Page 5 of Grave Stone

“Hello, I’m Mack. I’ll be your driver this afternoon. Can I offer you a drink or a snack? Perhaps a moist towelette?”

“No, thanks. I’d like to leave, please,” I said hurriedly.

“Are you okay, ma’am? Do you need some help?”

“I’m not feeling well, and I’d like to get home before I vomit all over your nice car and have to pay a cleaning fee that I really don’t have the extra money for right now. So, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get this show on the road.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said and hit the gas, throwing me back in the seat.

“Oh sweet fucking hell,” I moaned.

“Listen, Sugar Britches, are you sure a little something to eat or drink won’t help? I’ve got Cheez-Its and zero-sugar ginger ale up here.”

“Did you say Cheez-Its?”

“Sure did. Here you go.” He handed me a bag of crackers, followed by a bottle of ginger ale.

“Fuck,” I groaned. “I really am dead.”

“Say what now, Sugar Bean?”

“You’re a guardian angel, right? Here to take me to heaven.”

He laughed. “Oh, honey, I’m a six-foot-something gay man in the South. People have said a lot of things to me, but no one’s ever accused me of taking people to heaven.”

“How tall are you?”

“Six-seven,” he said and flashed me a smile.

“You have pretty teeth,” I blurted.

“Thank you, Dumpling. They’re veneers, but they’re all mine. Only fifty-seven payments left.”

I covered my face with my hands. “I’m so sorry. Today has been really strange, and I’m not feeling like myself. I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“Did something happen, Sugar?” he asked in a more serious tone. “Should I take you somewhere else besides home?”

His implication came through loud and clear. “No, it was nothing like that.” At least, I didn’t think it was. It didn’t feel like it was, but I made a mental note to check myself when I got home. “I had lunch with an ex, and it didn’t go well.”

“It never does, honey. Never.”

“I know, but he said he found some of my stuff. I wanted it back more than I didn’t want to see him.”

“Yeah, I can understand that. How you doing back there, Sugar Britches?”

“Not great, but I think the Cheez-Its are helping.” Exhaling heavily, I leaned back against the seat and closed my eyes. “I’d be even better if my head would stop hurting.”

“I’ve got ibuprofen. Will that help?”

“Yes, please.”

At the next stop, he handed me an unopened packet with two ibuprofen tablets. I quickly took them with a few sips of ginger ale. “Deny it all you want, but you are a fucking angel.”

“Well, I suppose that’s better than being a non-fucking one. Because let me tell you something, honey, that would suck.”

I laughed and immediately regretted it when my head throbbed. “Oh, fuck, laughing is bad,” I groaned.

“My bad, Sugar. I’ll be quiet so you can relax,” he said. “I’ll wake you when we get there.”