Forbidden Fruit (Shannon Cheney) - By Ann Aguirre Page 0,9
huh?”
Chuch is a thick, short guy just starting to get a paunch. Considering how classically gorgeous Eva is, they make a bit of an odd couple since his face can best be described as…battered. He’s also a hugger. He demonstrates the latter by yanking me out of my chair and squashing me against his chest. Since he smells like motor oil, I guess he was working in the garage. That’s how he makes his living, restoring old cars.
“How’s it going, prima?” Chuch calls me “coz” like we’re related. I’m told it’s affectionate, meant to acknowledge me as family even though I’m really not.
“Not great.”
“What’s wrong?”
Eva shoots him a sharp look, but Camille interrupts with a loud noise, then the smell that permeates the kitchen is truly horrific. If I were eating, I might hurl.
“I need to take care of this,” Eva says.
“Before it eats through her skin,” I mumble.
I’m not sorry to see her go, however. Based on past experience, I know Chuch is susceptible to big eyes and feminine pleading. This means his daughter has him wrapped him around her pinkie. Maybe I can do the same. I lean forward, elbows on the table, watching him as he fixes a glass of sweet tea.
“So what’s on your mind?”
“The amnesia spell somebody dropped on me.”
He offers an assessing look, and his expression turns cagey. “You know about that?”
“Yep.” Maybe I can make him think I know more than I do, trick him into revealing something crucial. Eva will be pissed, but I can live with that.
“Then you know it was done with the best of intentions.”
I didn’t, actually. But that dovetails with my fear that I’ve done something terrible, so bad it had to be wiped from my brain for me to cope. A shiver rolls through me, and it’s not hard at all to aim an anguished look at Chuch.
“Just tell me what happened, please.”
“Shan, if I remind you of what the spell’s blocking too soon, the feedback could seriously hurt you.”
“So people keep telling me.”
“Then you should listen. We’re not keeping quiet to be assholes.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” But being rude will just annoy the few friends I have, so I shove to my feet. “Thanks for the drink. I should get home.”
“Did Maria drop you off?”
“Nah. For me, it’s the bus, then the pedestrian shuffle.” I should’ve lied because now he’s on his feet.
“Let me run you back. It’s two miles to the nearest bus stop.”
“I’m aware. But you don’t need to—”
“Eva!” Chuch calls. “I’ll be back in half an hour. I’m taking Shannon home.”
“Pick up toilet paper and baby wipes!”
He sighs but he’s smiling. “I swear she thinks of something for me to buy anytime I leave the house. It’s like she’s proving I’m properly trained.”
“You love it.”
“It’s true. Come on.”
Chuch owns six cars in various stages of restoration, and he chooses the sportiest, a black Charger. I climb in, listening to him ramble about marriage and fatherhood. This monologue would constitute complaining from any other guy, but Chuch loves Eva so much that he’s happy she’s there, organizing his life and telling him what to do. I’ve noticed that he doesn’t always listen, however. Sometimes he nods at whatever she says and then does something else.
He’s a fast driver, but safe, so it doesn’t take long to reach my neighborhood, much quicker than the bus. I convince Chuch to drop me off at the mom-and-pop store five blocks from my apartment, and through some miracle I persuade him to let me walk home afterward. He comes in long enough to grab Eva’s requested items, but he hurries off, officially relieved of responsibility. I’m grateful that people care what happens to me, but I need to take care of my own business.
In the market, I take my time since I’m on a budget and it’s an exercise in humiliation if I bring more to the register than I can afford. In my shopping basket, I’ve got bread, cereal, milk, turkey, lettuce, noodles, tuna, tomatoes, and good cheese. Hopefully these groceries will last until my next payday.
At first, I don’t notice my shadow. I mean, the guy’s not memorable: thin, middle-aged, wispy brown hair, and a sallow face. He’s just another shopper in the small store, browsing among the pasta. But when I turn down the next aisle, I see him move in the round, silver mirror hung at the back of the store.
A chill goes down my spine.
Without my radio, I’m as helpless as the next girl,