of what he was on about, so I turned toward them both, covering the mouthpiece of the ancient rotary phone. “Do we offer towing services?”
Chip pointed to a nondescript, aluminum-sided building across the street next to the liquor store and took the phone from me.
“We keep the newer tow truck in that building,” Bertie explained. “And yes, we offer towing services. Ya may as well put your ski pants and parka on. Looks like you’re going on a tow run.”
“What about the…?” I began, wondering about manning the mercantile this close to her shift ending.
“I’ll stay late. I don’t do tow truck runs,” she stated. “You’ll get used to it. Plus, there’s a shit-ton of money in towing.”
Chip disconnected the call. “Ready to do your first tow run?”
“Absolutely!” I exclaimed, having zero clue what that even meant.
