Image: A person with long messy blonde hair covering their face.
#scruffyforlife #noskills #whodis
The rental car’s navigation system directed Jefferson to a gravel lot off the highway. It was only a few miles from where they’d stayed before, but light-years removed in style. Everything about this place said,Relax, feel the breeze, eat something good.As opposed to,Be careful with my museum-quality faucets.
The sense of place was so strong it brought back all the feelings from the last time he’d experienced this honeyed light and the bracing tang of the ocean. It was like déjà vu, only instead of a prickle of awareness, he was swimming in regret and longing.What if she didn’t want to talk to him? He was the one who’d left without giving her a chance to explain.
Keoki’s eyes widened when Jefferson approached the window of the food truck. He looked him over, lips pursed like he was considering whether to fry Jefferson whole or slice him into sashimi. When he saw the package of shrimp crackers sticking out of Jefferson’s bag, Keoki gave a grudging nod.
“She’s in back.”
The “she” in question rounded the corner of the trailer before Jefferson could get there, pulling something off her head as she stepped into view. Her long hair tumbled free, glinting gold in the afternoon light.
For a heartbreaking second, Jefferson worried Keoki had tipped her off and she was running away. Then their eyes met, and the sun rose for the second time that day, filling him with the molten glow of morning.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered, still standing where she’d frozen at the sight of him.
“Hildy asked me to give you this.” He handed her the marked-up pages that had been express-mailed to his apartment.
He watched the confusion give way to surprise. “My story?”
“She had some notes.” Presented on actual paper in red ink, because Hildy figured that would appeal to a “more traditional audience,” as she’d explained via Post-it. That was apparently a diplomatic way of saying “old.”
“I—don’t think I can think about that right now. I mean, thank you. But. Um. Words. What even are they?” Libby looked at the ground. “Is that why you came?”
“I’m your photographer.” Hopefully in more ways than one.
“Oh.” She scuffed the gravel with the toe of her sneaker. “Is that the only reason you’re here?”
Jefferson shook his head, both as a negation and because hecouldn’t believe how bad he was at this. “It seemed like a decent cover. In case you slammed the door in my face.”
Libby made a show of examining the open space around them. “I guess I could clang the lid of the Dumpster.”
“Do you want to?”
“Not really.”
It was past time to stop talking around what was really going on. They’d had enough of not leveling with each other.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
Her words overlapped with Jefferson’s rushed, “I came back for you.”
“You go first,” she said.
“I was away.”
“You were?” A hopeful note had entered her voice.
“Alaska.”
“That’s far.”
“It felt that way.” He took a few seconds to look at her, basking in the luxury of being this close. Even if he’d like to be closer. “I brought you something.”
“From Alaska?” She sounded so excited, he kicked himself for not picking up a stuffed moose.
“Before that.” He took a step in her direction. “I got you a Me-mas present.”
