Don't Kiss the Bride

“Um—”

“You saw me earlier working on that house.” I nod over to the new construction. “And this is my business name on the truck. I’m not gonna do anything shady. Just tryin’ to be nice.”

Her chin juts out. “You think rapists and kidnappers walk around with signs on them? They have jobs. Sometimes wives and kids. They look more normal than you do.”

“You’ve got a point.” I shake my head and laugh. “Okay then, I’m going to head home before we get soaked. The tow truck will be here any minute—I’m sure he’ll give you a lift home. Or you could call an Uber.”

“Wait,” she says as I grab my door handle. “I’m kinda low on cash this week.” She takes a hesitant breath. Still unsure if she can trust me. “If you don’t mind giving me a ride…”

Between an Uber driver, the tow guy, and a random stranger, she’s decided I’m the lesser of the evils.

Hey, I’ll consider it a compliment.

“Hop in, then.” A raindrop the size of a quarter splashes onto my face. “We can wait in my truck ’til the tow guy gets here.”

Once in my front seat, she puts her backpack between us on the seat, like she’s creating a barrier for safety.

“I have a knife,” she says matter-of-factly. “If you try anything, I’ll stab you in the dick.”

Laughing, I light up a smoke. “Easy, Sparkles. Not everyone’s out to get you. I’m staying over here on my side.” I take a drag off my cigarette, wondering if this kid is just paranoid or if she has some sort of baggage that’s making her suspicious. “And you shouldn’t tell people you have a weapon. If I was a bad guy, now I’m anticipating you fighting back with a knife, and my first move is going to be to get it away from you. You want to surprise me with it, not fuckin’ announce it.”

She sighs and stares out the window. “Thanks for the tip.”

If I were with my sister, I’d say that’s what she said and we’d laugh like idiots. I’d also tell her she shouldn’t be bringing a weapon to school. But my little sister is gone, no longer here to laugh at my jokes or take my advice.

I clear my throat. “My name’s Jude, by the way. My friends call me Lucky.”

“Are you?” She turns to face me. “Lucky?”

The tone of her voice and the way she’s pinning me with her eyes unnerves me a bit. I shake my head and exhale smoke out the window. “Not really. My last name is Lucketti. That’s where it came from.”

“I’m Skylar.”

“Nice to meet you.” I drop my cigarette into an almost-empty water bottle in my console. “You got a thing for the seventies? The ’vette, Meatloaf, the fringe suede jacket and moccasins. It’s all cool, I’m just curious.”

“I don’t know,” she says softly, spinning a silver ring around her thumb. “I guess I’ve just always been drawn to older things. They have character and give me a sort of comfort. They’ve been forgotten and tossed aside.” She takes a wistful breath. “I guess I want to love them. Remind them they still matter. Does that make sense? Or does it sound stupid?”

Her eyes stay on mine, waiting, hoping I don’t laugh at her. She wants me to understand. And I do. Her words have just snuck into my soul.

“It’s not stupid at all,” I say as the tow truck pulls up next to us. “And it makes a ton of sense. More than you know.”

Way more than she knows.

I am one of those forgotten, tossed-aside things.

Chapter 2

Skylar

Jude doesn’t talk much after I give him directions to my house. He’s obviously not one of those people who has to fill the silence with random, dumb conversation like what’s your favorite class? or we really needed this rain.

Instead, he says, “You like Pink Floyd, Sparkles?” with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

“Hell, yeah. Who doesn’t?”

Grinning, he flicks a tattooed finger over a button on the steering wheel and the familiar, haunting sound of Dark Side of the Moon surrounds us with its unique lull. I don’t know how many hours I’ve laid in bed with incense cones lit on my nightstand, staring up at the ceiling listening to this album when I felt overwhelmed with life. It always calms and grounds me.

“Nothing better than musical therapy, huh?” Jude says, as if he’s reading my mind.

I nod. “So true.”

We sing the lyrics together, which should be awkward, but isn’t.

“You can just drop me off here and I’ll walk the rest of the way,” I offer when we near the bent address sign at the top of my street.

Ignoring me, he makes a left onto the bumpy road.

“Don’t be silly. I told you I’d drive you home, not dump you off on a corner in the rain.” He shakes his head and glances at me. “Which house is it?”