by Raquel Belle
You’ve got to be kidding me.
I clench my jaw and wheel my luggage to the embarrassment-on-wheels. “Mom, really?” I say, as I open the back door and toss my bags in.
“What?” she asks and turns to look at me as I get in. “You look lovely, dear.” She leans over and kisses the cheek I push closer to her, totally ignoring my comment.
“Old Blue? You came all the way to Nashville in Old Blue?”
“What’s wrong with Old Blue?” She asks, her pale, brown eyes twinkling. Her soft curls peek out from the black headwrap she’s wearing. The rest of her outfit is typical—a denim suit and boots. She cranks up the car as it rolls from the curb slowly.
“No wonder you took so long to get here,” I say, “and I was planning to drive back and save you the trouble, but I don’t have a clue how to make this thing go.”
Mom cackles softly. “Oh, stop, it’s not as bad as you make it seem. This car comes with a lot of memories.”
“I bet. Over sixty years’ worth,” I say, cheekily, and look out the window, grateful that we’re going to Willow Creek and not through Manhattan. I’d be a spectacle.
Mom waves me off as she stares ahead at the road…in a little while we’re at a street that gets narrower when we begin heading into Willow Creek, the town that most people don’t even know exist. I can’t believe I spent eighteen years of my life here.
“So, how was the flight?” She asks, and the dimple in her right cheek deepens when she smiles.
“Wasn’t so bad,” I say, and pull down the visor to check my makeup. “Just three hours. Could be worse. I am hungry, though.”
She beams. “Good, because I made pie.”
“Oh, great! Maybe I can…”
Pow! Pow!
“What the…?!” I exclaim and look around in shock at the popping sound coming from under the car. “Mom, is that the car?”
She shrinks lower in her seat. “Yep.”
“See, this is why I told you to take the Prius,” I scold her as if she’s the child.
“I know, dear,” she says, “but I wanted to surprise you in this one.”
“Yeah, you nailed that one. Consider me surprised…”
Pow!
“Oh, for crying out loud,” I say and clutch my chest. “Can this thing even get us back to Willow Creek? Mom, we can’t get stuck on Willow Creek Road. There’s no signal out here, and I’m not dressed to walk into town.”
She laughs. “You worry too much.” Pow! Crank! Scrape! The car bounces, and I think at any minute it’s going to fall apart. “Nothing to worry about.”
“Clearly, your idea of things to worry about is different from mine.” Pow! I jump again. “You know what? Let me out. I want to get out while I can still get a signal. I’ll call dad to come and get us.”
Mom starts laughing harder. “Don’t be so dramatic. It’ll get us home, won’t you boy?”
Pow!
The car backfires and sputters in response to her question, and I’m left clinging to the edge of my seat. Not that I think that it’s enough to support me, but it’s the only thing I have. That and the handle bar over my head that I’m white-knuckling.
“Fine,” Mom says as she holds up her hand. “I’ll go check it out when we get back.”
“Check it out? Mom, you and Dad need to get rid of this car. I’m sorry, but it’s like an accident waiting to happen.”
“Nonsense,” Mom says. “He still has a lot of miles left in him.”
I shake my head and look out the window. “I’m tired, and I don’t want to stop at the auto shop before I get home.”
“It won’t take long,” she says. “We’ll just get this sputtering checked out.”
“Seems like it happens a lot,” I say and rest my elbow on the window.
She smiles. “Well, it is a sixty-year old car.”
“It’s a waste of money to fix, is all I’m saying. You know what?” I turn to Mom and say, decidedly, “next year, I’m getting you a car for Christmas.”
She laughs. “That’s nice, but you’re still going to have to convince your father to sell his beloved Old Blue.” Her eyes flash as what seems like a wave of nostalgia washes over her.
“But it’s not just his Old Blue, is it?”
I know how much she loves the car. It’s the first car they shared, and the one Dad had when he took her on their first date. It holds a lot of fond memories, all of which mean little to me at present, as I see my life flashing before my eyes.
Okay, maybe it’s not that extreme, but at the very least, we could get stuck in the middle of nowhere any minute.
I’m not looking forward to stopping at the shop. The auto shop. It belongs to the Tuckers for over three generations. It will pass to Michael Tucker III, fondly called Trip, as soon as his father hands it over.
That might not be for a while though. Trip, like his father, and his grandfather, enlisted in the Army right out of high school. He was the love of my life, and I haven’t seen him since.
“I can’t believe I forgot how beautiful this place can be,” I say, as I take in the dense green foliage that borders the single main road into Willow Creek. The rise and fall of the mounds and valleys on either side are dotted with the occasional ranch or farm, with white and spotted cows accessorizing the hillside.
The clear blue sky that looms ahead is interrupted by thin clouds that drift across the canvas, as if they’re circling the globe. It’s picturesque, and I sigh contentedly and relax just a little bit.
I feel like Mom’s looking at me, and when I cock my head to the side, I see her turning away. I sigh. “What is it? I know you want to say something.”
“Not really…” she says.
I can tell she’s lying—she’s never been good at it. “Spill.”
“It’s just an idea, is all,” she says, vaguely, and toys with the steering wheel cover.
“What’s just an idea?”
She sighs and glances briefly at me, the crow’s feet at her eyes thickening, as she squints. “What if you moved back here?”
I stare at her for a while before I begin to laugh. “You’re not serious.”
“Why not?” She says, this time in her serious voice—as if to refute my earlier statement.
“Mom, why exactly would I do that? There’s nothing here.”
“Well, honey, you’re a personal banker. You could do a lot here with that. There are a lot of upper and upper-middle class families in the area. They must need advice.”
I laugh again. “I’m sure they do, but there’s not enough business in town. It would be easier to be a carpenter, or shoemaker, or a landscaper.”
“You could consider a career change,” she says, and then laughs.
“Very funny, Mom,” I say and giggle with her. “But…” I look around again, as the first signs of life appear on the horizon. “I don’t have a problem visiting every now and again.”
“I know this isn’t New York or anything, but New York is no place to raise a family.”
“A family? Mom, I don’t have a family…”
“I know. Maybe that’s why,” she says, stubbornly.
I groan inwardly. We’re not having that family talk again. She’s been suggesting it a lot, maybe because she’s getting old. She wants a grandchild, but I’m not ready for any of that. I’m still trying to figure out how to find the time to go back to school to earn my MBA.
“I’m not moving back to town so I can start a family, so…I’m sorry to disappoint you,” I say. It’s the only argument she can’t win, and it hurts that I can’t even pretend to let her—the way any child would do for an aging parent.
“Pity,” is all she says, as she pushes up her lower lip. “I’m going to die old and alone with no grand babies.”
“Mom, come on,” I say to her calmly. “Don’t go overboard with this. It’s Christmas. Let’s just enjoy that, okay?”
She sighs when she looks at me. “Okay.” A smile lights up her face. “But you never
know when or how life might surprise you.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind,” she says, quickly.
“Wow, Old Blue made it,” I say, when I see the town sign—Welcome to Willow Creek, population 4,867.
That’s depressing. Although, in all fairness, that’s a decent number of people. There are towns with just a hundred people.
“Can you just take me home before you take Old Blue to the shop?” I ask, turning to face Mom. “I don’t want to be at the shop right now with this old thing. God knows how long we’ll be there. Dad can bring it back.”
“Look, it’s just up ahead. No sense in going all the way home just to bring it back. And like I said, it’s happened before, so it won’t take very long to get checked out.”
I heave an exasperated sigh. It’s still useless arguing with my mother—This one I can’t win. No wonder I didn’t pursue law. She was a daily discouragement.
The dented and faded blue sign hanging over Tuckers Autobody Shop creaks, as the car turns into the driveway. It’s going to be a long afternoon.
“I’ll stay here while he checks it out,” I say, as she opens her door.
“Don’t be silly. What if they need to mount it?”
“Then they can do that with me in it,” I say. I’m trying to be difficult to dissuade her, but all she does is get out of the car anyway, and slams the door.
Now, I’m forced to get out as well. I climb out of the car and look around. The air is cool, and I hug myself, as I walk around. I look towards town and see the store signs, all in a row, along the only stretch of road there is. I’m glad we arrived before the rush hour traffic. It’s like New York sometimes, being the only road in and out of the district. If Old Blue had given out on the road, we’d have caused a traffic pile-up…I find that thought amusing—a pile-up on Willow Creek Road. Ha!
The dense foliage thins to allow for houses and buildings on either side. In truth, the town looks like a Monopoly game board.
“Jasmine? Is that you?”
I turn to see Bubba hurrying out to greet me, wiping his greasy hands in a rag.
“Sure is,” I say.
“Sorry, can’t shake your hand,” he says, as he grins. “Home for the holidays?”
I smile. “Yeah… Heck of a way to start it, right?”
He glances behind me, and his eyes narrow. “Old Blue again?”
“Tell me about it. Like I wanted to get picked up in Nashville in that tin can,” I say.
Bubba laughs. “Well, let’s see what’s wrong with him this time.”
I roll my eyes and walk back to the car as he checks it out. “What’s not wrong with him?”
He chortles deep in his throat. “I know, right? But, he’s a classic. You don’t just throw away a car like this.”
“I beg to differ. That’s the only thing to do with a car like this,” I say and look around. “Where’s my Mom?”
“With the boss,” he says without looking at me.
“Mr. Tucker?”
“Yep,” he says and pops the hood of the car.
“Oh, I should go and say hi.”
“Yep.”
I laugh at his monosyllabic responses. The shop looks the same as I remember it—a garage in the front, with a collection of old parts and junk stored along the walls, a ramp in the middle, a shelf in the back that houses bottles and cans of brake fluid, engine oil, coolant and a variety of other car must-haves.
A red door separates the garage from the small office, where I suspect Mom is tucked away—no pun intended. I’m not sure what she’s doing in there, but as I walk past the ramp, a smile tickles my lips.
I remember hanging out at the garage often back in high school. Trip used to help his father out after school sometimes, which meant we made out a lot in the garage…in old cars…in customers’ cars.
I’m tracing my index finger along the dusty exterior of an old Impala, clearly another relic, when I hear the door open.
“Mom?” I call to her. “What were you doing in there for so long?”
She smiles, nervously. “I’m going back to wait until Bubba’s done with the car.”
“Mom?” I say again. She’s acting weird.
She just walks past me, and then Bubba breezes by just as quickly. “Be right back,” he says and hurries into the office.
“What’s going—” I start to ask but then give up. “You know what, never mind.” I start walking back towards the car when I hear the office door open again. I’ll say hi to Mr. Tucker another time.
I hug myself and look around me as I head back. Mom is staring at me, a cheeky look on her face—a suspicious one rather, and it worries me. She’s up to something.
“Mom? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’m not looking at you,” she says with a smile, as she pushes off the car door. “I’m looking at him.”
“Who?” I say and turn abruptly.
And my jaw drops to the pavement when I see Trip standing behind me with a wide grin on his face.
Chapter Three
Trip
“Jazz?”
I know it’s her the minute I step through the door…even though she has her back towards me. I can single her out in a crowd of women with curls any day of the week.
She’s my Jasmine!
But she’s a little fuller than the last time I saw her. The coral sweater-top she’s wearing falls just over her full hips, and as she turns, her curls bounce on her shoulders. Her eyes are the same, and so are her full lips.
I take long strides as my heart swells in my chest. Her brown eyes are dancing for me, and I see the rapid rise and fall of her chest. I cup her face and press eager lips to hers, as a powerful desire for her grips every part of me.
All the years that have come between us mean nothing in this moment. My lips glide over hers, closing the gap between the past and the present.
It’s not until her lips stop moving and she pulls back that I come to my senses.
She clears her throat. “Well, that’s one way to greet someone…” She smiles, and I just want to kiss her again.
“I’m sorry. Old habit.” I’m looking at her, but it feels surreal. The last time I saw her was the night before I left for military camp in Fort Jackson. I had the tinniest sliver of hope that one day she’d come back to town and I’d see her again, but by then…she’d probably be married and have a family…and it’d be too late for us.
Which is why I instinctively look at her hand, and I’m relieved when I don’t see a ring. “It’s so good to see you.” I pull her into me and hug her.
“You, too,” she says, “but…you’re the Mr. Tucker who’s the owner now? I thought it was your dad.”
I sigh. Her eyes are confused, which means she doesn’t know. It’s not a subject I like to talk about. “He died about a year ago. Cancer.”
“Oh. I’m sorry, Trip. That must have been so hard on you.”
“Yeah, it is what it is,” I say, “but I don’t want to talk about that. I want to talk about you. What’s up with you?”
I can’t help twirling my finger in her hair—it’s also an old habit of mine.
She pulls back, just slightly, so it doesn’t look as obvious that I’m probably coming off as weird. I stuff my hands into my pockets and rock on my heels.
“I just came into town for Christmas,” she says and hugs herself. “Mom had to come and get me in this old thing, so now, here we are. Although, now that I think about it…” she turns to face her mother. “I think she set us up.”
Mrs. Taylor feigns ignorance. “I did what? No such thing. I had to take the car in.”
“Yeah, right,” Jazz says and turns around to me again. “Do you believe her?”
“Uh…” I say and look at a winking Mrs. Taylor. “Maybe. This car really does need work.”
“What it needs is a sale!” Jazz says loudly enough for her mother to hear. “It’s a tin can on wheels.”
I laugh. “Well, don’t le
t Mr. Taylor hear you say that.” The door opens behind me, and I hear someone shuffling around behind us. I turn. “Bubba, you have this handled, right?”
“Sure thing, boss,” he says and wipes his hands in a rag. “Just have to check a couple of things.”
“At least…” Jazz grumbles. “We’re going to be here all evening. Possibly for the night…”
“Ah, don’t make it sound so bad. How about you come hang out with me in the office until Bubba gets this thing working right again?”
She looks back at her mother who’s already sitting on a chair, flipping through an old magazine like it’s just another Tuesday.
“Do you believe her?” Jazz says and shakes her head. “Come on. I want to hear what I’ve missed these last ten years. Beats sitting here waiting for Old Blue to get done.”
I take her hand and lead her back to the office. I clear space from the chair in the corner no one usually sits in, and try to make the desk appear comely. She giggles from behind me.
“What?” I ask her and stop my harried housecleaning. I cross my arms and lean against the mini desk laden with stacks of receipts, and titles, and invoices—all the things I’ve taken on since Dad died. It’s a family business, and I’m the only one left. The shop is mine, even if I don’t want it.
“Just seeing you like this. Clearing the desk. I remember other times when we used to clear desks…”
A wide grin rips my lips apart. “I remember…” I stare at her. “God, Jazz, you look the same. It’s like you never left.”
“Well, rest assured I did,” she says, “but every time I come back, it does feel like I never left. Nothing changes.”
“Tell me about it. It’s like I walked back in time when I returned. Oh, forgive me, would you like something to drink or…”
“No.” She waves me off and thumbs through some of the old papers on the desk. “I’m fine.” She walks around the small room, checking out the cracks in the off-white paint that’s peeling from the walls, the cobwebbed corners in the ceiling, and the rickety fan with the crooked blades that are dusty. “I see nothing’s changed in here either.”