My co-worker, Rita, greets me as I walk through the glass doors.  She's bug eyed, which means she's frazzled or upset.  Most of the time she gets upset when there are more than three people in the store.  In my humble opinion, Matt should let her go and hire someone who knows how to do more than use the cash register.  But no one cares about my opinion so ...

 

"What's wrong?" I ask.

 

"Pump three is acting up."  She follows me to the panel that controls the pumps, wringing her hands like it's the end of the world.

 

"You reset it?"

 

"No.  I didn't know which one it was."

 

"Didn't think it might be the one that's flashing red?"  I reach down flip it off, wait about thirty seconds then turn it back on.

 

Rita smiles sheepishly then looks up at me.  "Thank God.  I was afraid you might call out and I'd have to call Matt to come down here and fix it."

 

Matt is the owner.  Not by choice, because Matt thinks the Little Eagle is beneath him.  But his daddy, who owns a total of seven gas station/convenience stores, had a stroke five or so years back.  He gave two to Matt, three to Horace, Matt's older brother, and two to Sadie the sister.

 

"Don't call Matt for dumb shit like this."

 

I get my purse put away and pull on the ugly red vest that has an ugly yellow eagle embroidered across the back.  I pin my name tag on and as I'm tucking my hair behind my ears I glance at Rita.

 

She is still wringing her damn hands.  

 

"What's up with you today?"

 

"I just figured you'd be upset."

 

"I'm used to your inability to find your way out of an open paper bag.  Makes me feel needed."

 

"You haven't heard, have you?"

 

I don't like to play games.  Never have.  Don't like puzzles, or Scrabble. Pictionary used to send me into a rage.  I'm a cut to the chase kind of girl.

 

"You got about three seconds before I get loud.  We don't want that, now do we?"

 

"Missy Toblerone was in here, earlier, like around 7:30.  Which is weird because she likes to sleep in. Anywho, she's showing me this blouse she bought at the thrift store," she stops talking as she sees my left eyebrow arching higher than the right one.  It tends to do this when I'm getting irritated. "She said she ran into Dougie, you know, Wilcox."

 

"Yeah, I know his last name, Rita.  I've lived with him for close to three years."  I'll admit my voice got a tad aggressive.  

 

"She said that he said he was moving away."

 

"Shit, he's been saying that for years."

 

"He said he was leaving today.  He was buying a suitcase.  Missy said he had empty cardboard boxes in the back of his truck."

 

Even though I don't really believe any of this, a little wave of nausea hits me. "I think I might have noticed some signs if he was planning on leaving.  Besides, Missy Toblerone killed her husband.  Why would you believe her?"

 

"Allegedly killed him," Rita says.

 

"It's stupid.  He isn't leaving me.  He went to work this morning.  Hopped right up after the first alarm and,"  I stopped.  He was a snooze button pusher.  He never hopped up out of bed unless it was a special occasion, like a car show.

 

I tug my vest off and grab my keys off the back counter.  Damn that alleged killer, Missy.  And damn you, Dougie Wilcox, if it's true.

 

" I'll be back."

 

I run towards the door with Rita on my heels. "What do I tell Matt if he calls?"

 

"He never calls.  Tell him I had car trouble. Hell  Rita, I don't care what you tell him."

 

I thought the saying, driving like a bat outta hell, was just that, a saying.  But apparently, it is an achievable goal.  I achieved it.  A route, that normally takes twenty six minutes, took just shy of fifteen.

 

And there it is.  Dougie's truck right in front of the trailer.  And the empty boxes have been filled.   

 

I don't think an FBI SWAT team could have gotten into a place any quicker than me.  I find a very surprised Dougie squatting down stuffing his clothes into a used suitcase.

 

"Randa, you're back.  I thought you'd be at work.  Whatcha doing, baby?"

 

" I was about to ask you the same thing ... babe."

 

"I know this looks kinda bad, but I'm not good with goodbyes."

 

"And here I thought that killer was making up stories."

 

"Alleged.  They never found his body, Miranda."

 

"Dougie, what is going on?"

 

He stands up and comes over but I'm in no mood for his bullshit.  "Sit down."

 

"Just tell me."

 

"I got a new job."

 

"Where? Alaska?"

 

He smiles.  Not because he's at ease, no, no, no.  He's trying to seduce me.  I guess he figures a quickie for the road might be nice.  

 

"Where, Dougie?"

 

When he sees I'm in no mood to play, he shoves his hands in his pockets.  "Myrtle Beach."

 

"What the hell.  You were going to sneak out of town?  No goodbye, no thanks for letting my kid sleep on the couch for the last two months?  How about Waylon, he's okay with you just ripping him out of school to move to a place where he don't know anybody?"

 

Dougie looks down at the floor and bites his bottom lip.  "Yeah, about that ...".

 

"Absolutely not.  You are not leaving him here.  You're his parent.  Not me."

 

"He likes you.  I can tell."

 

"He flips me off when he thinks I'm not looking. He does not like me, Dougie Wilcox.  That is abundantly clear."

 

"Once I'm settled, I'll send for him.  Please, Miranda, just do this for me."  He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet.  "Here's a hundred dollars.  That should help."

 

"You have lost your damn mind."

 

"Please!" 

 

The phone is ringing and he's begging.  Whoever is calling hangs up.  But Dougie is back to packing.

 

"Two weeks.  That's not that long." he says without looking up.

 

He tries to close the lid but clothes are sticking out here and there.  Hastily, he yanks a few shirts out and recloses it.  

 

The phone rings again.  I'm in no mood to be civil right now and I'm about to unleash my venom on some poor unsuspecting telemarketer.

 

"What do you want?"

 

"Miranda, it's Matt.  Where the hell are you?"

 

"Geez, since you called my home number and I answered, I'm guessing you already know where I am. "

 

"Get your ass back to the store now."

 

"Matt, I'm kinda in the middle of a little crisis right now."

 

"Rita says the pumps are down.  I need you to go fix things."

 

"It's your station, Matt.  I'm in the middle of something myself.  Go flip the switches yourself or tell Rita to do it. I don't care which option you choose."

 

I look up to see Dougie and suitcase go scooting past me and out the door.

 

"Matt, I'll call you back."

 

"Don't bother.  You're fired."

 

And just like that the snowball, that is my life, starts gaining speed as it rolls down hill.

 

 

To be continued ...