Coming to a Crossroads

by Marie Ferrarella

  Grabbing the lug wrench, her fingers tightened around it.

  His back to Liz as he assessed the tire again, Ethan said, “Well I’m not about to watch you wrestle with the tire. I am bigger than you are.”

  The man was trying to be helpful. Liz relaxed. But as far as she was concerned, size didn’t matter in this case. “Have you ever changed a tire before?” Liz asked.

  “No,” he admitted. “But I am a fast learner.” He flashed her a smile. “I figure you can talk me through it, like your stepfather talked you through it.”

  Liz sighed. “Look, Ethan, I appreciate the offer, but—”

  “Good. Then let’s get to it, shall we?” Ethan suggested.

  She was still very dubious. Maybe the man was trying to impress her and could wind up getting hurt in the process. She didn’t want that on her conscience.

  “You don’t earn your living with your hands, do you?” she asked.

  “No more than anyone else,” he said evasively.

  Liz noticed that he had avoided her eyes when he said that, which just raised her suspicions. “What do you do for a living?”

  Ethan paused—he could tell she wasn’t about to drop this unless he gave her an answer, and he wasn’t about to lie. For one thing, he had no gift for lying. He usually stumbled over anything that took him more than a couple of words to explain if it wasn’t truthful. It was rooted in the fact that he didn’t expect anyone to lie to him, so he felt that it would be a breach of good conscience to lie to someone else.

  Though he knew he was probably leaving himself open to a lecture, Ethan told her the truth. “I’m a general surgeon.”

  Liz’s blue-gray eyes widened as his words sank in. “A general—Go sit in the car,” she instructed, pointing toward the front seat.

  “I’m not a clumsy surgeon, I’m a general surgeon,” Ethan emphasized.

  “That may be, but I really doubt that you have to hoist any of your patients up on the table with a jack before you operate on them. A jack could slip if you don’t know how to do it right.”

  She made it sound ominous, Ethan thought. He began to protest that he could handle a jack, but she waved away anything he was going to say.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t think any less of you if you can’t change the tire,” she assured him.

  “That wasn’t my concern,” Ethan informed her. Although, if he was being truthful, that did enter into the general framework of the situation.

  “Oh, then what was?” Liz asked skeptically.

  “I didn’t want you to have to struggle getting the blown tire off and the new one on. It doesn’t take an Einstein to know those things are heavy,” he said. “Now will you please just accept my help so we can get the tire on the car and get off this road before some drunk or sleepy driver plows into us?”

  Liz sighed. “You do make a compelling argument,” she told him, which was her way of apologizing. A half smile curved the corners of her mouth. “You sure you’re not a lawyer?”

  He shivered as if the very idea left him cold. “Wouldn’t be caught dead being one.”

  “Going counterclockwise, loosen the lug nuts with the wrench,” she instructed, then commented, “That’s a pretty strong opinion. Any particular reason that you feel that way?”

  He frowned at her last instruction. “Shouldn’t I jack up the car first?”

  “Not yet. You have to get the lug nuts loosened about one-quarter to one-half a turn,” she told him.

  “Which is it, one-quarter or one-half?” he asked.

  “It varies. Trust me,” she said when he looked at her dubiously. “We’ll play it by ear. Or, I could just take over—” she offered.

  “One-quarter to one-half,” he murmured.

  “You didn’t answer me. Why did you say that you wouldn’t be caught dead being a lawyer?” Liz asked.

  Busy trying to loosen the lug nuts, the muscles in his arms straining so hard he could have sworn he felt each one individually, it took Ethan a minute to answer. He wanted to use words rather than just grunts, and right now all he was capable of was grunting as he worked to get each one of the incredibly tight nuts loose. It was not an easy proposition, getting each of the lug nuts loose.

  When he could finally speak, Ethan found himself gasping just a little. “That sounds like something a bartender might say,” he commented, sparing her a glance, “not a Chariot driver.”

  Liz laughed. Lucky guess, she thought. “Actually, I’m both—but not at the same time.”

  At this point, she was crouching beside him in case he needed help or suddenly decided to stop pitting himself against the lug nuts and handed over the wrench to her. But he didn’t. He went on fighting the good fight.

  Sweat was creasing his brow and looked as if it was going to be sliding into his eyes next. Shifting her weight, Liz pulled out her handkerchief and, very carefully, aware of every stroke, she wiped his brow.

  She also managed to startle him a little.

  Ethan pulled back his head as if he was getting out of the way of a mosquito, then realized it was the driver, trying to be kind. Because his hands were filthy by now, he didn’t try to take the handkerchief from her. Instead, he kept very still for a moment, letting her finish wiping away the perspiration before it could get into his eyes. All the while telling himself that he wasn’t reacting to this sweet-faced blonde’s touch as he felt her fingers grazing his skin.

  “Thanks,” he told her when, finished, she bunched up her handkerchief and slid it back into her pocket.

  Her smile was quick and fleeting. “Just doing my part,” Liz answered. Rising to her feet, she told him, “Now you’re ready to jack up the car.” When he laughed as he got up, she had to ask, “What’s so funny?”

  “I don’t know. It’s like I heard a little voice saying, ‘Put me in, Coach. Put me in now.’”

  “All right, if you say so,” she replied, thinking that maybe working with his hands made the man punchy.

  Jacking up the car took no real effort at all, especially not after what he’d gone through loosening the lug nuts.

  “So, a bartending Chariot driver. How does that happen?” he asked. One by one he worked loose the lug nuts until he had them all the way off.

  “It happens when there are college bills to pay,” she told him, her voice sounding as if she was distancing herself a little from the conversation.

  “Student loans, eh? Those can be brutal,” he agreed.

  With all four of the lug nuts finally off, Ethan gripped the tire by its treads and slowly pulled the shredded tire off its mount. He set the old tire on its side, then picked up the new tire. He lined up the rim with the lug bolts and pushed the tire into place.

  “I think I can see the light at the end of the tunnel,” Ethan declared, feeling exhilarated.

  “Me, too,” she agreed, but her mind was elsewhere. His comment had caught her attention. “How do you get to be a general surgeon without having a staggering amount of student debts to pay off yourself?” she asked. “It’s not that I don’t believe you.” The man was changing her tire. She would have believed that he could walk on water if it meant that he’d get the job done faster. “It’s just that I’m curious.”

  “Scholarships,” he answered her, beginning to tighten the lug nuts one by one, first by hand, then using the lug wrench, but only so far. “Lots and lots of scholarships. You’d be surprised how many organizations out there are ready—make that anxious,” he amended, “to give away sizable checks to perfect strangers. Not enough to pay for an entire education, mind you,” he qualified, “but stitched together, those generous checks can make an impressive dent in those staggering monthly payments. As for the amount that was left over, I picked up a job here and there to fill in the gaps, although,” he said, not wanting to give her the wrong impression—the wolf had never been at his door, huffing an
d puffing, “there weren’t too many of those.”

  “Jobs or gaps?” she asked.

  “Gaps,” he answered.

  She nodded. “So where do you hang your shingle?” she asked. “Do people still hang shingles?”

  “Probably,” he said, working on the last lug nut. “But I don’t.”

  Since he didn’t add anything, she took a guess. “Are you part of a group?”

  Ethan shrugged, dismissing the small storefront clinic he showed up at religiously. “It’s no place you would have heard of.”

  She took that as his way of closing the subject, so she dropped it, although she was still curious. Noticing that he was finally finished and that the tire was officially changed, she quietly began picking up the tools and deposited them, one by one, back into the trunk of her car.

  Securing the jack in its place, she then reached into the trunk and took out a thermos and a towel. Armed with both, she turned back around to face Ethan.

  “Here,” Liz announced, holding both items out toward him.

  Ethan looked at the offerings, then at her, quizzically. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

  “There’s water in the thermos,” she told him, then prompted, “I’d suggest pouring it on your hands and then using the towel to get some of that grease and dirt off,” she said, nodding at his hands. “I’ve seen my dog looking cleaner after rolling around in the mud. Here, put your hands out, and I’ll pour. As a surgeon, scrubbing up must be second nature to you.”

  Ethan laughed as she splashed water over his outstretched hands. “More so than changing tires. A lot more,” he said with feeling.

  “Well, I really appreciate the sacrifice,” she told him.

  He let her pour the water on his hands, turning them after a beat until both sides of both hands were wet.

  “Well, I got something out of it, too,” he said, taking the towel from her.

  “Oh, what?”

  He smiled at her. “Now I get to put ‘changed tire’ on my résumé.”

  She grinned. “Never know when that might come in handy.”

  Ethan was finished with the towel and handed it back to her. Liz noticed that he had a smudge on his cheek. Dipping the towel into what was left of the water, she proceeded to gently remove the black streak from Ethan’s cheek. She wasn’t prepared for the simple action to generate a bolt of excitement through her—but it did.

  “Now you’re clean,” she proclaimed, then amended, “Or as clean as you can get without taking a shower.”

  Ethan nodded. “First thing when I get home. I wouldn’t want to scare anyone.”

  “I really doubt that would ever happen, even if you came walking out of the ooze,” she murmured under her breath.

  “Did you say something?” Ethan asked her as he got back into her car.

  “Just that it’s getting really late,” she answered, saying the first thing that came to her mind.

  Sometimes, Liz thought, starting up her car, a girl just had to lie.

  Chapter Five

  Early Thursday morning, Nikki Connors breezed into the Well Being Clinic’s tiny back room, which served as an office for Ethan and whatever doctor had volunteered their services for at least part of that day. Thursdays were Nikki’s day.

  The tiny room also doubled as a medical storage area, leaving very little room for movement.

  “Well, you look none the worse for wear, Dr. O’Neill,” Nikki observed, putting down her medical bag on top of what was supposedly a desk. In fact, she thought with a pleased feeling, her friend looked as if he was positively thriving. “I thought you told me that you and some of your friends were throwing that bachelor party for... Joe, was it?” Nikki was doing her best to sound as if she wasn’t as invested in Ethan’s answer as she actually was. “Did you wind up calling it off?” she asked innocently.

  “Oh no, it was definitely on,” Ethan told her. “And his name was Joel.”

  “Joel,” she echoed, nodding her head. She pulled up one of the two rickety chairs and sat down. “So, tell me all about it,” she coaxed. “We’ve got about ten minutes before Dame Edna throws open the doors and patients start pouring in,” she said, referring to the nurse who had come out of retirement to work at the storefront clinic. Lowering her voice, Nikki added, “Don’t leave anything out.”

  There wasn’t all that much to leave in, Ethan thought, sitting down opposite Nikki, but he humored the woman he thought of as an older sister.

  “Well, Wayne, Jimmy and Pete got really soused. And as for Joel, last I saw, he got a ride from the entertainment and went home with her. To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure about the wedding going off as planned.”

  “How about you?” Nikki asked nonchalantly. “Did you get soused or were you the designated driver?”

  While he answered, Nikki was casting about for a way that her mother and those matchmaking friends of hers could bring Ethan and the Chariot driver together again, so she didn’t hear Ethan’s response immediately.

  “That’s no to both,” he told Nikki.

  Bringing herself back to the present, Nikki blinked. “Come again?”

  Ethan smiled. “Well, I didn’t get drunk, but I didn’t drive the guys home, either.”

  “Oh?” she asked with what she hoped was just the proper amount of surprise. “Why not?”

  “Because I had had a couple of shots,” Ethan explained, “and although I didn’t feel like I was intoxicated, I really didn’t want to take a chance with our safety.”

  “So what did you do?” Nikki prodded innocently. “Call a friend?”

  He laughed. “Anyone I called at that hour of the evening, asking them to pick up three very sloshed guys and me, would not have remained a friend for long. No, I used the Chariot number you gave me,” he said, giving credit where it was due. “I’d never used it before, but I have to admit it’s pretty efficient. I specified my location and where I want to wind up, and within minutes, a driver in the area connects with me.” Ethan grinned. “Kind of like a fairy godmother.”

  Nikki laughed at the image. “Except she comes with a meter instead of a wand.”

  “Yeah, there is that, too,” he agreed, thinking back to the way Liz had just seemed to appear out of the gathering evening mist.

  “What did she say when she saw that there were four of you who had to be dropped off in four different locations?” Nikki asked. She was attempting to urge him on with his story before Edna came in to interrupt them.

  “I put that in with my request. Wait.” He looked at her uncertainly. “How did you know the Chariot driver was a she? I didn’t say anything about gender.”

  He had caught her up short for a moment, and she searched for something plausible to use as an excuse. And then she remembered. “You said the driver appeared like a fairy godmother. I doubt you would have described the driver that way if it was a guy. I mean, a genie maybe, but definitely not a fairy godmother.”

  There, that should do it, Nikki thought.

  She watched her friend’s face to see if he had bought her explanation. To her great relief, he did.

  That had been a close one.

  Neither Ethan nor the Chariot-driving young college student would ever know just what machinations had to be orchestrated in order to have Liz and her Chariot available and in the vicinity of the nightclub where the bachelor party had taken place. But then, Nikki thought with a smile, Lucas, her husband, was a good sport. He had even told her that he could see how much this meant to her. So he had agreed to become an accessory to the setup so that Ethan could meet the woman who was so much better suited for him than that “cold-blooded, self-centered snob”—Nikki’s words, Lucas had specified—he had been engaged to.

  Because Catherine Van Houghton’s father ran a very successful practice, Nikki had found that their worlds did sometimes converge. It us
ually involved fund-raisers. Catherine had no interest in any sort of charitable donation or work, but she did enjoy parading around in gowns that were obviously in a price range over and above anything else found at the party. Making others envious was apparently her sole source of enjoyment.

  The woman, Nikki had long ago decided, was shallower than a puddle. She’d never understood how someone who had such a generous soul as Ethan could have ever gotten ensnared in her web.

  Ethan nodded. “I guess that makes sense.”

  “Was she nice?”

  Nikki’s question came out of the blue and threw Ethan for a moment before he realized what she was asking and about whom.

  “Actually, yes, she was. She even tolerated Jimmy hitting on her.”

  Amusement touched her eyes. “What happened?” Nikki asked.

  “She put him in his place,” he answered simply.

  “By hitting him?” Nikki guessed. She hoped that hadn’t thrown a wrench into the works. She could see Ethan getting in the way of flying fists. But a quick survey of his face told her she was worrying for nothing.

  So far.

  Ethan laughed, remembering what had happened that evening. “By telling him about the Taser she had in her purse.”

  “Did she? Have one?” Nikki added when she realized her sentence was incomplete.

  “She might have, but I don’t think so,” Ethan admitted. “She told Jimmy if she took it out to show him, she intended to use it. He got pretty quiet after that.”

  I like her already, Mom, Nikki thought.

  “So,” Nikki concluded out loud, “the evening was uneventful.”

  “After the blowout, yes,” Ethan agreed in an offhand manner as he shifted in his chair, getting ready to get up.

  “Hold it, back up a minute,” Nikki ordered, clamping her hand over his wrist. “What blowout?”