Page 8 of Date With Danger
His hairy brows scrunch together creating a fuzzy caterpillar across his forehead. “I thought your parents died.”
I swallow again. “They did.”
“In Italy, right?”
I shift in my seat. Seems his memory is keeping up tonight. My parents were big travelers. They lived out their dreams instead of paying for them, which is how my younger brother, Connor, and I got stuck with their debt. But that trip to Italy over four years ago was their last. They crashed on one of the most dangerous roads in the world.
I finish my soda, welcoming the fizzy burn down my throat. “Well, apparently they sent something home from Italy on an ocean freight. It got lost in several different countries but finally arrived last week.”
Gary sits up straighter, eyeing the box with fascination. “It must be something special to send it all the way from Italy.”
“That’s what I thought until I opened it,” I say, remembering the pang of hurt that hit when I realized how wrong I was. “It’s the ugliest painting I’ve ever seen.” I stand and move to the corner of the kitchen for the box. My gaze drifts over my mother’s familiar handwriting on the label addressed to herself. Lynette Quinn. What were the thoughts going through her head when she sent this home? Was she blissfully happy? Did she know what was coming?
Gary clears his throat and I blink away the tears, gently easing the 16x20 painting out of the Styrofoam in the box because maybe it’s expensive. That’s the only reason I could come up with for them buying such an ugly piece of “art”. Connor had taken one look at the painting and told me I could keep it. And though it’s absolutely hideous, I can’t bear to part with the last thing my parents purchased. It’s nothing but random colors, smeared across the canvas in no particular order. But the worst part is the hideous green face in the right corner, I swear the eyes move with me. I thought art was supposed to make you feel something, this one makes me feel like my parents got ripped off.
The second the image is in view, Gary barks out a laugh, then winces. “It’s uh…I’m sorry.” He shakes his head. “Did they buy it from a child?”
“It would make more sense if they did.” I laugh at his reaction. “I think my brother drew something identical on his first day of kindergarten.”
Gary chuckles. “Maybe it’s better up close.” He takes the painting from me and turns it this way and that, running his fingers over the ornate wooden frame. Which is quite beautiful when set apart from the painting. I guess I could replace it with an old family photo and the painting can live under my bed where it belongs.
“Nope. Still ugly.” He hands it back and shuffles to the door. “Well, I better get to bed, big day tomorrow. Darla’s coming over.”
My stomach sinks. All good things end much too soon. “Let me walk you home.”
“I never say no to the company of a pretty lady.” He holds out his elbow to escort me back to his place.
A true gentleman right here, unlike the man I met tonight.
I leave the dogs inside because they like to pee in Gary’s potted flowers outside his door. I walk with him, making sure he gets to the right apartment before walking home.
Shawn and Gus are as excited to see me when I come back as if I was gone for hours instead of seconds.
“You goofs.” I toss them each a treat, then open my phone. Maddie has texted me twice to check-in. For one blissful moment there, I almost forgot about my weird date.
The story is too long to explain over text so I hit the call button.
She answers immediately. “You’re calling. Is that good? Or bad? I’m going to say bad.”
“You tell me,” I say, before launching into the story. From the beginning to the…kissing, and the stinky alleyway in which my date concluded.
She’s silent as I finish up.
“Wow, that’s…hilarious…and awful?”
“That’s the problem, it wasn't all awful. It was the best date I’ve ever been on,” I whine. I slip off my dress and drape it over my closet door, then pick up the sweatpants I was wearing before my date and put them on.
“But…he wasn’t your date.”
“Semantics.” I pull on a shirt. “I’m talking about how he was a police officer. It was exciting being in on a sting scene.”
She snorts. “I think it’s just called a sting.”
“I’ve heard it both ways.” Walking back to the table I slide the painting back in the box. Then plop onto the sofa between my boys, kicking my feet up on the cheap coffee table.
“I’m sorry, Millie.”
“Don’t be. Justice will be served. I will find the man, and you’re going to help me.”