The achy cramp in the middle of her feet let itself be known as Petra swiped her i.d. card to sign herself out of work. A good soak in Epsom salts would do nicely. However, there was that trek down the block to the bus stop to conquer. Other nurses, nurse aides, food service workers, and janitors with younger, more flexible feet already swarmed ahead in her path. She might have to wait for the next bus.
Petra groaned and trudged down the street. The crowd that pressed against the waiting bus showed no mercy. She wrapped her arms about herself as she watched her co-workers pack themselves into the aisles. The bus driver closed the door before she could propel her painful arches towards the steps. Just as well, she thought, since this was the same bus driver who had once humiliated her in front of a full load of passengers over her failure to quickly come up with the fare.
As the bus roared away, a familiar sedan cruised into its space. The passenger side window glided open and Pug shouted to her, “Hurry up, Petra! The next bus is just down the street and they’ll ticket me if I get in his way.”
Petra sank into the seat and threw her head back.
“I don’t have to ask if it was a long day,” Pug declared. “I had the same one, only without the disinfectant and thermometers.”
“I’m sure you didn’t chase a customer out onto the beach and drag him home.”
“I did do some begging and pleading but it was about finding the right interest rate.”
Petra pulled one shoe off and massaged her foot. “You don’t have to do this, you know, Atticus.”
“Pug. Please. I hate my given name.”
Petra attended to her other foot. “It’s a nice name. It’s distinguished.”
“It sounds like a prison. And, yes, I do have to drive you to and from work.”
Petra curled her toes and rolled her head about, loosening her neck. “I hope it’s not because you feel sorry for me…you know, the lonely woman whose boyfriend is deployed overseas and, judging from his blog, enjoying the friendship of other women more than he misses me.”
“Of course not. It’s because of my own selfish agenda. I realized this morning that I am the kind of person who just needs someone to talk to. Besides, you told me this morning that Omar is coming home, so I have no reason whatsoever to pity you…except maybe for your Scrabble skills.”
Petra grinned and shook her head. “I’m sure you’ll find more mundane reasons to pity me when Omar gets home.”
“Save a slice of that self-pity for me instead. Let me tell you how I’ve earned it.”
