The back seat of her car was definitely not the best place to sleep, particularly when you had taken up temporary residence in the parking lot of a greasy diner beloved by every teenager in Smithbrook who believed slamming on her car windows as they passed by on their late night food runs to be the height of hilarity. A four-day drive followed immediately by a funeral and police interrogation had a way of lowering one's standards, it seemed.
Anne lay there on a pile of jackets and animal print blankets, watching a bee that had landed on her window clean its antennae. She reached up and pressed one finger to her side of the glass so it looked as if the bee were sitting on her finger, then withdrew it when the worker bee flew off.
She sat up, trying to shake off the weight which came following barely 3 hours of what could generously be called "rest." She yawned and stretched the best she could in the enclosed space, blinked her eyes a few times in a vain attempt to clear the fog from her mind, then climbed up to the front seat of the black truck she called her own. She settled into the driver's seat, one hand digging through her messenger bag for her keys and instead wrapping around her phone. She yawned again, juggling whether to toss it back in her bag for a moment before deciding to just bite the bullet.
Two messages from her boss, the first offering sympathy for her loss and the second letting her know he'd managed to work the schedule so she had the full month off. Fully 36 texts and voice mails from her parents, who had been forced to learn of her homecoming through her arrival at the police station and were very offended that she hadn't thought to call ahead. Nothing yet from Oli or Jude, though she imagined that wouldn't take long to change, and at least 3 drunk texts from James that she hadn't read yet, from almost a month ago. She figured this was a good place to start.
To: Drunkpants the Sexually Misaligned
>>>Father Annie sent a link: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tortricidae
sorry for the late response i was busy bangin girls
Was that a good way to start up after a friend's funeral? Her thumb wavered over the "send" button for a moment before ultimately deciding to go for it. Maybe he'd appreciate the humor. She turned her attention to the mass of messages from her parents, thinking up how to respond.
"Sorry I was-" No.
"I meant to-" Nah.
To: Mom and Dad
Did my text not go through?
They wouldn't buy that for a moment, but at least they wouldn't mention it again. She scratched the back of her neck, feeling a bit guilty about lying.
From: Mom
Oh, that must be it! Why don't you get a new phone already? Hurry home, see you soon, love you lots <3
And that was the end of it, save the disappointed look that would come when her mother thought Anne wouldn't be able to see it. She tucked her phone back into her bag and grabbed her keys. She let them rest in the ignition for a moment, honestly considering just turning and driving back to California before turning out onto the street and heading for the nearest liquor store. Maybe a bottle of wine would save her from that look her mother planned to send.