Alternate Plans (California Dreamin' Series Book 2) Read online




  Table of Contents

  ALTERNATE PLANS

  California Dreamin’ Series, Book 2

  For all the girls

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Thank you…

  My People…

  About the Author

  ALTERNATE PLANS

  California Dreamin’ Series, Book 2

  Jenn Flynn-Shon ©2017

  A Writesy Press, LLC Publication

  Published by Writesy Press, LLC

  Phoenix, AZ 85032

  www.writesypress.com

  All Rights Reserved.

  Copyright Jenn Flynn-Shon, 2017

  Alternate Plans, April 21, 2017

  ISBN 978-0-9885668-9-7

  Published in the United States of America

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner and above listed publisher of this book.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This book is a work of fiction. Any characters, or incidents described and detailed herein are the product of the Author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  Names, business establishments, product names, or otherwise, included herein are used in a fictitious manner and/or as a means of story development. No compensation has been provided to the Author or Publisher by said named organizations, or their assigned, for inclusion within this work of fiction.

  Scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright holder and publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please do not participate in, or encourage, online piracy of copyrighted materials. Respect for the Author’s rights is appreciated.

  Cover art created by: Stefanie Fontecha for Beetiful Book Covers.

  Please download this book through the correct channels and help stop online piracy of indie authors.

  For all the girls

  who grew into strong women in the ‘90’s.

  Not that any of us really care.

  Whatever.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Ryan, stop being mean, I might be lost. I’ll probably drive off the road and die in a snowy ditch.”

  “Well at least you'll be reunited with aunt Sylvia.”

  “Jerk.”

  “Drama queen.”

  “Not.”

  “Yes you are, Deb. Snowy ditch? In Santa Barbara?”

  “I’m nowhere near Santa Barbara yet.”

  “Didn’t you just say you’re lost?”

  “Yeah, but I’m not a total brain-dead ditz. I know how long it takes to get there. Plus, there was a sign a while back but I didn’t recognize the town name. Cedar Falls, ever heard of it?”

  “Nope, can’t say I have.”

  “I’m never going to make it home before the sun sets.”

  “You’d already be there if you took the freeway.”

  “You know Betty struggles with speeds fast enough for the freeway,” I replied with a scratch under my car’s dashboard as if she was a living thing.

  “You need a new car.”

  “Whatever. Anyway, I should be there soon,” I said, squinting to see if there were more green squares along the road telling me how far I’d driven since the last sign.

  “Sounds like you’re looking forward to the grief fest,” my brother stated, zero emotion behind his words.

  “I feel how much you care.”

  “She only died last night. Why would you want to waste four days of vacation for somebody you barely know anymore? Or, more importantly, waste a whole weekend stuck in that suck zone? You’ve got a great life now that you’re free of their chokehold.”

  “That’s your past talking, Ry. Tell me again about how great my life is?” I asked, honestly looking for him to give me a shred of something to hold onto but when he didn’t reply I continued, “Let’s recap my week. Chuck dumped me, I got passed over for a promotion, and, oh yeah, I can’t seem to make any friends. But you’re right, my life is totally kicking ass.”

  “What do you want? To move back to Santa Barbara, live with our father and go back to being a brainless, socialite princess? You left for a reason, sis.”

  “It’s been six months. I’m broke. I miss eating three meals every day.”

  “When you moved you said you didn’t want his money anymore.”

  “And I wish I could make it without money but it’s harder doing everything on my own than I thought. I can at least live at home and then my tiny salary will take care of everything else.”

  He sighed, “You’re finally free, sis. Act like a grownup. Get a roommate.”

  “I’m not you,” I countered.

  “When’s the last time our father called you? Does he even have your cell phone number?”

  “Well,” I said, not wanting to admit what I was going to say, “he pays the bill so I assume he has the number.” I was a fraud. Independent? Hardly.

  Another sigh, “You still let him pay for stuff? How is that not taking his money? Don’t move back, Deb. Please. Buying you stuff doesn’t mean he cares,” my brother said as if he were reading my mind.

  “Can you stop trying to put your feelings off on me? Dad cares. Even if you think he doesn’t,” I said, trying to quell my nagging gut.

  “Do you expect the next five days filled with our father flipping through photo albums, talking about the good old days as if he was there to celebrate any of those days with us after mom died?”

  At the mention of our mom, I shifted in my seat, even more uncomfortable than before.

  “He was there for stuff. You’re the one who took off,” I reminded him.

  “And I’d do it again,” he said with determined finality filling his every word as if he leaned in to get even closer to the handset.

  “You said you’d come to aunt Sylvia’s funeral.”

  “Like I said at the beginning of this conversation, I will be there for the funeral,” he stated.

  “Really?” I asked, actually surprised he was going to make an effort.

  “For you. I couldn’t care less about comforting anyone else. Just a reminder, they don’t call me either.”

  I heard a familiar beep in my ear and pulled the cell phone away from my head. The screen display confirmed my suspicions.

  “My battery is dying but I hope you were serious. I'll see you in a few days?”

  “Fine. Morning of the funeral. No sooner. And I’m not staying over. In and out.”

  “Fine,” I parroted.

  “Where are you now?” He asked.

  “I passed a sign for Paso Robles a little while ago.”

  “Well, drive safely. And sis?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You're still two hours away,” he said and laughed.

  I managed a half chuckle as my phone cut out. The display was still showing so I knew he hung up on me not that I lost power. My heart sank as I glanced back up at the road. A green sign told me I was still 120 miles from Santa Barbara. I hated that Ryan was right. At
this rate I'd never get into the city during daylight hours. My stomach flipped at the thought of driving at night.

  Reaching over to my console, I tried to keep my eyes on the road while I swatted at empty air. Where was my cell phone charger? I quickly shifted my eyes down and back up, spotting it on the passenger side floor.

  As I stretched my unusually short arm as far as it would extend, I felt my left arm pull the wheel in the direction of my body. My head jerked up and I did the same with the wheel back into my lane. I glanced in my mirrors. No cars in view.

  My heart rate sped up and my eyes twitched back and forth to all three mirrors. I could have hit something, I thought and swallowed the tight knot that formed in my throat. I pulled the car off onto the shoulder. The car shimmied over the roadside rumble strip, matching the shake that came from deep inside my body.

  Empty roads were the real reason I took back roads instead of the freeway most places. Driving usually caused me to panic to begin with and tractor trailers put me over the edge. I turned the car off.

  Idiot, do you want to end up like your mother? I asked myself and shook my head to both answer my own question and force the question from my mind. I promised myself I’d be more careful. The release of tension spilled out of my eyelids. I wiped the wetness away and leaned down to snatch the cell phone charger off the floor. As if I were plugging it into my own heart, I exhaled a deep, calming breath as I pushed the fat end into the cigarette lighter.

  Betty’s right wheels were settled over the gentle berm created by the drainage ditch. The car was tilted at a slight angle so I glanced over to the scene of nature all around me. A small stream trickled past my vantage point from the driver’s seat. The water moved with ease through both the mud and the yellow grass, not yet greened by spring’s early kiss.

  “See, Ryan?” I announced to my empty car, “Die in a ditch, just like I said. Damnit.” After another deep breath I got my heart back in check and prepared for the end of my journey.

  I turned the key forward. Nothing. I tried again. But again, nothing. Still in denial that my baby would let me down in the middle of nowhere, I pumped the gas a few times and again, turned the key. But she had no juice, not even a clicking sound.

  I dropped my head onto the palms of my hands and muttered, “Betty, this is the type of stuff you're supposed to do before we leave home.”

  I turned the key, and pulled the pile of metal and keychains into my lap. Another green sign stood tall and proud a way’s up the road. From inside my vehicle the sign was too far away to read clearly. I squinted but that didn’t help. The words were all blurry.

  A quick glance to the mirror as two cars passed and I was again alone on the road. I got out and slammed the door shut, scowling at my car. But I reconsidered.

  Staring at the door for an extra moment I said, “sorry, Betty. Being mean to you probably doesn't help right now.”

  I took off for a closer look at the road sign, praying there was a town close by. Somewhere worthy of being on a sign. I moved toward the berm to avoid a puddle and walked the shoulder. Around the other side of the water, I saw the sign said Cedar Falls and the number four. I can’t walk that in these boots, I thought. But a sudden thought brought my mind to the wallet in my purse back in the car. I could hug my grandmother! As I was turning back to the car I experienced what could only be described as fast-acting slow-motion.

  Though I didn't have much time to judge, it looked to be at least half of the water from the puddle flying directly at me. With one soggy swish, the tire attached to the shiny, black car pushed the puddle directly at my entire body. Soaking me from head to toe. All I could do to react was gasp and spin on my heel as fast as the car passed me. It jerked back into the lane and continued down the road at a quick clip.

  A black Maxima. California plates. A seven and an E. But I couldn't make out the rest as my jet black bangs swung downward with a splat directly into my eyes.

  “Asshole!” I yelled, knowing the driver was long gone and couldn't hear me but it made me feel better to yell even if the sensation was temporary.

  I shook my arms and watched droplets of muddy water fall off my blue plaid sleeves. The water formed hundreds of tiny puddles by my feet. My hands came up to pull the bangs off my face. With my chipped, black polished fingernails I raked the hair back so it came to rest up and over near my ear. The wet look would have to do even though it hadn’t been in fashion for at least eight years.

  As I brushed off as much as I could of the roadside sludge from my top half, I stalked back toward the car. Lucky for Betty, my anger was no longer directed at her. I opened the door with a gentle tug and plopped my wet-self down into the driver’s seat. Exhaling a heavy sigh, I pulled my purse off the passenger seat and into my lap, realizing immediately the leather was about to be drenched and ruined. With the damage already done, I rifled through the contents.

  I extracted my wallet then moved the damp black leather bag out of my lap. I found the piece of plastic that would save me. Save Betty. Thanks, nan, I thought. I almost kissed my AAA membership card as I pulled it out of my wallet. I decided then and there to be nicer to my grandmother for giving me such a thoughtful gift. Totally worth every penny she spent.

  My cell phone was getting close to the end but the blinking battery column meant I had enough juice for one call. Maybe. Family would have to wait. I dialed AAA, fingers crossed the battery would hold, and relayed my info to the operator. Just as I was saying thanks, confirming my tow truck, the black brick ran out of juice.

  “I have to remember to plug in my phone more often,” I said to nobody but myself.

  I decided to play count the cars while waiting for the tow truck driver. Eight cars and thirty minutes later, the truck pulled up, backed up, and the driver hooked up my car.

  “Where you headed?”

  “Santa Barbara,” I replied.

  “Uh, you’ve got standard AAA. I can tow you five miles for free.” he paused, “Santa Barbara is gonna cost you a bundle.”

  “Sorry, you meant now. Where's the closest garage?”

  “There’s Cooper's Garage up the road outside Cedar Falls. That’s a few miles.”

  “Guess that’s fine,” I said, and passed my card to the driver so he could copy down my information.

  The stress in my gut mounted as I considered what killed Betty. Since she was running earlier but died after I shut her off, maybe a battery, I prayed. I couldn’t afford to fix anything more expensive than a battery.

  I wondered if nan would upgrade me to AAAPlus next Christmas. Not that Plus would get me all the way to Santa Barbara but at least I’d be close enough for someone to come pick me up. The driver passed my card back and pulled onto the road. I scowled again as we passed the now smaller puddle, heading toward ‘Cedar Falls, 4’.

  We rode in silence. I wasn’t really sure what I should talk about with a tow truck driver. I thought of my dead phone and opened my mouth to ask if I could use his cigarette lighter port for a few minutes. But as I pulled the phone out of my purse I realized the charger was still in my car, rolling along behind us.

  I stuffed the purse beside my feet in the only space available on the floor. It had to squeeze in between my feet and the junk strewn across the patch of broken-down rubber lining the floor. The floor liner distracted me from my phone and I just hoped my damp bag didn't pick up whatever gunk I noticed had sunken into the cracks. Wet leather was one thing, I didn’t need truck goo.

  Trying not to think about what comprised the contents of the floor gunk, my body was suddenly sent lurching forward as the truck came to an abrupt stop. I jerked my head up and, despite wearing a seatbelt, flung my right arm towards the dashboard. My hand came up a few inches shy, just like my driver on the bumper of the car in front of us.

  “Sorry ‘bout that,” he said.

  “How much further?” I asked as my heart rate settled with the knowledge that we didn’t crash.

  “Right up here.”

  W
hen my driver turned right off the road, we ran out of asphalt immediately. We pulled into what appeared at first glance as a gas station. It took a whole lot of resolve not to drop my jaw. I leaned forward for a better look.

  Two gas pumps sat near the front of the lot and I couldn’t tear my eyes away as we passed. Rusty, as if they hadn't been used in two decades, their green and white paint chipped away from years of exposure to sun and salty air.

  The building itself was constructed of off-white painted cinder blocks. Peeling paint, faded from the sun’s strength, seemed to lift from at least one corner of every brick on the front of the place.

  This place is a dump, I thought, as I spied countless dilapidated surfaces everywhere. The only way I knew I was in the right place was due to the hand-painted, albeit also heavily faded, road sign reading Cooper's Garage. The post holding the sign high above the road at the edge of the lot appeared to be the sturdiest thing in sight. I gulped, nervous I’d made a terrible mistake agreeing to get dropped off here. But there was no turning back. I spotted the front door as we passed.