The expression goes that all men are dogs. In reality, it’s not just men, it’s most people. Showing fear is what gets you bit. So I stand my ground, look him in the eye, and, like dogs and most people do, he backs down.
He sneers and spits, “Bitch,” before walking away.
I breathe out long, then swallow to wet the desert my mouth has become. I put the phone back to my ear and am met with the tail end of Ellis saying, “Helloooooo?”
“Hey! Sorry. I’m back.”
“Reception bad down there?”
“Extremely.”
A weird feeling blooms on the back of my neck as I walk out of the store. Sitcom Dad is nowhere to be found when I glance back.
“Can you repeat the last thirty seconds, please?” I ask. “I totally missed it.”
“I was just saying that the neighbor unlocked the gate onto the property for you. The road past the gate is a mess. I hate to ask you this, but I need at least one picture of the clearing at the end.”
“Good thing I brought my hiking boots.”
“You’re prepared. I like it.”
I slide into the driver’s seat. Ripley shoves her head under the phone so she can nibble my earlobe and let me know she’s thrilled I’m back after leaving her alone in the car for approximately an eternity (five minutes). I push her away and buckle my seat belt.
“I’ve been accused of being overprepared at times.”
We pull out of the gas station parking lot, the phone on my thigh and speaker on. I look in my rearview mirror to find Sitcom Dad standing where I was just parked, glaring after my truck.
“Better over than under. Listen.” Ellis pauses like he’s gathering his words. “Usually, I do these myself. It’s theonly way I get out on the road anymore, so I don’t mind the more… uncomfortable aspects.”
“I like driving, and I like hiking. This is perfect for me, honest.”
“I appreciate that about you. Still, I don’t feel great about sending someone alone. A sprained ankle in Columbus is a bad day; a sprained ankle alone out in the woods is a potential emergency.”
“I understand.” Emma and my mom worrying about me is a wound being agitated again and again. This though? This is new, and it feels good. “I’ll be careful.”
“Stick to the road, okay? Don’t go wandering into the woods.”
“Don’t wander into the deep, dark woods. Got it. I’ll make sure to keep my distance from houses on chicken legs.”
He’s quiet. The nice, good feeling of just a minute ago wilts.
“I’ll stick to the road. Sorry.”
“That’s good. Thank you. I’m not trying to make you feel bad. To me, your safety isn’t anything to joke about.” His voice is warm and the humiliation of striking out on a joke fades a bit. “I’m going to be in meetings all day, but I’ll have my phone with me. If you need anything, just call. At minimum, I want you to check in with me when you’re done, okay? It’d really help my peace of mind.”
“Okay. I will.”
“Great. I’ll let you get to it. I’ll talk to you later, Lou.”
The call ends on the tail end of my “Bye.”
I roll my eyes at men and their poor phone skills, butmostly I’m trying not to smile. I got to be mean to a man, I’m getting paid to go on a long walk with my dog,andEllis is worrying about me.
This is shaping up to be a damn good day.
Terri:The case we’re covering today is in southern Ohio. We’re talking hills. We’re talking cornfields and lots and lots of trees. Rolling Appalachian Mountains with small towns thrown in for flavor.
Naomi:Midwest Gothic. No, wait! Monsanto Gothic.
