Curbside Pickup

Chapter 7: You Can Choose Your Friends...

Returning to the hotel, the rest of the afternoon was quiet. A quick phone call to the concierge brought a filled ice bucket and extra towels to the room. The room's mini fridge offered soda and tiny bottles of whiskey.  The soccer channel showed a game in progress, and Anthony fell back against the cushions. One hand held a rocks glass, and his knee was topped with an impromptu ice pack.

Ellie toed her sneakers off and peeled a sock down. "Thanks," she commented to the silent form on the couch. "For packing the sneakers."

There might have been a grunt from the sofa. Ice rattled in the rocks glass. On screen, a player collapsed. 

More ice clinking as one hand rattled the cubes in their glass.

More crowd noise. 

More silence from the sofa.

Dumb, dumb, dumb. Asking Anthony to come along was a colossal mistake. What had she been thinking? They hardly knew each other - so what if they'd been friends once? Sure, everybody knew Anthony. He was a star athlete and, after going pro, the town's golden son. After a lifetime of almost daily greetings, though, Ellie had to admit -  she didn't know much about this man she'd invited on her honeymoon. 

She knew he still held records at their high school. He chose to finish college before turning pro. He used to love toaster pastries. And his favorite color was a dark green that was almost black. 

She felt her cheeks grow hot at the realization that she knew plenty about Anthony Kendrix. She remembered the afternoon of his mother's cancer diagnosis, when Blair Kendrix sat in her own mother's kitchen. How, in that cozy country decorated room, the two mothers chatted as if conversation could undo the reality of a mammogram gone bad. And how, Anthony had sat, not moving, not seeing, until his hands covered his ears and his head dropped to the table.

How her heart hurt for him at that moment. She'd slid a freshly baked oatmeal raisin cookie across the table until it just touched the side of his hand. She didn't dare speak, could only show what she felt in her wordless offering.

As sunlight sifted through the blinds, Blair Kendrix stood and looked down at her son. A tentative finger played in the whorls of his dark hair. "It's gonna be okay." Her voice was soft. "Let's go home."

A deep intake of breath expanded the shoulders bowed over the table and the wounded boy in front of Ellie seemed to gather strength. He unfolded himself from the chair he'd pulled up tight to the maple laminate and stood, his dark eyes lighting on Ellie's.

She could not verbally express the vow that seemed to pass between them. Only that she be paying special attention to the Kendrix family. He didn't have to ask. 

Turning to go, his big awkward adolescent arm slung around his mother's shoulders, and Ellie could have sworn the roles had changed. He'd matured before her eyes.

He'd also never touched the cookie, and Annie claimed it thirty minutes later, gleefully scattering crumbs across the kitchen as she snapped it in half.

Yes, Ellie admitted to herself. She knew plenty about Anthony.  

Pulling the backpack close, she pulled the broken sandals out and carried them to the bedroom. Once there she hesitated, then tossed them in the trash.

Sometimes it was okay to let things go.

She lingered over the morning coffee, filled with succulent tropical fruit and crisp Hawaiian waffles from room service. The heady combination of sweet batter, coconut and macadamia nuts had to be replicated once she returned to New York. Maybe a recipe was online?