Finding Him at Home (Holliday Book 1) Page 3

  The ride back had been quieter, with Lilith asking a few questions about his father's last days, the state of the bunker, and where Pistol was living these days. Thankfully he had used some of the money not spent on the truck to purchase a home. She remembered going over to his house, a trailer in a field of others, after school and seeing his father drinking on the couch. Sadly, she thought, some stereotypes were based on fact.

  She decided she needed a little normalcy after the bunker. She had to drive a little out of her way to find a regular grocery store and found peace walking the aisles and getting frustrated about the cereal choices. Sometimes, there was just too many choices. But, she found the toothpaste she was missing and left, craving another cup of coffee.

  She had made plans with her father for dinner that night, but she was dreading it. It was going to be awkward and the conversation was sure to stray to her mother and whether or not she had taken the time to visit her grave. Sometimes, she wondered, if his pining for his dead wife, her dead mother, was just a little too much. Maybe there was something about husbands and wives that she wouldn't understand until she had one.

  She drove around the area, trying to remember where she could find coffee. Big trucks, small trucks, old trucks, ratty trucks, and glamorous trucks were everywhere. Being out here was being in a sea of trucks. And when she finally pulled into a coffee shop's parking lot, she realized she recognized one of the trucks.

  It was light green, lifted, with day lighters and no tailgate. It belonged to Shirley Dearborn, yet another friend from the old days that she hadn't seen in a long time, and really didn't care to see again. Lilith tried to find a parking space away from it, hoping that Shirley wouldn't see her or her truck.

  But as soon as she stepped out of the car, Shirley's high pitched voice, with matching pig tails and short-shorts, rang out across the parking lot. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. Lilith Holliday! It has been too long, girl," screeched Shirley. "How have you been? You know I saw your truck and I just could not place it, until it just. It just came to me. Ya know Shirley, ya know whose truck that is? Shirley, I said to myself, Shirley that's Lilith's truck."

  "Hey Shirley, how you doin'?" said Lilith, hoping to God she could keep the conversation as short as possible.

  "Just fine Lilith. I got three kids now, been havin' a good time. You never got my wedding invitation did you? Cause you didn't RSVP or nothin'. And I was really hopin' you'd have come to it. But ya know, can't do anything about that now," she crowed. She pulled at her left pigtail. She was blonde, had a slim form, and definitely did not look like she had, had three kids. Yet another reason to despise her, thought Lilith.

  "Hey Shirley, I really want to catch up with you, but if I don't get a cup of coffee, I think I might take my frustration and need for caffeine out on an unsuspecting passerby, and I really would hate that," said Lilith, trying to move away.

  "Alright Lilith, you got my number right?"

  "Yeah, sure. It's probably in my phone," she lied. She had deleted Shirley's number years ago, cursing her name as she did it. Shirley wasn't just an annoyance. She had learned at the latter end of high school that Shirley was a huge gossip. And by gossip, she learned Shirley was just a liar.

  "Yeah, well, call me. I'd love if you could meet the kids, meet the man, the whole nine yards. Life's been really good to me, ya know. Really really good," she said.

  Lilith waved at her and walked off before anything rude popped out of her mouth. Life had been really good to Shirley. Well, Shirley can go die in the gutter, thought Lilith. She sighed as she wound her way through the parking lot and towards the coffee shop. It wasn't jealousy. She had nothing in common with Shirley, and probably never would. Sure, she wanted kids one day, but that was a crude comparison between them. She didn't want them now, not yet, not when she had no idea what she actually wanted in her life.

  If Pistol had told her that he had kids, she probably would have been surprised. It didn't surprise her that Shirley had kids, she had always wanted them after all. It was all Shirley had talked about in high school. Maybe she should try to empathize with Shirley, she thought. Maybe she should learn to love Shirley.

  She shook her head and walked into the coffee shop and stepped in line. She was never going to empathize with most of the people at home. They all just wanted and loved different things. Case in point: the line was moving fast because most people were ordering black coffee. Lilith, however, wanted a sugar bomb mocha something or other. Sugar and caffeine were made for each other.

  She stood behind hulking ranch hands, all in line for the same straight black coffee. Maybe they were all in the closet, she thought. Maybe if they realized they were gay, they'd order something less insecure than black coffee. She chuckled. If she had said any of that out loud, it would've been embarrassing. For them! She laughed out loud and the hulk in front of her turned around and raised an eyebrow. He was cute in the way that potatoes were cute. He was a big dominating figure, and if that's what she wanted she would have said hello, but instead she glared back at him as if he was the one who had made a social faux pas.

  "What can I get ya?" asked the barista. He was pimply teenager, hands inside of his apron unless he was punching in orders.

  "I'd like a mocha frap," she said, holding out cash.

  He stared at the cash in her hand for a moment and then looked at her. "I dunno if we know how to make that. No one really asks for that," he said.

  "Well, try, and I'll tell you if it sucks," she responded.

  "Alright, we'll try." He rang her order, took the money, and told the other baristas. They all gave her curious glances over the coffee and espresso machines.

  She went and stood in a corner, waiting for them to muddle through her order. It arrived and it tasted like mocha, and it had sugar. Those were its only redeeming factors. She nodded and walked away.

  She stared into her phone, sipping her flaccid drink, and walked right into a man entering the store. Her drink smashed between them, soaking both of them in mocha, sugar, and probably not much else.

  She looked up and immediately fell into his pale green eyes. His hair was cut short, his jawline was strong and clean shaven. He was wearing a plaid shirt, black boots, and black jeans. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing strong forearms that were burnished a deep bronze from what could only have been hard work. His hands, which clung onto her sides, were slightly scarred from something.

  "I...I'm so so sorry," she said. She couldn't stop staring into his pale green eyes, they seemed almost watery, fluid, like a pond of green.

  "No no, it's fine. It's my fault, I shoulda dodged you or something. But I wasn't fast enough," he laughed. He stepped away, letting her go, and stooping down to pick up the plastic up from the floor. He waved to the baristas who swept in to mop the floor.

  She stood frozen, unsure what to do. This was unlike her, she thought, but she stood almost paralyzed. He got paper towel and handed her some, and proceeded to wipe himself off. Instead of following suit, she stared at him wiping down his arms and pat his shirt dry.

  "I think that'll have to do. I never was one to care about the little things," he said, smiling.

  "Yeah, the little things," she said. She clenched the paper towels in her hand.

  "Do you wanna," he said gesturing to her shirt. He dabbed his paper towel on her hands, but he was confused as to her paralysis. His hands were rough, but gentle.

  "Oh yeah, lemme do that," she said, snapping out of her reverie, her gaze finally averted from him. She looked down at herself. She had worn a beige shirt that day with dark jeans. The jeans would probably make it through this affair, but the shirt was done. She wiped her hands off, but they were slightly sticky. She tried to dab at her shirt, but it was useless. She would have to go home and shower. She looked up at him again and her mouth almost asked him to join her. But she caught herself and reprimanded herself in her mind.

  "You ok?" he asked, looking at her with concern in his eyes.

 
His eyes, she had to stop staring at them, she thought. "Yeah, I'm fine. I wasn't really looking forward to that drink anyway," she replied.

  "Hey, I worked hard on that," said the barista, mop in hand.

  "I'm uh, I'm gonna go," she heard herself say. Her mind was kicking herself but she was on autopilot. She never knew what to do in these situations, she never knew how to handle guys. Being hit on, being asked out was difficult enough, but her mind wasn't thinking about dating him, it was thinking about fucking him. She didn't know what to do with those feelings. "Uh, yeah. Bye," she said, turned on her heel, and walked out of the shop.

  He and the barista stared after her as they saw her weave through the parking lot and to her truck.

  "Clark, maybe you should go talk to her," said the barista.

  "Nah, I think I'll let this one go," said Clark. "She mighta spilled her drink on me, but I'm fairly certain that's the boss's daughter. Pretty sure I saw her picture in the main house."

  "Is there a law against that? She's really pretty," said the barista.

  "Ain't no law against it. And yeah, she is really pretty. And she looks better in person," said Clark. "But ya know, I like my job. I was lucky to get this job. I am lucky to have the Holliday family's trust. I dunno about this."

  Through the window, they saw her put her truck in gear and drive out of the parking lot.

  The barista shrugged and rolled his mop bucket away, while Clark got in line for his coffee. He decided he was in the mood for a vanilla latte today. He looked back out the window. Maybe he'd talk to her again. There wasn't any law against that either.

  #

  "Lilith Holliday, you are a giant pussy," she said to herself in the rear view mirror. She banged her fists against the steering wheel. "You can pull open a cadaver, but you can't even talk to damn guy! What the absolute fuck!"

  She looked down at her ruined shirt and realized that throughout the entire situation she hadn't realized that her bra was showing through the wet shirt. "Goddamnit," she whispered. "Of course."

  Her mind flitted back to the cadaver classes in medical school, standing in front of a dead body, cutting them open, smelling death and realizing that this was the closest she would be near another naked human being. One night stands were empty and soulless. And it wasn't like she was having them that often either. She would go home after classes, go home after spending time on the beach, go home after the bar. What was the point of ever leaving home, if that's where she'd always end up, she thought.

  She shook her head, trying to get back into a better mood. This, like all other horrible situations, was the time for positivity, not the time for wallowing in her own head and feeling sorry for herself.

  But how was she going to accomplish even that? She didn't even get his name, his number, nothing to track him down again. It might be a small town, but she was going to have to get the courage to ever go back into that shop again. Hell, she'd have to get the courage to ever get off the ranch again. At least, she thought, he wasn't gonna show up on the ranch. Small victories.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The only good part about being home was waking up to the sunshine peeking over the mountains. Her great grandfather had constructed the house to sit at the base of the valley, the mountains sloping precipitously on either side. When it snowed, the entire valley would be covered in a beautiful white coating, and her great grandfather had made sure to position the build site in just the right place to save the house from too much snow damage.

  Her dreams had been filled with the same image. The snow covered ranch, and inside she wore a pink dress, ripples of happiness and love filling the room. There was a strange, clouded figure that she kept dreaming about, his warmth apparent on the cold night, but nothing more. No details, just a pink dress that's styling was more from the turn of the century than today, and a strange man. She laid there, correcting herself. Perhaps, he wasn't strange, just unknown, different. Her dreams often took on this kind of tilt, and while she enjoyed trying to decode them, she was aware how fruitless it often was. But, this dream had been recurring for a while. Maybe it meant something. Or rather, maybe it meant someone? She shook her head, trying to forget the dream and shake the last bits of sleep from her head.

  She stretched as she got out of bed, trying to reach the ceiling, just like she did as a kid. It was a pipe dream. When she was 12 she had gotten so annoyed at the ceiling that she piled as much stuff as she could to try and reach it.

  Her mother had come in, grabbed her from the top of a perilous stack of chairs, and then proceeded to quietly chide her so that their father wouldn't wake up. Lilith really didn't want to think about her mother, but being in her own childhood bedroom made that difficult. Her father had long ago turned her mother's study into storage, leaving her things in a corner in a constant reminder that she existed, but nothing more.

  Looking in the mirror was like looking at a mishmash of her father and her mother. Neither of them had really given her an overwhelming amount of features. The same arrow straight and sharp nose from her father, strong square chin and sloped face from her mother. She had yet to need glasses like her father, taking the superiority and blueness from her mother. It made her sad that she never really missed her mother. She was in middle school when her mother died, and barely remembered the funeral. Going to high school was always being reminded from teachers, assignments, and friends that she existed, but nothing more than that. Nothing real. Lilith wished she had more feelings about it all.

  She walked quietly through the hallways of the house, finding her way to the kitchen. The only staple in the house, besides beef, had always been oatmeal. She found honey in a cupboard and made herself breakfast.

  The kitchen's windows looked out at the ranch and she could see some of the ranch hands laboring under her father's watchful eye. He led with his stomach. First it pointed the way, and then his arm would come up, beckoning, gesturing, or chiding. He saw her wave at the boys and then make his way back towards the house.

  He entered through a side door, slammed his feet against the mat inside the door, loosening the mud from his boots.

  "You know you can do that outside," she said.

  "Yeah, and I suppose I could also disown you," he replied. He put his coat against one of the stools in the kitchen and pointed towards the coffee maker.

  "Yeah, just about to make a pot."

  "Which means you didn't make any," he said.

  "Yup, you got it."

  "Dr. Holliday is lazy," he said. "But at least it has a nice ring to it."

  "That's actually why I became a doctor," she said. "Because of the title." The coffee machine spat into action, hot water dripping through the cheap coffee and filter into the carafe. She got out two mugs. She wouldn't argue with her father's taste for black coffee.

  "Yeah, that's why I almost went into the army. I wanted to be a captain. Captain Holliday! Sounds really great," he said.

  "You wanted to go into the army?" she asked, surprised. Her father had never told her about that.

  "Yeah, it was around the time of Vietnam, and I thought I might as well go before my number gets called. And then my stepfather's brother, career military man, came back in a casket. And then the war ended."

  "How come you never told me about this?" she said, pouring the coffee.

  "You never asked," he replied, blowing on the coffee. "You got big plans today?"

  "Yeah, I was thinking about visiting Doc Mulreedy. Probably taking a peek at your charts," she said.

  "You look at my charts and I'll disown you."

  "I'm sensing a pattern, Dad."

  "Yeah, well. I'm going up to finish up some paperwork and get everything ready. You gonna be home for dinner tonight?"

  "Yeah, probably."

  "Good," he said. "It's been getting damn lonely here all by myself." He topped off his mug and left, taking a side staircase up to his office.

  She took a moment to stare out at the ranch hands. Most of them were strong enou
gh to effortlessly lift and throw whatever was in reach, and she took more than a little pleasure at watching it happen. Marty was like her brother, but the other guys were just guys. Muscular, sweaty, and throwing hay, climbing into the backs of trucks, repairing fences and the like.

  She shook herself out of her reverie, chiding herself for focusing so much of her life on guys at a moment when she should have been focusing on herself. This was her time to figure out her life, not try and get laid. Although, she thought, she could totally try and do both at the same time. Nothing against that.

  This was all that guy's fault yesterday, she thought. She had worked hard to bury her sexuality to focus on school, to focus on her future, that now that it came to the surface with a thundering roar, she was unprepared for it.

  She decided to focus on her career once again, ripping her gaze from the boys in the field, and deciding to shower and visit Doc Mulreedy.

  #

  "And how are you this morning Mister," Doc Mulreedy looked down at the chart, a cigarette dangling precariously between his lips. The long tip of ash growing ever longer. He ashed it in a bedpan on the counter before continuing. "Mister Jackson, right?"

  "Yessir. Garrison Jackson," said Garrison. He wore a white shirt and black slacks. Shiny black shoes and a black belt completed the ensemble. He sat on the examination table, staring at Doc Mulreedy. "Uh, Doc, do I have to have an observer?"

  Doc Mulreedy looked to Lilith standing in the corner. "Oh. Lilith? She's not an observer as much as my probable replacement."

  "What?" said Lilith incredulously.

  "Probable, I said. Don't get excited. You ain't my heir yet," smirked Doc Mulreedy. "She's just gonna observe. She's seen all this before, don't you worry."

  "Yeah, but it's a physical, and I dunno if I want her to ya know," said Garrison nervously.

  "Is it a size thing?" asked Doc Mulreedy.

  "No! What! Of course not," said Garrison.

  "Cause if it's a size thing, Lilith can step outside."

  "I'm just shy."