Chapter 2

I looked over at her. Her expression was mixed. Might've been some remorse and regret in there. I was feeling kind of ashamed that I'd taken the conversation in that particular direction. This was a lady obviously in a tight spot in her life. Whether or not the blame was hers or should be shared with others, it wasn't my place to unload my own frustrations on her.

"I'm sorry," I said. "Apparently I have a sore spot."

"Chuck, you are not the first one to tell me that. I had friends tell me as much, but you know, the heart wants what the heart wants." She sighed. "And a lot of times, the heart is a clueless dumbass."

"Yet somehow civilization goes on," I said. The miles were piling up behind us.

"What's your plan? This next town doesn't have anything besides a gas station and a dollar store."

"Where are you heading?" she asked.

"The city you were heading for. I live on the outskirts."

"And your wife doesn't mind you bringing home a stray?"

"My wife chose to take off for greener pastures. Her current hubby ... Never mind. No wife. House is mine. Am I bringing you home?"

"I dunno. Are you? I mean, you can drop me at a hotel, for damned sure. I have some money. I'll be okay. Really."

"Look, I have an empty house. Three bedrooms, even got beds in two of them. You're free to stay for the weekend if you want. You get all the privacy you need. You have your own bathroom. Laundry facilities. Whatever."

"And for this you expect..." she arched an eyebrow.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I would prefer that you be responsible enough to treat my home as you would yours..."

"I might be a massive slob."

"Even massive slobs know what they're supposed to do. They just don't do it."

"So you're inviting some random bimbo into your home and you don't expect a little poke and giggle in return."

"I don't do random pokes and giggles. My karma won't stand the hits."

"Karma? What if it's a mutually acceptable, non-coercive poke and giggle?"

"My morality won't take the hits."

"Oh, you're one of those people..."

"Who desires to go through life without any more regrets than he has to. That's why I'm divorced. I married a woman because I could not differentiate between a desire for a mid-length cohabitation with the need for 'till death us do part'. She had no compunctions. Marriage meant nothing, nor did divorce."

"Are you SURE I'm the one that supposed to hear this?" Jen asked.

"You started it."

She started to smile. "You're on a hair trigger there. I thought I was the one who was screwed up."

I shrugged. "I don't think I've ever unloaded that crap," I said. "I'm sorry. Again."

"But I'll be safe if I spend a couple of nights at your place, then? Monday I can go looking for permanent digs. I'll try to not keep pushing your buttons."

"I will try to restrain myself," I replied. "I'm really not a nutcase, Jen."

"And I'm not the enemy. I might look like it, but I'm not. I'm a casualty in this war, sir."

"Okay. Truce?"

"Didn't know we were having a battle."

"That's the problem sometimes. There's a battle going on and one side or the other doesn't know it."

"Maybe both sides don't know," Jen said.

"Gee, nurses are smart," I quipped.

"ICU RN. The smartest of the smart," she said. "You listen to music while you drive?"

"Sometimes. iPod's right there. Radio generally sucks."

She reached over and pushed the power button on the car's sound system. I cringed when the music came out. I guessed...

"The classical music station. Really?"

"That's the good part," I said. "In another ten minutes they start their 'World Music' show and it's subject to go downhill fast."

"So this is what you were listening to when you stopped?"

"Sometimes they have some good ones, sometimes not."

"Like Mozart?"

"Hard to NOT like Mozart. Most of his stuff is on my list."

"Beethoven. Haydn. Vivaldi. Handel. Bach."

I glanced sideways at her. "Yes. And several others."

"Bert was all about country music. Or rock. Depended on whether he was doing weed or liquor. Very conventional, was Bert."

"Bert," I repeated.

"My ex."

"Your ex," I said.

"Ex ex ex ex ex," she muttered like a mantra. "Ex ex EX ex ex." She sighed. "If there was device that I could implant in my brain so that if I ever again entertained the thought of going back to THAT, it would explode, I'd get one tomorrow."

"Sounds final."

"Is final. I put up with a lot of crap for four years," Jen said. "The last three months I almost broke my own back trying to wrestle with this shit."

"Nice talk, little girl," I said.

"Sorry. Strong feelings concerning the subject matter."

"Exes will do that sometimes," I replied.

"Right, you have one too."

"Oh, yeah ... She left three years ago. I gave the bitch her share of the equity in the house. She was happy with the money and her new boyfriend had a much better house."

"So she's 'the bitch', then..."

"You make the call. I came back from a week on the road, found her stuff gone, and any of MY stuff that was shiny enough to attract her eye, and there was a nice 'kiss my ass' letter on top of the divorce filing papers."

"Kinda harsh, I guess. I didn't leave Bert papers. Didn't need any. We never married. Now I'm glad."

"I guess," I said. "Saves you the court costs."

"Yeah, there is that," she said. "It kinda told me how HE felt about the situation. Didn't matter how I thought I felt."

"Wha..."

"Bert was one of those that seem to work their way in and out of bars with women drooling over them. Looked damned good in jeans. Could dance. Liked to dance. Blue eyes. Brown hair. Looked so damned good with a day's worth of stubble."

I stared straight ahead, driving.

"He couldn't hold a job. Or a conversation. I thought I could fix that. We broke up EIGHT times, Chuck! EIGHT freakin' times! What's the saying? 'Doing the same thing time after time expecting different results?"

"Albert Einstein, more or less. It's on the wall at my office."

"Knew it was somebody like that," Jen said. "The guy never held a job more than three weeks. Never found another one in less than a month and a half. I worked my butt off. Haven't got a dime to show for it."

"That'd make a country and western song," I said. "Sorry."

"That's another thing. Despite the fact that I MET the bastard in a shit-kicker joint, that's the ONLY place he ever took me. That and Bubba's Barbecue Hut and any restaurant that has a presence in more than a hundred cities."

"Sorry again," I said.

"Not your fault," she said.

"You apologized for your side. I'm apologizing for mine."

She actually let a chuckle out. "Okay. I'll stop the history lessons."

"If you want to talk, I listen really good."

We were working our way to my house, turning off the interstate onto a major thoroughfare then onto a secondary road. My house was there at the end of the street. I pulled in, parking my company car on the left side of the two-car drive, beside my personal pickup truck.

"Nice," she said. "Neat place."

"Costs me," I replied. "Right now I expect to see an envelope on my front door with the bill for the yard work I don't want to have to do when I get home."

"You don't do your own yardwork?"

"I do some. But if I'm out of town, or when I just don't feel like messing with it, I don't. There's me and the house and by gosh if I want a home-cooked meal, I'm the one to cook it and sometimes that's just not compatible with trimming the hedges and edging the sidewalks."

"You need a wife."

"Thought I had one."

"Nope. W-I-F-E," she said. "Wash. Iron. Fuck. Et cetera."

I laughed. "You're proud of yourself for THAT one."

"You haven't heard it before?"

"Oh, yeah. Just hadn't had it worked into conversation in a while." I opened my front door, motioning her in first.

"Gentleman," she smiled.

"Or I want to lock it once you're inside," I said.

"Gentleman psychopath," she laughed.

I did allow the door to close behind me. "Up the hall on the right. Your room."

"Thanks. Place smells nice."

"Air freshener. I hate coming home to a musty house."

"It's nice that you have a house," Jen said. She put her bags down. "I need to go get the rest."

"I'll get 'em. Your room is on the right up that hall."

"Okay," she said.

I went back outside, got her last bag, locked the car, the returned to the house. "Okay," I said, the hall bathroom's yours. I'll use the one adjoining my bedroom. Laundry's just behind the kitchen, there," I pointed.

"I need to see about my car, though."

"I can get that taken care of. Lemme make a phone call."

"I don't have a lot of money, Chuck," she said, her face saddening.

"I can get the car taken care of. I have friends. One of 'em's got a wrecker."

"I can't pay right now."

"So don't pay right now."

"They'll impound it."

"The guy's my friend. He'll do us a favor. Lemme call him."

"Okay."

She sat there, watching and listening. I dialed up the correct buddy. "Hey, Pete," I said.

"Hey Chuck. What's up?"

"Got a little issue, buddy. A friend's in a bind."

"What kind of bind?"

"There's a blue SUV on the side of the interstate about seventy miles east of here, on the westbound side. I think it blew an engine. I need to get it back here to town."

"Not a problem he said. Got ol' Doofus (another buddy) finishing up a little job. I'll send 'im out in half an hour."

"Great, but tomorrow would be fine."

"Nah, don't want to send somebody out on Saturday. You want it here in my yard?"

"If you don't mind. We'll come see it in the morning and talk about options."

"You got it, buddy."

"'Kay! Thanks!" I punched the phone to drop the call, turned to Jen and said, "There! It's gonna be at this guy's garage tomorrow. We can go talk to 'im and get the rest of your stuff."

"Garage? He's a mechanic?"

"Yeah. Shooting buddy. I've done some electrical stuff for him. He owes me. And he can give your car a look and tell you what to do next with it. Fix it or part it out or whatever. He's honest. Won't screw ... excuse me, he won't cheat you."

"How much is it gonna cost? I mean, hauling a broke down car seventy miles, that's money."

"He won't be ridiculous. And you don't have to worry about it for the time being. Get your feet on the ground, then worry about it."

"You're being awfully nice," Jen said.

I sat in my recliner, kicked the foot rest up, and sighed. "What am I supposed to do? Leave you on the side of the road? This is no strain on me. I have the house. Spare room. A friend who can help. So what's your plan?"