Page 21
Story: Road Trip with Her Bodyguard
Our last good night kiss is gentle. Like a sunrise over a field of wildflowers, it just keeps blooming, but softly. Wow, this girl has me thinking in poetry.
As I listen to Jorie falling asleep in my arms, my heart thumps wildly from the comfortable pressure of her head against the side of my chest.
What a life it would be to keep this incredible woman with me. If everything really did turn out and she decided to move here so that we could live together.
If I thought I could possibly swing it, I would move to California for her in a heartbeat. But I have no connections there. No way to set up a business and earn a living.
I want Jorie to fulfil her dream of becoming a masseuse, of course, but it’s harder than just taking a course. She’d have tofind a job, or open her own place. That would take money, but I would happily help her rent a space. I would definitely send all the workmen I know her way to support her, although the thought of her hands on another man does make my stomach clench a little.
Maybe I could help her find a place in a neighborhood that’s more female-centric. Plenty of office workers. Or maybe there’s a dance school around. I could?—
Dammit.
Here I am planning Jorie’s life without her, just like her family. Even though these are nothing more than sleepy ideas, a ripple of shame runs through me.
Jorie is going to have to figure out what she wants from life, and I will support her every step of the way. I’ve already derailed any short-term plans she had for this weekend.
We’ll take it slowly. Recalibrate our lives to make them fit together.
I’m worried it might be a lot harder for her than for me, though.
11
JORIE
My gaze slides between the beautiful view of the forest to the coffeepot slowly filling in front of me.
It takes a while to get my brain going in the mornings at the best of times, and the past several days have been a whirlwind. Now that we’re staying in one spot for a while, maybe I can finally return to my natural rhythms.
I wonder if the rhythm out here will be slower. Probably. It’s so tranquil, with no traffic sounds. No neighbors slamming their car doors. Nothing but bird calls and the whisper of trees.
Which is why I jump when there’s a strange hum, then a mechanical clicking and whirring sound coming from a small shelf between the dining and the living areas.
I look down to see a small beige-gray printer slowly spitting out pages. The thing must be at least twenty years old.
“What, you’ve never seen a fax machine before?” Dane comes out from the bedroom and pours us each a coffee.
“Oh! Is that what that is? No, I haven’t.”
He brings our mugs over, then pulls out papers, spreading them across the table. “My friend Jim lives on the other side of town. He must have passed by, seen a light on here, andassumed Dad was visiting. He likes to keep up with the news, so Jim faxes the important bits. Weather, local news, global headlines, the business section. Any articles he knows Dad would like.”
“Whoa. Your dad isthatanti-technology?”
“He sure is. No internet, no cell phone, and only an older TV at his house.”
We sit down and skim the news together. It’s actually quite nice reading on paper instead of a screen, if a little weird.
“Shit,” Dane mutters under his breath. I catch his eye as his head shakes. “It’s too early in the morning for crap like this, but we should probably read it together.” He turns the page sideways so we can skim the article from the business section.
The Turcotte Group just acquired two companies very similar to my father’s, including Sethman – a company Dad himself was hoping to be acquired by.
“This means nobody is interested in Dad’s company,” I murmur, looking up at Dane. “So… Why would anybody be after me?”
“Excellent question.” Dane’s fingers drum heavily on the table for a solid minute. Then he stands up and marches out to the car. He returns and snaps a SIM card into one of the burner phones. I have a very bad feeling about things as I watch him dial a number.
“Hey, Dad.” Dane sets the phone between us, and I come closer to listen in.
“Dane, my boy! How’s that…work projectgoing?”
As I listen to Jorie falling asleep in my arms, my heart thumps wildly from the comfortable pressure of her head against the side of my chest.
What a life it would be to keep this incredible woman with me. If everything really did turn out and she decided to move here so that we could live together.
If I thought I could possibly swing it, I would move to California for her in a heartbeat. But I have no connections there. No way to set up a business and earn a living.
I want Jorie to fulfil her dream of becoming a masseuse, of course, but it’s harder than just taking a course. She’d have tofind a job, or open her own place. That would take money, but I would happily help her rent a space. I would definitely send all the workmen I know her way to support her, although the thought of her hands on another man does make my stomach clench a little.
Maybe I could help her find a place in a neighborhood that’s more female-centric. Plenty of office workers. Or maybe there’s a dance school around. I could?—
Dammit.
Here I am planning Jorie’s life without her, just like her family. Even though these are nothing more than sleepy ideas, a ripple of shame runs through me.
Jorie is going to have to figure out what she wants from life, and I will support her every step of the way. I’ve already derailed any short-term plans she had for this weekend.
We’ll take it slowly. Recalibrate our lives to make them fit together.
I’m worried it might be a lot harder for her than for me, though.
11
JORIE
My gaze slides between the beautiful view of the forest to the coffeepot slowly filling in front of me.
It takes a while to get my brain going in the mornings at the best of times, and the past several days have been a whirlwind. Now that we’re staying in one spot for a while, maybe I can finally return to my natural rhythms.
I wonder if the rhythm out here will be slower. Probably. It’s so tranquil, with no traffic sounds. No neighbors slamming their car doors. Nothing but bird calls and the whisper of trees.
Which is why I jump when there’s a strange hum, then a mechanical clicking and whirring sound coming from a small shelf between the dining and the living areas.
I look down to see a small beige-gray printer slowly spitting out pages. The thing must be at least twenty years old.
“What, you’ve never seen a fax machine before?” Dane comes out from the bedroom and pours us each a coffee.
“Oh! Is that what that is? No, I haven’t.”
He brings our mugs over, then pulls out papers, spreading them across the table. “My friend Jim lives on the other side of town. He must have passed by, seen a light on here, andassumed Dad was visiting. He likes to keep up with the news, so Jim faxes the important bits. Weather, local news, global headlines, the business section. Any articles he knows Dad would like.”
“Whoa. Your dad isthatanti-technology?”
“He sure is. No internet, no cell phone, and only an older TV at his house.”
We sit down and skim the news together. It’s actually quite nice reading on paper instead of a screen, if a little weird.
“Shit,” Dane mutters under his breath. I catch his eye as his head shakes. “It’s too early in the morning for crap like this, but we should probably read it together.” He turns the page sideways so we can skim the article from the business section.
The Turcotte Group just acquired two companies very similar to my father’s, including Sethman – a company Dad himself was hoping to be acquired by.
“This means nobody is interested in Dad’s company,” I murmur, looking up at Dane. “So… Why would anybody be after me?”
“Excellent question.” Dane’s fingers drum heavily on the table for a solid minute. Then he stands up and marches out to the car. He returns and snaps a SIM card into one of the burner phones. I have a very bad feeling about things as I watch him dial a number.
“Hey, Dad.” Dane sets the phone between us, and I come closer to listen in.
“Dane, my boy! How’s that…work projectgoing?”