Then I wondered if I’d miss my sarongs.
Or the sun.
Or the dirt, sand and stone.
I knew I wouldn’t miss chamber pots.
The rest of it, f**k me, I was going to miss.
I pushed back down in bed, curled into a ball and deep breathed.
No more crying.
That was done.
Now, I had to suck it up.
I was home.
Chapter Thirty
Back
Five months later…
The lights over the fleet (fleet, as in, four of them) of moving trucks in the garage went out panel by panel, the only one staying illuminated being the one by the front door and I knew Pop was closing down for the night.
In my office at the back, I shoved the last invoice in an envelope, checked that the address could be seen in the window and licked it closed.
Pop moved through the doorway and I smiled at him.
“Just need to stamp this then I’m off home to change. I’ll meet you at the party.”
The other Circe was leaving and we were having a going away party. She was taking the money Pop had given her, I had given her and the boys had collected for her (with a little training, she’d taken over the office for me while I was gone, she was good at it and the place was not the mess I’d worried it would be) and she was going to New Orleans. She was going there because she’d read about it and wanted to see it, in fact, when not searching for ways to get me home and working in the office, she read about a lot of her new world and she wanted to explore as much of it as she could see. And New Orleans was a good choice, seeing as she’d see a whole heckuva a lot of the country driving there from Seattle (Pop, by the by, taught her to drive).
And she was also going there because an old buddy of Pop’s had a job opening in his office at his tow truck company. Pop recommended her (or, kinda, me) and called in a favor to get her hired.
Unfortunately, I’d met this old buddy of Pop’s a couple of times when I was young so he was going to get a surprise when I walked in (but didn’t walk in) to meet him for the first time and he would have a Circe who wasn’t Circe.
Pop said he would explain things after it happened and his friend Buster got to know Circe. He thought this was wise. My twin agreed. I didn’t bother arguing. Those two were two peas in a pod and ganged up on me frequently and, frankly, I didn’t have it in me anymore to give any lip. They wanted to give Buster a heart attack? I wasn’t going to stop them.
I put the stamp on the envelope, grabbed the other four I’d done and put them in my out tray which wasn’t really an out tray, as such, since it would be my (now) fat ass that would waddle out of the garage and put them in the mailbox at the end of the block tomorrow. Still, I liked my outbox even if it was me who dealt with the out as well as the in.
I started to switch off my computer but saw Pop had settled in one of the two cracked, vinyl seats in front of me.
“Darlin’, we gotta talk,” he declared.
Oh shit.
I didn’t want to do this. In fact, I’d successfully avoided doing this for five months. I was hoping to hold out for five more months or, maybe, fifty years.
“Not now, we’ll be late,” I told him, hitting the button on my mouse to click the shut down on my machine.
“Now, Circe, uh… the other Circe’ll understand.”
Seriously, it was weird there being two me’s.
I looked at him. Then I took in his look. It was his determined look.