The Scene Stealer: A Hollywood Romance
Jeff must sense my uncertainty as he claps my shoulder and chuckles. “Don’t worry; no one is going to touch your car. We’ll call a tow
truck for you once we get to the town.”
“Okay. Thanks, man.”
He waits idly beside the vehicle as I grab my belongings, close the windows, and lock her up. Without a second thought, or at my request, Jeff grabs one of the suitcases and begins to roll it down the road while I do the same with the second piece of luggage. I toss the duffle bag over my shoulder as I give my car one final look and send a prayer that this man is genuinely kind and not a serial killer.
As my partner had stated, we only have about a fifteen-minute walk to the town. The outskirts are scattered with small residences that look well lived-in, sidewalks, and streetlamps. The town looks out of place in the middle of nowhere, but it also seems to fit right in. A road of nothingness depositing you into perfection.
“Here it is,” Jeff says as we meander onto Main Street. I feel as if I’ve been transported back to the 1950’s. There is a pharmacy, bank, theater, a market. Everything someone could need, but none of those big box stores you find overtaking other towns.
Following his lead, we move toward a strip of businesses. An auto shop, which I assume is his, a convenience store, and a diner.
“We’ll go in here, get you something to eat while I contact Sam.”
“Who is Sam?”
Waving his hand in the air, he beckons me to follow him into the diner as he explains that Sam is the local tow truck driver. I’m only half listening as Jeff is bombarded by a group of men that look to be around his age, some of them chastising the man asking him where he’s been, but my eyes settle on a woman leaning over a table as she speaks with a little girl. It’s not her beauty that catches my eye, even though there is no denying how stunning she is even from this distance, but it’s the jagged scar reaching below the bottom of her ear, snaking across her cheek and grazing the edge of her mouth, before spreading into more scars down her neck and arm. It reminds me of a river cutting through a beautiful piece of land only to snake out into smaller creeks and canals.
Never breaking my gaze on the woman, I reach out to get Jeff’s attention, which only draws the crowd’s attention to me.
“Oh, sorry there, son. Let me get you settled with a plate of food while I take care of a few things.” Before I get a chance to decline his offer, Jeff calls out, “Larsen, let me introduce you to my friend here.”
CHAPTER FOUR – LARSEN
It’s been a hell of a morning already and my back is aching from standing so long.
As Tucker and Tacker switch their shifts at the grill, I take a moment to grill Joanne. “Have any of your customers seen Uncle Jeff?”
I’ve been worried since he wandered off last night. No one in the town had seen him. Nor in the town over where he’s been seen when he’s having an off day. Pretty much, if he’s missing Susan he loses himself in a bottle of booze.
I bite my thumbnail in nervousness that something terrible has happened, especially with the fifth anniversary of Susan’s death today there is no telling where he may be.
“Well, let me know if you hear of anything. It’s days like today I wish I had a cell phone. Not that it would help when he isn’t answering a call from the diner’s line.”
The door to the restaurant opens and Joanne looks at me with a lopsided grin, the evidence of her worry festering between her brows. We’re all worried about Uncle Jeff. When does the hurt stop? Does it ever?
Joanne sits the mother and her young daughter in my section just as Cole walks in and takes a seat at the counter. My eyes immediately track his every movement. The way his slim build sways with every step, but his hair barely moves. He has it neatly trimmed and slicked back, and I imagine with all the products he must use to keep it that way, it’s as hard as a rock. When he finally takes his seat, he swipes his fingers through the strands effortlessly.
Cole must sense my stare because he turns to me and makes eye contact before a wide smile grows on his lips. “Hey, Larsen. How are you doing today?”
“Um. . .I’m. . .good,” I lie. I’m anything but good. I’m worried, scared, devastated. All of those things rolled into one.
“That’s good. What are you cooking today, Tucker?” he calls out to the back where Tucker stands with a spatula raised in his hand.
Effectively dismissed I gather my strength and step behind the counter to get his drink. Coke is Cole’s drink of choice whenever he’s here for lunch, which is daily, even during the school year. I try not to make eye contact or linger too long on his face, now turned in my direction again.
As I place his drink on the counter, he smiles and I subconsciously pull my long hair over my shoulder, masking the scars on my right side. His grin doesn’t waver but I can see his attention is focused on my facial scar, not my eyes or any other part. It’s not his fault, really. I know that by moving my hair in its direction, I brought attention to the part of me I wish to mask.
“Larsen. . .” Cole begins, but I quickly apologize and move from around the counter to take the order of the mother and daughter waiting patiently for me.
I can tell that the mother takes pity on me as I arrive at their table. She gives me that look that I’ve seen so often. The corner of her lip tilts upward as the corner of her eyes dip, and she cocks her head to the side slightly. It’s a familiar face that I’ve grown accustomed to, especially in the summer with people traveling through on their way to the festival at Sand Dunes Park.
I take their order, water and two burgers, and give it to Tucker. Filling up two glasses of water, I hurriedly make my way back to their table to avoid an awkward moment again with Cole. A little bit of water splashes onto my hand as I place the little girl’s glass on the table.
“You’re really pretty,” the soft voice claims from the bench seat. I turn to look at the young girl who can’t be any older than four or five. Her soft brown curls caress the tops of her shoulders and her delicate features mimic that of her mother’s, only softer and on a smaller scale.
Bending down to be at her level, I thank her with a bright smile, which she imitates. And I swear a beam of sunlight shines through the window and brightens the spot where the child sits.