He looked up at me with wide, fear – filled eyes. He said, “I… I don’t have time to explain. Get your shoes. We have to go. Now.”
My stomach knotted up as I stood there, trying to make sense of it all. I said, “Go? Where are we going?”
“To the dump!” he snapped and headed for the door. He said, “We have to get it back before it’s too late.”
“Too late for what?” I followed him, confused. I said, “Tom, it’s just a couch. A couch with mold and broken springs! What could be so important?”
He paused at the door and turned back. He said, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
I challenged him. I said, “Try me. I want to know why you’re so desperate to rummage through a pile of garbage for a couch.”
He said, “I’ll explain on the way. Just trust me.” He grabbed the doorknob and glanced back over his shoulder. He said, “You have to trust me, okay?”
The way he looked at me sent shivers down my spine.
The drive to the dump was eerily quiet. I kept looking at Tom, but he was focused on the road, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. I had never seen him like this before, so panicked, and his silence made the situation even more uncomfortable.
“Tom,” I finally broke the silence. I said, “Can you just… tell me what’s going on?”
He shook his head and barely glanced at me. He said, “You’ll see when we get there.”
“See what?” I pressed. Frustration seeped into my voice. I said, “Do you have any idea how crazy this sounds? You dragged me out here for a couch. A couch, Tom!”
“I know,” he muttered. His eyes flicked over to me for a second and then returned to the road. He said, “I know it sounds crazy, but you’ll understand when we find it.”
I crossed my arms and stewed in silence until we pulled up to the dump. Tom leaped out of the car before I could say another word and sprinted towards the gate as if his life depended on it.
He flagged down one of the workers and pleaded with him. He said, “Please. My wife brought something here earlier. I need to get it back. It’s really important.”
The worker raised an eyebrow and looked between us with a skeptical expression. But something in Tom’s eyes must have convinced him because he finally nodded and said, “Alright, but you gotta be quick. We’re about to start sorting through this pile.”
Tom turned to me, his face a mask of urgency. “Come on!” he said, grabbing my hand and pulling me towards the massive heap of discarded furniture and junk.
We started sifting through the mess, Tom moving with a frenzied determination. I was still completely in the dark, but I couldn’t help but feel a sense of foreboding. The smell of the dump was overwhelming, and the thought of rummaging through all this trash for a couch seemed absurd.
