Roadside Assistance (2 page)

I shrugged. “I’m fine.” I was
not
going to open up to her. She’d never understand how I felt.

She frowned, her eyes moving down to my hands, streaked with grease stains from last-minute fixes on the Suburban this morning.

Oh no. Here come the lectures. Why didn’t I scrub my hands with Gojo before we left?
I swallowed a sigh.

Darlene clicked her tongue. “You got yourself back into that grease again?”

I leveled my glance, not backing down. “Dad needed some help with the truck this morning, so I pitched in.”

She took her hand in mine, running her fingers over my dry skin. “You know it’s not very ladylike to play with engines. Boys tend to like girls who dress and act like girls.”

I swallowed a gasp. The words stung almost as much as when Tyler broke up with me.

“Yeah, well, someone has to help him get the truck running, right, Dad?” I glanced at my dad, who grinned while nodding. “Besides, it’s not very ladylike to be broken down at the side of the road with a packed U-Haul, right?”

“That’s right,” Dad chimed in.

Darlene frowned, her eyes focused on my hands. “I guess you’re right. Why aren’t you using that lotion I bought you? You’ve got some seriously dry skin, young lady. The goopy stuff is not very good for your hands.”

So when did she become my mom? I bit my bottom lip, censoring my words. “I ran out.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but Darlene wouldn’t have been happy to hear I’d given the froufrou-smelling lotion to Megan a month ago. The scent of lilac didn’t appeal to me.

“Well then,” Darlene said with a smile. “We’ll just have to take you out shopping and get you some more. Oh, and look at those nails.” She clicked her tongue. “Emily Claire, we’ve got to get you back to the salon too.”

“Absolutely,” I muttered. “I can’t wait.”

My dad placed a hand on my shoulder. “I think the nail salon may have to wait until we’re all moved in.”

I breathed a sigh of relief when Uncle Chuck appeared on the stairs, taking the focus away from me.

“You made it!” he announced, taking the front steps two at a time. He definitely looked the rich banker part. His graying brown hair was cut short and his smile was bright against his tanned skin. I’d bet the tan was courtesy of the golf course.

My mom once called Darlene and Chuck “Barbie and Ken,” and I could totally see that now. They were perfect standing in front of their “dream house” with their designer clothes and
brown tans. All they needed was the pink Corvette. Maybe there was one in the back garage.

I suppressed a smile at the thought.

“Good to see you, Brad,” Chuck said, shaking my dad’s hand.

The backfire of a loud engine drowned out my dad’s reply. I turned toward the street just as a dark-haired boy my age piloted a 1970 Dodge Challenger into the driveway next door, the motor ticking with an irregular sound. Obviously a project car, it was faded green and peppered with gray primer spots.

I could feel the thump of the engine reverberating a deep, low drone against my chest. I bit my lower lip, squelching the urge to run over to the garage and help him fix that tick. My interest and specialty had always been Chevrolets, an affection I’d inherited from my dad. But rebuilding a Dodge would be a fun challenge. One I could use right now.

My dad’s brown eyes flashed with a question, waiting for me to diagnose the car’s thumping problem as I always did when I helped out at his shop back home.

“I hear a bad tick,” I said. “Bet he’s got to tear it apart and rebuild the whole top end of the motor. Sounds like a big block.”

He smacked my back. “Good girl.”

I grinned with triumph. I still loved impressing my dad. Lately it seemed like cars were all we talked about. But at least we still talked.

As the thundering engine died in the distance, I turned toward the sound of the front door slamming shut. Tall, slender Whitney negotiated the front steps like a runway model. At five foot ten, she topped me by three inches. A faint hint of black roots lined the symmetrical part on her blonde head as well, and I wondered if she and her mother made a girls’ day out of their salon appointments to take care of those pesky roots.

With a pink, sequined cell phone pressed to her ear, she spoke, gesturing with her hands. Her fingernails and toenails were painted a deep red, matching her lipstick. I wondered if
Teen Vogue
had ever considered her for one of their covers. Surely Grandma must’ve sent them at least one photograph.

“Exactly, Kristin,” she was saying as she headed toward us, all business. “I’m having a small pool party at my house tonight. Come over around seven. Call the rest of the girls. This is our last chance for some fun before school starts Tuesday.” She nodded, listening. “Okay. Gotta go. My cousin is here.
Ciao.”

Snapping the phone closed, a smile grew on her rosy lips. “Uncle Brad! Emily!” Arms extended, she pulled my dad and me into a hug, and I nearly choked at the stench of her flowery perfume, without a doubt the latest designer fragrance.

She stepped back and grinned. “It’s so wonderful to see you again. You look great!”

“Thanks.” I adjusted the baseball cap on my head. Whitney was a good liar, seeing as she’d nodded in agreement when her mother criticized my attire during their last visit.

“Well, I guess we better start unpacking,” my dad said, stepping to the back of the trailer. “We’re loaded down.” He pulled keys from his pocket and unfastened the lock. The metal rods squealed in response, and the doors groaned opened. “I hope you all ate your Wheaties this morning. We brought a lot of junk.”

Embarrassed, I wished I could hide in the backseat of the truck. I couldn’t even imagine what Whitney and her family would think of our possessions.

Chuck snatched a duffle bag and suitcase from the pile in the trailer. Slinging the bag over his arm, he headed up the stairs. “Whitney, put the phone down and grab something. If we all pitch in, we’ll get it unloaded quickly.”

“Logan can help too. You’ll just have to surgically remove him from his controller.” Whitney’s gaze swept over my attire.
“Do you have your bathing suit? A few of my friends are coming over later to swim. I thought it would be nice to have one last girls’ night before classes start Tuesday.”

“Oh.” I glanced down at my faded blue T-shirt and denim shorts and then back at the trailer. “I doubt I can find my suit in that mess.”

Whitney shrugged. “No worries. You can borrow one of mine.”

I bit back a snort. As if I could fill out one of her bikinis. “That’s okay,” I said. “I have plenty of unpacking to do. I’m sure I’ll meet your friends at school.”

“Emily.” She touched my shoulder, her expression serious. “Have some fun. You have the rest of the year to unpack.”

“Girls,” Darlene called, heaving two large tote bags onto her slight shoulders. “You can get caught up later. Let’s unpack now.”

Saved by Darlene of all people. I threw a backpack onto my back and grabbed a suitcase with wheels and then followed my aunt up the steep front steps and into the large foyer. In front of me, a sweeping open staircase unfurled to the second floor.

To my right was a large living room, complete with a baby grand piano, matching brown leather sofa and love seat, and curio cabinets filled with expensive-looking figurines. The doorway behind it led into the kitchen, as I recalled. To my left was a spacious formal dining room, with a long dark wooden table that would comfortably seat eight. Alongside it sat a huge matching hutch filled with formal dishes. The furniture alone was probably worth more than our old house. I wondered if Whitney knew just how lucky she was to have all of this.

“This way, dear,” Darlene called while walking up the stairs.

At the top of the stairs, we stepped into a long hallway lined with doors on either side. A bookshelf packed with books, framed photographs, and knickknacks sat at the end of the hallway.

“I’ll give you a quick tour before we head into your room.” Darlene nodded as we walked by a row of doors. “This is Logan’s room.” She stopped and popped her head in. “Logan, turn off the game. Emily is here.”

Logan glanced over and grinned. “Hey, Emily.” He stood and clicked off the television. At ten, he was tall for his age, much like his parents and sister. He had sandy blond hair and deep brown eyes.

“Hi, Logan.” I glanced around his room, which was twice the size of what I’d had back home. Star Wars and car posters cluttered the deep-blue walls. A bunk bed, the top unmade with Star Wars sheets hanging over the side, took up the far wall.

“Logan, go down and help your father and uncle empty the trailer,” Darlene said, heading back down the hallway.

“This is Whitney’s room,” Darlene said as we passed a room decorated in all pastels and white furniture. She then pointed toward the end of the hallway. “I thought I’d put your father in the room over the garage since there’s a flat screen and a sofa along with the bed. It’s sort of a suite.”

She pointed toward another door, this one at the other end of the hall. “That’s our room.” Then she nodded across the hall to two doors. “That’s the bathroom, and this is your room. It’s a guest room, as you can see.”

She opened the door to a large room, probably three times the size of my old one, with a couple of bookshelves, a double bed, a love seat, a triple dresser, and a bureau holding a flat-screen television. The walls were a light peach, and the bed contained matching decorative pillows. Four paintings of seascapes and lighthouses graced the walls.

She opened a door to a huge walk-in closet. Empty hangers cluttered the rod, and shelves lined the far wall.

“I moved all of the clothes to my closet so you have plenty of room.” She placed my things on the bed and pointed toward
the bureau and dresser. “Those are empty too. You can unpack everything and feel at home.”

“Oh, I won’t need all this space,” I said, shaking my head. “I probably won’t fill half of the closet or dresser, but thank you.”

She waved off the comment with a smile. “Oh, you don’t need to thank me.” Then she hugged me. “We’re family, Emily. If you need anything, just let me know.”

“Thanks,” I said, glancing around the room, trying to process it all in my brain. Yesterday I was standing in my tiny room with my single bed. Now I was moving into a peach guest room with decorative pillows and paintings of beaches and lighthouses.

As nice as the space was, I knew my boxes of car manuals and magazines would never go with the décor. It would remain a guest room.

Whitney appeared in the doorway with a brown suitcase. “Does this go in here?”

“Yeah.” I gestured toward a hope chest that had been made into a seat complete with padding, which sat in front of two large windows. “Right there would be great. Thanks.”

“Let’s get some light in here,” Whitney said, drawing the long peach curtains back and raising the white blinds. Sunlight flooded the room.

I stepped to the window and peered out over the backyard, which was even bigger than it had looked from the street. A deck, complete with a long table, several chairs, and an umbrella, stretched from the back of the house to a concrete patio. In the center of the yard was the pool, surrounded by more concrete lined with chaises. Various pool toys bobbed in the crystal blue water, which sparkled in the sun. The long driveway that snaked around from the front of the house ended at the garage.

The car I’d heard earlier roared and sputtered again, and I
glanced toward the fence separating Whitney’s yard from the neighbor’s.

A larger, four-bay detached garage sat on the other side of the fence. The doors were up, revealing a cluttered mess of toolboxes and engine parts with the Dodge in the center of it all. The boy I’d seen earlier emerged from the driver’s seat. I absently wondered if he’d figured out the engine needed to be rebuilt. A hunter-green Jeep Wrangler, the top removed, was parked in the driveway outside of the garage. This guy was a Chrysler fan, all the way.

“Who lives there?” I asked once the engine noise died.

“The Stewarts,” Whitney said, pulling her phone from her pocket, checking the screen, punching buttons. “That garage is always noisy, but I guess you’re used to that.” Her phone chimed and she grinned. “Awesome. Tiffany’s coming too.”

Chuck burst through the door with an armload of boxes. “These go here?” he asked, panting as if he’d run up the stairs double-time.

I spotted my name scrawled on the side in black Sharpie. “Yes, thanks. Drop them anywhere.”

“Let’s go, girls,” Darlene called from the hallway. “I’d like to get the trailer unloaded so I can start supper.”

Part of me wondered if she also wanted to get our stuff out of their driveway before all the neighbors saw our belongings, and I hoped that wasn’t the case.

Three hours later, the trailer now empty and parked in front of the detached garage, I sat across from my dad and between Logan and Whitney at the large kitchen table. The center of the table was cluttered with platters and serving bowls full of baked chicken, mashed potatoes, mixed vegetables, rolls, and salad. While it smelled heavenly, my appetite had evaporated the moment we’d pulled into the driveway.