Roadside Assistance (16 page)

“Really?” I raised my eyebrows. “Was it a complicated AC problem?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Would you consider helping me diagnose the problem with my dad’s AC?” I asked.

“Hmm.” He rubbed his chin. “I don’t know. I’ll have to see if I can work it into my schedule.”

I clicked my tongue and shook my head. “Well, if you can’t help me, then I don’t think I can help you with your car.”

He laughed. “Of course I’ll help you. Let me know when you want to look at it.” He gestured toward the phone in my hand. “I hear Whitney hooked you up with a phone today. Very cool.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a phone.” I held it up. “It has all of her old contacts, so you’re in there.”

“I like the camo theme better than the sequins. Can I see it?” He took if from my hand, hit a few buttons, and another phone began to play a song I’d heard on the radio. He fished the phone from his pocket, opened it up and started typing. Holding it up, I read “Chevy Girl” on the screen. “Now you’re
programmed in. I can send you texts telling you my Dodge can outrun your Chevy.”

I laughed. “I’ll have to change your contact name to Mr. Mopar.”

Whitney shook her head. “You guys are two peas in a pod.” My cheeks burned again.

“Are you going to Kristin’s party tonight?” Whitney asked. “Should be a really great time.”

I studied my phone, and started to answer Megan’s text from earlier.

“Hello?” Whitney asked. “Did you hear me?”

“Huh?” I looked up. “Were you talking to me?”

“Yeah!” She shook her head. “Who did you think I was talking to?”

“Zander.” I pointed at him.

“I’m not sure.” He ran his hand through his hair, obviously stalling or fabricating an excuse to not attend. “I have some stuff I need to get done at the house.”

“You can work on that stupid car any time,” Whitney said, jamming a hand on her small hip. “This party is going to be a blast, and everyone will be there.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “I’ll see. I’m not sure yet.”

She looked at me. “What about you?”

“I’m not sure,” I said. “I was hoping to go to the movies with Chelsea.” It was the truth, and I had texted her earlier. I just hadn’t heard back from her yet.

She blew out a sigh. “Why do I even bother asking you two?”

“Girls!” Darlene called from the bay door leading to the parking lot. “Let’s go!”

“See ya,” Whitney said, marching across toward her mother.

“I guess we’re leaving,” I said.

“See ya later,” he said. “Maybe I’ll call you.”

I grinned. “And maybe I’ll answer.”

He laughed in response. As I started toward my dad, my heart fluttered.

chapter ten

M
y dad stood in the doorway of my room later that evening. “Why didn’t you go to the party with Whitney?” I closed my journal and placed it next to me on the window seat. “I didn’t want to.” I shrugged. “I was hoping to go to the movies with Chelsea, but I haven’t heard back from her yet.”

He lowered himself onto the edge of the bed. “You should call her and see if she wants to go out. Don’t sit in here by yourself.” Apparently, even if I spent an entire day out with Darlene and Whitney, I was still in danger of becoming a hermit.

I glanced down at my flip-flops and then at my phone sitting on the dresser. It wasn’t worth a fight. “Okay. I’ll send her another text. Does that make up for blowing off the party at Kristin’s house?”

To my surprise, my dad smiled. “Yes, that works.”

“Fine.” I retrieved my phone. “I’ll call her now.”

“Great!” My dad stood. “I just want you happy, Emily. That’s my goal. We all need some happiness after the year we had.”

After he was gone, I texted Chelsea:

Hi. Did you get my text? Want to go to a movie 2nite?

While I waited for her reply, I went back to writing in my journal:

Saturday, September 3

Dear Mom,

I endured a “girls’ day out” with Darlene and Whitney today. It actually wasn’t as bad as you’d think. Grandma was critical of me, as usual, but Whitney came to my defense. I’m starting to feel like I could be friends with Whitney, and it’s kind of nice. For some reason, I have a good feeling — a better feeling about things. I don’t know if it’s because of Zander or something else. I just think things may get better. I just wish I could find my faith in God again.

My phone pinged and I opened it to find a return text:

Hey Em. Glad you got phone. At Dads for wkend. C U Tues.

Hope you njoy holiday. Chels.

The holiday! I’d forgotten Monday was Labor Day, and Chelsea went to her father’s house for every holiday weekend.

I needed another avenue to get my dad off my back about missing the party. I glanced out the window and spotted Zander walking over to the garage. He punched the keypad, and the door lifted.

Perfect!

I checked my hair in the mirror and then felt silly for the effort. Why was I worried about my appearance? I knew the answer — I liked Zander. Really
liked
him. But I wondered if he and I would make a good couple. Yes, we had a lot in common, but our little talk about faith during youth group still bothered me. I couldn’t endure it if he preached to me every time I expressed a doubt.

I made my way down the stairs and past my dad, who was watching a show featuring a guy building a souped-up motorcycle.

“Are you and Chelsea going to the movies?” he asked as I passed him.

“Nope. She’s at her dad’s.” I stopped in the doorway. “I’m going to see Zander in his garage. Does that qualify as a social engagement?”

“Yes,” he called after me. “I’ll accept that.”

I shook my head. “Glad you approve,” I deadpanned. “See you later.”

Zander was perched on a stool and studying a car manual when I entered the garage.

“So, let me get this straight,” I began. “You work on cars and push a broom all day for a living and then you come home and work on cars for pleasure.”

Grinning, he closed the manual and placed it on the counter beside him. “Being a fellow motorhead, I figured you of all people would understand that.”

I leaned against the car and crossed my arms over my shirt. “Yeah, I do actually. I could work on them twenty-four seven, if I was able.” I pointed toward the door. “That keypad you have outside, I see you use it all the time.”

“I know what you’re going to ask.” He gestured toward the Jeep. “I lost the remote control for the door. I actually managed to lose a total of four, and I’m sick of paying for new ones. So I have to use the keypad. I had each controller on the visor in my Jeep with the convertible top off. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out how I lost them.”

I tried in vain to stifle a laugh.

He gestured toward the side door. “I also managed to misplace the key for the side door, so I can’t use that door either.”

Without warning, I guffawed.

“It’s okay.” He shrugged. “You can laugh. I did. If you ever need to get in here, I’ll tell you the secret code. Although it’s really not much of a secret. Just hit zero, six, zero, seven, and then enter. Although, sometimes you have to hit enter twice.”

“Zero six zero seven?” I asked.

He smiled. “Yeah. My birthday.”

“June seventh?”

He nodded. “That’s right.”

“Cool.”
Now I know your birthday.

“When’s your birthday?” he asked.

“November twenty-fourth,” I said. “This year it’s Thanksgiving.”

“Cool,” he said.

“I guess so.” I shrugged, not wanting to admit how much of a double whammy it would be to experience my first birthday and Thanksgiving without my mom all rolled into the same day. “So why didn’t you go to Kristin’s party?”

He hopped down from the stool and crossed to the refrigerator. “I had more important things to do. Why aren’t you there?” He returned with two cans of Coke and tossed one to me.

“I had much more important things to do —specifically, avoid overcrowded parties with people I barely know. I’d planned to go to the movies with Chelsea, but she’s at her dad’s. I forgot she goes to see him every holiday weekend.” I opened the can, which popped and fizzed loudly. “Thanks for the drink.”

“You’re welcome.” He dragged over a stool and set it in front of me. “Have a seat. So I’m your second choice for the evening. Wait a minute.” He pretended to count off on his fingers. “I’m your
third
choice since you considered the party and then Chelsea before you came over here.”

“That’s not necessarily true.” I grinned. “I’d considered staying in my room too.”

He laughed. “You’re never short on comebacks are you?”

“Nope. How was your day?” I hopped up onto the stool.

He took a long drink of soda and then shrugged. “It was the usual. Lots of sweeping, some real car work. Not exciting but good just the same.”

“How’s the new boss?”

Zander nodded. “The new boss is good. Your dad knows what he’s doing, and I think the other guys like him too.”

I held my finger over the edge of the can. “His old employees liked him a whole lot. He ran a good shop.”

“Can I ask what happened?”

“Mom’s cancer,” I whispered, studying the Coke logo. “It took everything from us — the business, our money, our house, and most importantly, Mom.”

“I’m truly sorry,” he said.

I glanced up and found his eyes full of sympathy, and it was almost overwhelming. “Thank you.”

“So, how was your day?” he asked, lifting the can again. I snorted. “Not as good as yours.”

He raised an eyebrow. “No? You got a cell phone, right? That was good.”

“Yeah. I got Whitney’s hand-me-down.” I sighed. “I feel like a charity case. It makes me crazy. Like I’ll always be less than her, you know?”

He shook his head and seemed contemplative. “No, I don’t see that at all.”

“Well, here’s an example.” I set the can on the trunk of the car behind me. “We went to see our grandma — my dad’s mom, who obviously is also Darlene’s mom. Everything with Grandma has always been about Whitney. She even would call my house back home and brag about Whitney.”

He snorted. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I’m so
not
kidding,” I said, gesturing with my hands. “Grandma would call every Sunday night and tell us everything Whitney was doing: her straight As, her cheerleading, her volunteer work with the youth group, on and on. So today we go see Grandma, and it’s the first time I’ve seen her since the funeral. She immediately criticizes my hair.”

“Your hair?” Zander looked surprised. “What’s wrong with your hair?”

I pursed my lips.
“Everything
is wrong with my hair. Darlene asks me all the time if I want her help to straighten it.” “Why would you straighten it?”

“Beats me. Darlene even dragged me to a salon to have my hair straightened and my makeup and nails done the day of the funeral.” I pulled a strand of curls over my shoulder and held it up for emphasis. “She hates my hair. Today my grandma suggested I borrow Whitney’s shampoo to lessen the frizz.”

Zander shook his head, staring at my hair. I wished I could read his mind to see if he thought I was insane or just overreacting.

“There’s nothing wrong with your hair,” he said. “In fact, I like your hair.”

“You do?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “It’s, well, nice.”

“Nice?” I repeated slowly, wondering what it meant. Did he find my hair as captivating as I found his eyes?

He laughed. “Does that somehow make me not manly or something? Believe me, I’m a guy. I’m just saying that your hair is part of what makes you … you.”

“Wow,” I said, flabbergasted by his words. Had I finally met someone who accepted me for who I was without trying to make me into something I’m not?

I grasped my can in my hands. “Grandma even asked me if I was going to join cheerleading with Whitney. My dad, of all people, asked me that the night we moved in.
They
are both off their rockers.”

He sipped his Coke and then shook his head. “I know what that’s like to try to be something you’re not, and it doesn’t work out. That’s how I messed up my knee.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was trying so hard to be like my brother in order to win my dad’s approval, and I wound up pushing myself too hard and having knee surgery for the effort.” He glanced down at his leg. “All I ever heard was what a great athlete and student Andrew was. So, to shut my dad up, I went out for football and didn’t even make it through the season. I made some great friends during my time on the team, but Andrew’s life wasn’t for me.”

He gestured around the garage. “This is where I want to be, not on the football field or in medical school. I finally got tired of fighting with my dad. I talked to Pastor Keith about it, prayed about it, and then I finally told my dad that I have to be me. He was angry for a while, but the arguments finally stopped.”

“That helped you?” I asked.

He looked surprised at my response. “Absolutely. Hey, have you thought more about what I said during youth group? I mean, you’re talking to God now, right?”

I studied my soda can. “Yeah, sure. Of course I am.” I was too embarrassed to admit the trouble I’d had praying, or that God wasn’t exactly talking to me either. I was also hoping Zander would drop the subject.

“You don’t have to lie to me,” he said softly.

Looking up I found his curious eyes watching me. Was he reading my thoughts? “I’m not lying,” I insisted, my cheeks heating. My eyes were drawn to the cross around his neck. His faith was intimidating and intriguing all at once. Like it had been for my mom, it seemed so easy for him. I wished I could harness it and make some of it my own, but I didn’t know how. All I knew was faith had to come from your heart, and mine was only filled with doubt.

“Are you going to church tomorrow?” he asked.

“I guess.” I shrugged.

“Church might make you feel better about things.” He placed the can on the workbench beside him. “I’ve found that whenever I’m really down, I’ll read my Bible or pray, and it lifts me up.”

He sounded just like Whitney. I studied his eyes, trying to picture him curled up on the sofa with the Bible in his lap. Somehow, I could see it. I could almost imagine him nodding in agreement with the verses and smiling as he turned the page.