Read Online Finding Parker by Scott Hildreth, SD Hildreth - Free Book Online Page B

been fair to her or to her emotions,” I explained as I motioned to the empty chairs.
    “Listening to you talk is like reading a textbook,” she said as she turned toward the table where she was previously seated.
    “I’ll sit for a while, let me grab my stuff,” she said as she rotated her wrist and looked down at her watch.
    In returning with her purse and magazines, she sat down and smiled. Her hair appeared to be more light brown than blonde. With her right side facing the storefront windows, her hair shimmered in the sunlight. Satisfied to be seated with her, but feeling somewhat like a modern day pimp, I crossed my arms in front of my chest.
    “I’m not going to attack you, don’t get defensive already,” she said as she pointed to my chest.
    “Excuse me?” I responded, with one eyebrow slowly rising.
    “Your arms. They’re crossed. It’s a defensive posture. Anyway, I don’t have much time. I just thought we could talk. I won’t bring up the girl or talk any more shit. Promise,” she said as she extended her hand over the top of the table.
    “Okay,” I smiled, pleased at her gesture.
    I took her hand in mine and shook it, finding the surface of her palm surprisingly rough. Although I preferred holding it to not, I quickly released it from my grasp so as to not make her feel self-conscious regarding her leathery skin. As I began to consider the cause of her rough skin, she smiled and placed her hands in her lap.
    “So, I’ve been coming here for years. And in the last week or so, I have seen you here twice. Never previously, but twice in the last week. What gives, Parker? It’s Parker, right?” she asked softly.
    “Yes, I’m Parker. You’ve got a good memory,” I hesitated; somewhat frustrated that she wasn’t sure of my name.
    “I just graduated college and after becoming employed, moved to the neighborhood. I live here in Old Town. I just found this place a week or so ago, and I like it. It’s a nice place to relax. What’s your fascination with it?” I asked.
    “I come here to read. Dream. Relax. Find bits and pieces of myself I’m afraid I may not find elsewhere. Generally, before work,” she raised her right hand from her lap and brushed her hair behind her ear.
    “What do you mean? Bits and pieces of yourself?” I asked, intrigued by her statement.
    “You know. Well, you probably don’t. I work as a prep cook in El Cajon. I take care of my mother when I am not working. The two consume me. So, the three places one might find me? Here. Work. Or home. That’s it. I come here to read my books, magazines, and dream,” using her right hand, she turned her head slightly and raked her hair behind her left ear.
    “You don’t do anything else?” I asked.
    “Nope.”
    “Ever?” I asked.
    “Never.”
    “Out to eat? Go to a bar? Hit the beach?” I asked.
    “Nope. Nope. Nope.”
    “I’m sorry you aren’t able to get out more. And regarding your mother, if I may ask, is she sick?” I asked softly.
    “I guess you could say that. She was injured years ago. She suffers from chronic incurable pain. She’s addicted to painkillers, and for the most part, bed ridden,” she responded, raising her left hand from her lap and clenching her fist in her palm.
    “I see. Sorry to hear that. Your dreams are?” I asked, my voice trailing off, inviting her to respond .
    “To be a chef. To live a normal life. To have a family. Not a husband and kids kind of family, but a father, mother, brother, and sisters. I guess that’s about it,”  she responded, rubbing her palms together.
    “No siblings? You have no brothers or sisters?”
    “I have a mother. That’s it,” she said as she stood from her chair.
    “I’d love to stay and talk, I really would. I like talking to you for some reason. But I have to get to work, I’m sorry,” she placed her purse strap over her shoulder and began to gather her magazines.
    “I’ll put them away. Go ahead. Thanks for taking time to talk,” I