His Uptown Girl (9 page)

George's voice came out in a choked volume barely above a whisper. “I had nowhere else to go.”

“I don't understand.”

“I told Daddy I wouldn't marry Tyler.”

Bob shook his head. “Now I really don't understand. I think I've missed something.”

“It started at the banquet, after you left. Tyler told Daddy everything. Daddy didn't take it very well.”

While she paused, Bob looked down at her. Despite the snug fit, George's dress was wrinkled. Besides that, it was smudged with dirt, almost as if she'd been rolling on the ground. He followed a run in her pantyhose that extended from beneath the rolled edge of the wool socks visible above her workboots, upwards, disappearing past the hemline of her dress.

Bob quickly raised his eyes. “Tyler asked you to marry him?”

“Not really. But he discussed it with Daddy. Daddy told me I had to marry Tyler because I had ruined the family name and his reputation. Daddy actually approved of what Tyler was doing.”

“Now I know I'm confused. Maybe you should go back to the beginning.”

“After you met my father, Tyler told him what you really do, and what I really do for you. Daddy was mortified, to put it mildly. He said that his reputation would
be ruined, and the only way to save it was for me to marry Tyler. But I refused. So Daddy kicked me out.”

“He kicked you out because you won't marry someone you don't love?” Suddenly he didn't want to be looking into her face, just in case she said she did love Tyler. It shouldn't have made a difference to him, but it did.

He lowered his head, intending simply to stare at the floor, but he found himself staring again at her workboots. The workboots belonged to George the mechanic. The woman before him was wealthy beyond anything he could ever imagine. At the banquet, he'd thought she looked spectacular in that dress, but now he knew why. That dress was probably worth an entire month's mortgage payment. Yet now, with it, she was wearing dirty, worn workboots.

He didn't know which was the real George—the one wearing the workboots, or the one wearing the expensive dress.

“Of course I don't love Tyler. I don't know if this is a very Christian thing to say, but I think I actually hate him. Although I can't blame him entirely for what happened. I had planned to tell my father about what I really do here at some point, but I would have used better timing. In a different setting, he still would have been angry about my job, but I don't think he would have kicked me out.”

“Your father kicked you out because you have a job?” Bob knew many families where the parents were ready to kick out lazy grown children because they
didn't
have a job.

“He was fine with me having a job, as long as it was the job I led him to believe, which is something with a title.” She grinned. “Administrative assistant sounds good, don't you think?”

He couldn't help but grin back. “I guess. But I still don't know what one does.”

Her playful grin dropped. “Not working with your hands and getting dirty, that's for sure. I love my job, but more than the job, I love doing what I want to do. I don't know if I'm being ungrateful for all my father has given me, but I want to make my own choices, especially when lately he's been trying to push everything down my throat. Not just getting married to Tyler, but his antiquated ideas of what I'm allowed to do and what I should be doing to make him look good. I just never realized being independent would come at such a high cost.” Her voice lowered. “I don't think marrying Tyler, especially this way, is what God wants me to do with my life.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don't know. I'm so sorry, I know I shouldn't be here, but I had nowhere else to go, and I didn't know what to do.”

“I think the first thing you need to do is start looking for an apartment.”

“I can't. I don't have anything.”

He unrolled the newspaper, which had been in his hand for so long some of the ink had come off on his skin. “Then a room-and-board situation would probably suit you. You could take your time buying new furniture if you don't mind smaller living quarters and sharing a bathroom.” Although, knowing now the moneyed background from which she'd come, he had no doubt she'd lived in quite a mansion. Not only were the grounds probably like living in a park, the house itself must have been huge and luxurious. Her bedroom was probably bigger than the living room in his humble
house. Between carrying the mortgage on the house and half the mortgage payment on the business, he could afford to live comfortably no matter how small his house was in comparison to hers. That was all that mattered.

He walked to the coffee table, opened the newspaper and started paging through to the classified section. “I know how much you make, so I know what you can afford. I'm sure we can find something for you.” He paused for a second, halting on his own words. He'd said
we,
and as soon as the word had come out of his mouth, he'd realized he meant it. Besides the fact that he liked her as a person, he felt somewhat responsible for her having been kicked out.

“I don't think you understand. I don't have any money until payday.”

Bob looked up. “I don't know how personal I should get here, but let's define ‘no money.' Just how low should I start looking? Some of these places aren't in the best neighborhoods, and you don't want to be there.”

“I have $4.37.”

“Anyplace will take a check, George. That's how most people pay the rent.”

“No, you really don't understand. I have $3.37 in my wallet and exactly one dollar in my bank account. Daddy took back my allowance. I didn't see this coming, and I had lots of money last week when I went shopping. Daddy took out everything except for what I deposited myself, and he didn't leave anything to cover what I'd spent. That means everything I bought came out of my paychecks. My credit cards have been cancelled. Even my cell phone doesn't work anymore.” She buried her face in her hands. “It's really starting to
hit me now. Everything is gone. I don't even know what's in the boxes, I'm too afraid to look.”

“Boxes?”

“The staff tossed my personal things in boxes, and dragged them outside. Everything I have left that my father doesn't think is rightfully his is in twelve boxes, which are stored in the corner of the private office until I can figure out what to do.” Her stomach growled, causing her to cover her stomach with her arms. “I'm hungry, and I don't even have enough money for breakfast.”

“Actually, you can buy a loaf of bread and a small jar of peanut butter with what you've got in your wallet, so technically, you do. But that doesn't solve your problems.”

Bob raised his hand and ran his fingers through his hair again. He'd never been without support. His family didn't have much money, but they'd always had enough food to eat, a roof over their heads, each other, and God watching over them, and that was all that mattered.

When he'd started his business, his parents had co-signed the mortgage for the shop because the bank had turned him down. His family had been there to help when he needed it. By the time he bought his house, the business was stable enough that he could get a mortgage as a single person without a cosigner.

He studied George. By her drawn expression, he could tell she hadn't had enough sleep. The dark color of the dress made her look even paler.

Her stomach growled again. Instead of blushing, as most women did, her eyes became glassy. She blinked repeatedly, then swiped the back of her hand over them.

Bob's throat tightened. He reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, and handed her some
money. “Here. Go to the deli and bring back a couple of breakfast sandwiches.”

“I can't accept your money.”

“Don't worry about it. I said to buy two, one for you and one for me. It's just two friends sharing brunch together. You can pay next time.” He really didn't want her to repay him, but he had a feeling that she would, even though she wouldn't be able to save the money for extras any time soon.

“Thank you,” she muttered as she accepted his money. She took one step toward the door and skidded to a halt. She looked down at herself. “I can't go like this. Excuse me.” She spun around and ran into the private office, and the door closed.

Instead of standing and staring at the door, Bob turned on the lights, flipped the sign to Open and booted up the computer. Just as he started to type in his password, George emerged from the office dressed in what he was more accustomed to seeing her wear—jeans and a T-shirt…and the workboots.

She looked down at her feet, and tapped her toes. “I couldn't find my sneakers, but I'm not about to wear dress shoes with jeans. I'll be right back.” As Bob watched, she nearly skipped out the door, despite the heaviness of the steel-toed safety boots.

Instead of starting the day's projects, he returned to the newspaper and started looking for a room-and-board rental in a respectable neighborhood. He could only find a few vacancies that he considered reasonable, but none of them were in a neighborhood he approved of, especially knowing her background.

By the time she returned, Bart had arrived and Bob had joined him to work in the shop.

“She's back. I gotta go for a sec.”

Bart straightened and rested his fists on his hips. “Who's back? George? What's she doing here on Saturday? You didn't tell me she was coming in. Is she taking time off another day, or are we paying her overtime?”

“Neither. It's personal.”

A smile lit Bart's face. “Wow. I knew it.”

“Don't even think about it. It's not that kind of personal. I'll be right back.”

He could feel Bart's eyes on his back as he exited the shop and joined George in the office. She already had both sandwiches, complete with napkins, spread out on the counter.

Just as they did when they went out for dinner on Thursday nights, Bob led with a short prayer. George immediately bit into her sandwich as Bob took a glance at the logo on the wrapper. “I see you went to the deli, after all. You were gone so long I thought you took a trip across town.”

She shook her head, then swallowed her mouthful with a big gulp. “I decided to walk in order to save gas. Also, while I was walking it gave me some time to think. If I could find a place to rent that's close to here, I could walk to work and cancel the insurance on my truck. I could use the refund to pay for a damage deposit, and maybe the rest for the balance of this month's rent. Did you find anything in the paper?”

“No, I didn't. Maybe I can get my mother to ask around and see if anyone she knows wants to take in a boarder—just until you can get on your feet financially. I'm sure that in a few months…” His words trailed off as a thought struck him.

“Bob? Is something wrong?”

“You're going to need a place to stay tonight, and my mother will never come up with something that quickly. But I may have another solution, at least a temporary one. A couple of years ago I fixed up my garage into a small apartment for when my cousin Jason was going to college. I've been using it for storage lately, but I'm sure it wouldn't take much to get it livable again. There's just one thing.”

“It sounds perfect!”

Bob raised one hand. “I'm not finished explaining yet. When I said small, I meant really small. It's a regular single garage, but narrower inside because I insulated it and put up wallboard. It's basically one room with a living space on one end, and a utility kitchen on the other, outfitted like a camper. I made a small bathroom in one corner. There isn't even room for a bathtub, just a shower. Jason used a wardrobe in the corner to hang his clothes. You'd have to sleep on the futon which serves as a couch during the day and pulls out into a bed at night. It's not glamorous, but Jason liked it that way. It's easy to keep clean and besides, the biggest factor for him as a student was that it was free. If you want it, it's free to you, too, for as long as you want to use it.”

George's eyes narrowed, and one corner of her mouth turned up. Bob could tell she was trying to imagine the garage apartment as he'd described it, except he doubted she really was aware of how small
small
could be. While she was on her way to the deli, he had pulled out her personnel file to look up her address. He hadn't known where she lived because George's first duty was to handle the paperwork and get the accounting caught up, so she had entered her own records into the computer, with their payroll of one.

The second he saw her father's address, he could picture the neighborhood. They weren't just homes. They were estates. Not a one would have a single-car garage. He wondered if she'd even ever
seen
a single-car garage.

“I still think it sounds perfect. Thank you so much. I don't know how I'll ever repay you.”

Bob cleared his throat. “Don't worry about it, but maybe you should see it before you make up your mind.”

G
eorgette followed Bob's car through the neighborhood to his house.

The homes were older and were all small and similar in design and structure. Yet, despite their age none were run down. Bob had explained to her that many of the residents were couples like his parents, who had bought the homes many years ago when they were first married, and had remained after their children were grown and gone. Lawn care had replaced child care for them over time.

Other residents were like Bob—first-time home buyers who purchased a small, older home because that was what they could afford.

Still, the neighborhood had a charm of its own, and Georgette didn't feel threatened, only out of place.

At the end of the block, Bob turned into a lane, and she followed.

With the age of the neighborhood, instead of built-in garages like her father's these homes had detached garages, accessible via a back lane.

Bob turned to park on a slightly raised cement pad beside a very small garage. Georgette slid out of her truck at the same time as he exited his own car, and she joined him.

“Here we are. Welcome home.”

All Georgette could do was stare. The building was small. She couldn't see that there would be much room inside it for anything besides an average-sized vehicle. The gardener's shed on her father's property was bigger than Bob's garage.

She struggled to think of living in such a tiny building, but Bob's cousin had done exactly that for an entire school year. Therefore, so could she. Besides, beggars couldn't be choosers. It was either this, or go back to being a prisoner for the rest of her life. Like her father, Tyler would do everything in his power to limit her exposure to church and to other believers, and would do everything he could to squelch her faith in order to mold her into what he wanted her to be. She couldn't live like that.

Living in a building smaller than her bedroom at her father's house was fine, if it gave her the freedom to live her own life and make her own choices. She had to live the way God wanted her to live, not the way Tyler wanted.

Bob's ears turned red. “I'd like to say it looks better from the inside than from outside, but since I didn't have any notice, today it probably doesn't.”

Georgette forced herself to smile graciously and told herself the same thing she'd thought just before she fell asleep on the couch in the lobby of the shop. It was a roof over her head and it had a clean washroom. At least she hoped the washroom was clean.

“I'm sure it's fine. I don't know what to say, you're being so generous.”

His ears turned even redder. “Don't give credit where
it isn't due. It's not going to cost me anything for you to live here. I just have to find someplace else to put my junk.”

She knew he was wrong, but she didn't want to argue with him and diminish his graciousness. At the very least, he would be paying more on his utility bill for the electricity she used.

He led her away from the roll-up door to a small, painted door on the side of the building, the entrance to her new home. No polished, carved mahogany double doors here.

“You don't have to worry about anyone getting in by opening the main garage door,” Bob mumbled while he picked through his keyring. “The roll-up door opens, but I built a small storage area there. From the inside, it's a solid wall.”

Georgette turned her head and looked from one end of the garage to the other. It was already small enough without taking away interior space for storage accessible only from the outside.

The door opened with a creak.

“I guess I'll have to oil that. Come on in. Just remember that I wasn't expecting anyone actually to be here.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed, then slapped her hands over her big mouth. It was even smaller inside than she had imagined, although Bob had been perfectly honest about its shortcomings.

“Yeah. I know. It's really small.”

Besides a number of boxes piled up, the only furniture inside was a futon, the smallest wardrobe unit she'd ever seen, a desk, a half-size kitchen table with two chairs and a small stand with a thirteen-inch television on top. It wasn't much furniture, but nothing else would fit and still leave room to walk. “It's okay. It's…cozy.”

“It won't look so bad once all my extra stuff is out of here.” He picked up a box and carried it outside, so Georgette did the same. When all the boxes were outside, they moved her twelve boxes from the back of her truck inside, making it look exactly the same, except that this time, the boxes were hers.

Bob swiped one finger through the layer of dust on the desktop. “This isn't bad, considering that no one has lived here for a year. You'll probably want to clean up before you start unpacking. Just let me stack my boxes in the storage area, and I'll go into my place and see what I can find. This will give you some time to check the place out on your own.”

Before Georgette could protest, he was gone.

This was it. Her new home.

It felt like a closet with furniture. And lots of dirt.

She walked to what could loosely be defined as the kitchen. The refrigerator and stove were miniature versions, like those that might be found in a child's playhouse. Yet as small as they seemed, the size was appropriate to the rest of the dwelling. For the balance of the kitchen, one double-sized upper cabinet hung on the wall, and a double-sized lower cabinet with a countertop on it had been installed beside the fridge, half of the surface was taken up by a small sink. Even combined, the usable cupboard space wouldn't hold much, but Georgette had no idea what to put in them, anyway. She didn't know how to cook anything without a microwave oven, which was glaringly absent from the facilities. She didn't want to think about there being no dishwasher. But it didn't really matter. She didn't have any dishes.

A few steps further, she stepped into the doorway of
what had to be the bathroom, if the word
room
could be applied to a space so small.

Aside from the layer of dust, it looked relatively clean. To her surprise and delight, it was in much better condition than the washroom at the gas station where she changed her clothes every day.

“Well? What do you think?” Bob's voice echoed from behind her.

Her breath caught. She spun around, pressing her hands over her pounding heart.

“Oops. I didn't mean to scare you. I thought you heard me coming.”

“No, I didn't. Everything looks good, except the toilet is broken. There's no water in it.”

Bob grinned, then squeezed past her and knelt beside the toilet. He reached between it and the small vanity and turned a small chrome tap.

The trickling sound of running water resounded throughout the small room.

“That's because I turned the water off when Jason moved out. I didn't want it to stain.”

“Stain?” She suppressed a shudder. “Is there something wrong with your water?”

“No, but if no one is using the toilet, the water would go stagnant from not being flushed for months, and would stain the bowl as it slowly evaporated over time. So it was just best to leave it dry.”

The water stopped running. Bob turned and pushed the toilet handle, making it flush. She stared, fascinated, as the dry, empty bowl filled with clean water.

Georgette tried to stop the sinking feeling that threatened to envelop her. Her life had deteriorated to the point where she was happy to see a toilet flush.

“See? It works just fine. All this place needs is a good wipe-down and it'll be as good as new. I brought over a box of cleaning stuff and my vacuum cleaner for you to use. Now, if you'll excuse me, I should get back to work. I'll see you in a couple of hours.”

 

Bob parked his car on the cement pad beside the garage where he always parked, but today he looked at it from a different perspective.

There was a second vehicle parked here.

George's.

By now, George was probably nearly finished making his garage into her home.

He grabbed the bag with the two burgers he'd picked up at the drive-through on his way home, and slid out of the car. As he did, Bart's words of caution came back to haunt him.

Earlier, when he got back to the shop, he'd had a long talk with Bart. Bart had reminded him that it wasn't a great idea to have their employee living on his property. Bob had agreed, but he couldn't put her out on the street. George was a Christian sister who needed help, and he had the means to provide it. This also changed everything about their relationship, the parameters of which he still hadn't fully considered.

He pushed the car door closed and started walking toward the garage. Now that she was living closer than next door, he wondered if she would be attending church with him in the morning; he wanted her to be there with him. So far she'd been attending the evening services, but he thought she'd been continuing to attend at her home church for the morning services, though someone had mentioned to him they'd seen her at his church.
Now that she was so close, things could be different. However, he wasn't sure that would be wise. In his current position, he should have been setting firm lines to distance himself. Instead, the lines were becoming more fuzzy. Yet, he couldn't not take her if she asked, even if the only reason to go to his church, the closer one, was because she didn't have any money for gas.

As he approached the side door, he noticed that it was wide open. When he stepped into the opening, the scent of pine cleaner was so strong it made his eyes water.

Bob stepped back to give himself some air.

“George?”

She didn't reply, but he could hear splashing coming from the bathroom, as well as the noise of the fan. Since the bathroom door was also wide open, he considered it safe to continue inside.

The closer he got, the stronger the onslaught of pine became, until his eyes wouldn't stop watering. He swiped his eyes with the back of his hand, and stepped into the opening for the bathroom.

He found George wringing out the sponge in the bathroom sink.

“What are you doing in here?”

“I'm finally done. What do you think?”

He blinked repeatedly, but his eyes still burned. “It looks good, but I think the smell of the cleaner is a bit overpowering.”

“The label said it would make everything fresh and clean. It's antibacterial.”

Bob swiped his hand over his eyes again, and resisted the urge to cough. “That could be, but I think you used a little too much.”

George looked up at him, her eyes as red as his felt.
“The label said to use full strength on bathroom fixtures, and then diluted on wood and painted surfaces. So I did.”

He looked at the bottle, which was on the floor next to the toilet. Before today, he'd only used it once. It was now half empty.

He turned toward the shower stall. Part of him wanted to see how shiny she'd scrubbed the inside, but part of him didn't want to open it, for fear of getting knocked out by the fumes.

Bob cleared his throat. “I brought supper. We should eat before it gets cold.” Or permeated with pine. He would never again feel the same about walking through an evergreen forest.

They walked to the kitchen area. The sink, counters and appliances were so clean they sparkled, but the smell of pine wasn't diminished enough for Bob to want to expose his food to it. “Let's go into my house. I have ketchup.”

He didn't give her a chance to respond. He simply walked out, expecting her to follow, which she did. Once outside, he inhaled deeply. When he did, the sudden ability to draw in unscented oxygen made his head spin.

“We should leave the door open, to air the place out while we're gone. We can keep an eye on everything from the kitchen.”

All she did was nod, so Bob continued into his house. “It's kind of messy. I know I already said this earlier, but I wasn't exactly expecting company today. It's been a long, busy week, and housework isn't my first priority.”

“That's okay.”

Fortunately for Bob, he didn't have to lead her past his bedroom. The only time he made the bed was when he knew in advance that his mother was coming. The
first thing she did when she arrived was march to his bedroom to check that he'd made the bed. When he hadn't, which was every time he wasn't expecting her, she promptly lectured him. Now, he wished he'd listened to her.

George wiped her hands down the sides of her jeans. “If you don't mind, I need to wash my hands. I can still smell that cleaner.”

He pointed down the hall, hoping she wouldn't look into other rooms as she walked by. When she returned, she still smelled as if she'd been attacked by a pine tree, but he kept that thought to himself.

She joined him at the table, where he had already set a burger and fries in front of each of them, and poured them both a glass of milk. “I hope you're hungry.”

George smiled weakly. “Actually, I'm not sure how I feel. I was so busy cleaning I didn't think about eating. I hope I did it right.”

“I'm sure you did fine. Let's pray now, before this gets completely cold.” He bowed his head, and said a short prayer, thanking God for both the meal and George's new home, and he began to eat.

George sat there glassy-eyed staring at the burger.

Bob stopped chewing. “What's wrong?”

She blinked and picked up the burger. “I feel so strange about this. You bought me lunch and now supper, and I don't have any way to repay you. More than that, you've given me a place to stay, rent-free. I've never had to accept someone's charity before, and I can't say I like it very much. I wish there was something I could do to repay you.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Don't worry about it. I already told you it's not a big deal. It's not costing me
anything for you to stay in my garage. Although, now that you've cleaned it up, we should call it an apartment.” He smiled.