Page 4 of With Spite

I was now ten thousand dollars lighter and writing a car payment the size of a mortgage once a month to a company for a car that depreciated the moment I drove it off the lot.

“Love you!” I called as I opened the door and locked myself in.

I immediately started it up and hit the heated seat button.

That sucker was definitely worth the upgrade.

Cranking the heat up a few degrees, I started to drive.

Then I squeaked when I remembered I also had a steering wheel that heated as well.

Hitting that button, I drove home, away from Creed’s fancy place in the woods and into civilization.

I loved Creed’s place.

Loved even more that it was outside of town.

But I also loved the convenience of living so close to food and people.

If I lived alone out in the boonies and something ever happened to me thanks to my asthma, the paramedics’ response time would be significantly longer.

It took me ten minutes to get home, and most of that time was spent letting my mind wander about the rest of my life.

What would it look like in ten years? Would I ever meet anyone? Would I ever get my asthma under control? Would I be able to find a job to utilize my nurse practitioner license up here in Montana? Would I have kids?

Pulling into my driveway, I threw it into park, then prepared myself for the cold once again before swinging open my door and getting out.

Of course, one of the Hubers was outside.

I didn’t actually know which of them was which, seeing as I tried really hard not to learn things about people that I didn’t like. But one of them came to the edge of his yard with a beer in his hand and called out to me.

I ignored him and walked to my front door.

Two

If I say “first of all,” run. I’ve prepared charts, data, research, and will destroy you.

—Bernice to Hux

Hux

“Huxley Nelson Hosea,” my mother said through the phone. “Where are you?”

I rolled my eyes so hard my head ached. “I already told you I’m not coming.”

There was only so much family time I could deal with, and I’d done enough family events this week, thanks to the holiday, that my cup runneth over.

Or whatever that saying was.

“You sound like you’re at home doing nothing.”

I looked at the radio in the corner of my shop that betrayed me and said, “I am at home. But I’m not doing nothing.”

I was working on a car, drinking a beer.

Two of my favorite things in the world to do.

“It’s just dinner,” my mother groaned.