“I get the water from there.” Using my head, I gestured to the water and ice dispenser on the door. I moved from the bar to a cabinet over the sink, opening it and removing a glass to hand her to fill with water.
“What’s this for?” she asked, confused, staring at the glass in my hand.
“You just said you wanted some water.”
“Oh,” she waved me off with her hand, “that was a long time ago. Let me tell you about this guy I met.” She pulled me back into the living room by the hands.
“The one that had you in Chicago?” I guessed.
“Yes. How’d you know?” Her expression was one of shock.
“Wild guess.”
“You’re good. Anyway, his name is Keith and he’s an artist. That’s why he’s in Chicago. He lives there but came to Williamsport for work. He flew down two days ago and I—”
“So he flew down and he had you take the bus?”
Journey bit her bottom lip, running my words through her head. “Yeah.” She nodded happily. “Anyway, he’s great. I’m going to meet his kids today, and w—”
“His kids?” The knot in my stomach continued to grow the more she talked. The glossy look in her eyes, her exaggerated and excited movements along with the rambling were like stepping back in time. A period of my life I desperately wanted to escape.
“I have to go,” Journey finally announced.
“Wait, go? Where?”
“I just told you. I can stay here with you, right, Grace? Cool, cool,” she said answering her own question and heading for the door.
“Journey, wait. Let me at least make you a real breakfast. I’ve got eggs and everything to make your favorite omelet.”
She was shaking her head before I could finish. “No time. Maybe tomorrow. Or the next day. Whenever. I’ve got to meet Keith. Bye, sis. Love you.” She ran back across the room, plopped a wet kiss on my cheek, and was out the front door in no time.
I made it to the door, opening it to see Journey climbing into the back of a yellow cab and pulling off.Was the cab driver waiting out there the whole time?I didn’t want to think of the cost for him to wait. The bad feeling began to rise in my belly even more.
Despite my need to get ready for work, I ran down the hallway of my one story house, retrieving my cell phone, which was still attached to the charger, and dialed my father’s number.
“Dad,” I screeched as soon as I heard his baritone on the other end of the line.
“Grace, good morning. Everything okay?” he questioned, knowing I never made calls this early; primarily because I was either sleeping in from a night shift or getting ready to go into work.
“No. Journey just left here.”
“Oh.” There was dread in his voice.
“Oh? What do you mean ‘Oh’? She was almost frantic, eating animal crackers for breakfast and saying she took the bus all night from Chicago. I just spoke with her last week and she was home.”
“Yeah, she met some man named—”
“Keith.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s his name.” He sounded doubtful.
“Pretty sure. As in you just can’t remember his name because it’s so early in the morning and you’re too tired to think clearly? Or, you can’t recall because she’s in love with a different guy every other week?”
There was a pause on the other end of the phone. My shoulders sank and my eyelids slowly closed because the conclusions my mind were coming up with scared the living daylights out of me.
“Don’t go making assumptions, Grace. Journey is young and—”
“She’s twenty-five.”
