The Story of You and Me by Pamela DuMond Read Free Book Online Page A

I’d noticed earlier. He wrestled a pink fuzzy toy about half his size; gripping it with his two front paws, biting and kicking it repeatedly. “You are too cute,” I said.  
    He dropped the toy, toddled to the window, looked up at me and meowed, mouth wide open. Something stirred in my chest.  
    “Your heart is closed down, shut tight, locked up…” Lizzie had said. “Go to the healers who can open your heart.”  
    Lizzie Sparks’ comments did not apply to a cat.  
    “No,” I said. “No freaking way I need a cat right now. I give you major points for being charming and I’ll say a prayer that the right person adopts you soon.” I tapped on the window right over his fat funny face. He stopped meowing. I swear he squinted and frowned. I frowned back, forced myself to leave and walked the few steps toward the bus stop.  
    A disheveled man wearing pink robes with a long gray beard that matched his hair stumbled from a doorway onto the sidewalk in front of me and yelled, “Hare Krishna! Hare Rama!”
    I quite possibly jumped two feet in the air. “Hare awesome!” I veered around him and made it to the curb where I huddled on a small metallic bench under the bus sign as the Big Blue Bus approached.  

    * * *

    I sat on that hard industrial seat through the forty-odd bus stops from Venice to Westwood. My bones ached. My back spasmed. My face hurt. My thighs cramped—probably from all the sprinting to get away from some asshat or crazy person that showed up in my play. Because this was, according to Lizzie Sparks, my intention. Hah! Like I really wanted a skinhead rapist and a man wearing pink robes to be in my play.
    My mom had not wanted me to come to L.A. for the stem cell program. She said something would open up in Madison or Milwaukee or Chicago. But I hadn’t told Mom about my other reason for coming here. She most likely assumed I was simply being a typical stubborn nineteen-year-old college girl who needed to leave home and act out my 90210 fantasies. But that wasn’t the reason I’d picked L.A.
    I loved my mom. She was the hardest working single mom I’d ever met. (Yes, I was prejudiced.) But there came a time in a girl’s life where one had to move a bit away from parental approval, even if that meant doing something pretty big that one’s parent didn’t approve of. That time was now.    
    An hour later the bus pulled up at my stop and I held onto the handrail as I descended its tall stairs. It seemed like today was the longest day ever. But that couldn’t be possible, because yesterday was the longest day.  
    Cole was outside my apartment with Gidget. She sniffed the grass, squatted and piddled as I approached my door. “You okay?” he asked.
    “Yeah.” I searched through my purse for my keys. “Why?”
    “You look even paler than yesterday and you’ve got some blood on your cheek.”
    The poser girl was right. Pintdick’s assault had re-opened one of my wounds. “I’m fine.”
    “Good. I saw flowers on your doorstep this morning. And this afternoon some gorgeous man with shoulders I’d kill for dropped off a basket of cookies.”  
    I glanced down and saw a basket on my doorstep with tinfoil tightly wrapped around something inside. “How do you know that basket has cookies?”  
    “Because I opened it and took one,” he said. “Okay, two. Don’t hate me. I have a thing about sugar and hot men. You just moved here yesterday, but between the flowers, cards, cookies, Mr. Gorgeous and Gidget barking at you last night to welcome you home? And trust me, I know this dog—she’s practically frothing at the mouth in anticipation of becoming your best friend—” Gidget bared her teeth at me and growled. “—your arrival here, Sophie, is turning into a bit of a mystery. And I’m a little obsessed, slightly Nancy Drew-esque, when it comes to mysteries.”
    “No worries. I’m simply here for summer session. The only mystery is why I’ve been so unlucky since I landed