answer, unprepared for the news. “I’ll just try him on his cell.”
I end the call and stare at the phone in my hand for a minute. What kind of personal business could he be dealing with? No, stop. No jumping to conclusions. He’s probably just working on his house or something. I scroll until I find his cell phone number and again press Send, holding the phone a fraction too tight to my ear. Two rings, three, four…
“You’ve reached Sam. Leave a message.” Beep.
I start to speak, but my voice is lagging and I have to clear my throat before starting again. “Hi, Sam, it’s Ellie. Sorry I didn’t get a chance to call you yesterday. It was a long afternoon at the fair and Tim’s boss found out about the teddy bears and he and Brook ended up, well, anyway, sorry for not calling. I have the day off and I thought maybe if you weren’t too busy we could get together, conduct some research or something,” I stammer shyly. “So, call me, okay? Alright, bye.”
What is it about leaving a message for a guy you like that leaves you babbling like an idiot? I drop the phone onto the coffee table and try to ignore the small kernel of dread that’s taken root in my stomach. Ding. No, don’t be ridiculous; he’s just busy and can’t get to his phone. It doesn’t mean anything. Ding. Maybe he’s moving furniture or cleaning out his gutters. This is just me being crazy. Not answering his cell phone isn’t tantamount to being up to no good. Ding, ding, ding… Maybe I could just swing by his place, see if I can lend him a helping hand. Perhaps his dimple is in need of a good licking.
I jump from the sofa and tear into the bedroom, grabbing a pair of Luanne’s jeans from the floor. Luanne’s about ten pounds skinnier than me, so the jeans fit very snug. I rummage in my drawer, pull out a white tank-top and force it over my head. Luanne has an old leather vest hanging in her closet from when she played ‘old lady’ to a nomadic biker a few years back. I rip it from its hanger and slide it up my arms. I run my hands through my hair, tousling the dark loose curls and turn to look at myself in the mirror.
“What in the hell are you wearing?” Luanne has appeared in the open doorway and is assessing me with alarmed eyes.
“What, you don’t like it? I was going for biker-chic.” I turn and check out my backside in the mirror. The tightness of the jeans has lifted and shaped my butt into a thing of beauty.
“You look like you’re on your way to meet John Travolta at the funhouse.”
I take another look at myself in the mirror. She’s right; it’s a little too Sandra Dee.
“Whatever, I don’t have time to pick out anything else,” I say as I move past Luanne and into the hallway.
“Where’re you goin’?”
“To Sam’s,” I call over my shoulder, searching the living room for my purse.
“Ellie, stop. What’s gotten into you?” Luanne bends down, scooping my purse out from under the sofa by its strap and hugging it to her chest, preventing my rushed departure.
“What? Nothing! I just need to get over there. Can I have my purse, please?” I extend my hand to Luanne but she’s reluctant to give me the bag.
“What’s happened in the last ten minutes that has you runnin’ around like your hair’s caught on fire?”
“I told you, it’s nothing. Everything’s fine, I just need to get over there.”
“Why?”
“To make sure—I mean, to see him. I just want to surprise him is all. Can I have my purse now?”
Luanne continues to eye me skeptically but hands the purse over. “There’s something not right, isn’t there? Is it your bells? Are they ringin’ again?”
Yes. They’re ringing. They’re suddenly dinging so loud, I can hardly hear myself think. “No, of course not,” I lie to Luanne.
I just need to see Sam. Once I see him and see that everything’s fine, I can silence these damn bells once and for all. I turn and walk to the door, purposefully slowing my steps along the way.
As I turn the knob Luanne says, “They’re not real, you know, those bells. They can’t protect you.”
“They’ve done a pretty decent job so far,” I say, not turning to look back at her.
“Have they? Have they ever really kept you from getting