Make You Mine

by Louise, Tia

  “My neighbor said you’d turned the power back on. I figured you’d need help.”

  I forgot how fucking nosey this place is. Nothing gets by these assholes. “How old are you Billy?”

  “Twenty-one.”

  “Last name?”

  “James.”

  “Billy James.” I scratch my jaw, thinking. Then I realize I probably look as old as my uncle right now, even though I’m only five years older than this guy. “You new in town?”

  “I grew up over in Pintoville.”

  “Oh.” Shit. I don’t say that part out loud. Pintoville is the racist nickname for the part of Oakville where most of the Mexicans live.

  I thought I was an outcast, but it was nothing compared to the way these guys are treated.

  “Did you go to school? I don’t remember seeing you around.”

  “My daddy sent me to the school in Raymond. He had a friend who could drive me. Thought I’d get in less trouble there.”

  “Are you a troublemaker?”

  His stick-straight hair sweeps around his neck when he shakes his head. “I’ve never been in a fight. I don’t want to fight. I just like working on cars. I graduated top of my class at the trade school.”

  “I’m not really open yet. I’m not sure how much business I’ll get. How about you come around in a week?”

  He nods, glancing up at me with serious, black eyes. “You going to hire somebody else?”

  My brow furrows, and it only takes me a moment to decide. “Nope. The job’s yours if I can keep you busy.”

  He nods. “I work cheap.”

  “I’ll remember that.” He extends his hand, and I catch it, giving him a firm shake. “It’s a deal. Next week.”

  He walks away, hands shoved in the front pockets of his jeans. A heavy silver chain dances in a loop from his belt to what I guess is his wallet in the back pocket. It was never my look, but it’s pretty classic grease monkey. I wince at the memory. Danny had nicknames for everybody.

  Clearing the sudden thickness from my throat, I walk to the overhead door and pull it open. If they all know I’m back and open for business, no use hiding it. I confess, I’m curious to see who all’s got their eye on this place.

  It doesn’t take long to find out.

  Chapter 9

  Drew

  I pull dark shades over my eyes before running out to meet Ruby. The only things that got me out of bed this morning were making sure my dad ate some pancakes for breakfast and my patients.

  I lost track of how long I cried last night. Seeing Gray after waiting so long, feeling how distant and guarded he was, had been worse than when he was only a ghost. Now it’s like the hole in my chest has been stuffed full of shards of glass.

  “Nice look, Jackie O,” Ruby quips as I climb in the car. “I thought about it all night. What I need is one of those insanely rich Asian men to come and sweep me away to his mansion in Singapore on his extravagantly lush jet airline.”

  “I think you mean crazy rich.” Thank God my voice doesn’t sound as fragile as I feel. Maybe I will survive this day.

  Ruby’s voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “I thought we didn’t like that word.”

  “What? Crazy?” I shake my head, flipping down the visor to check my face. Less puffy than an hour ago. “Just don’t use it when you’re talking about patients.”

  We’re just entering town, K-pop playing on the radio, when my broken glass-filled chest squeezes tighter. We’re getting close to—

  “Holy shit!” Ruby lunges forward in her seat, craning her neck so much, I reach for the steering wheel.

  “Careful!”

  “Is that… Mack’s garage is open!” she stage-whispers.

  I guess that answers my question. He didn’t say he’d open the garage, but he didn’t say much of anything.

  My quiet reaction gives me away.

  “You knew!” Ruby cries, whipping her head back to me. “How long have you known? What have you not told me?”

  “I didn’t know the garage was open.”

  “But you knew he was back in town.” She’s studying my face hard. “Take off those sunglasses and prove me wrong.”

  “I have nothing to prove.” I take off my sunglasses, and her face goes from triumphant to sad. It irritates me. “Don’t look at me that way. I hate it.”

  “You know, anger is a common defense against depression.”

  “Oh, now you know so much about psychoanalytical theory?”

  “Need me to cover your appointments today?”

  “No.” I have to pack these feelings down into a tight little ball and put them away and do my job.

  I can’t believe I just thought that.

  She pulls into the parking lot of Friends Care, and I charge out before she can ask any more questions. I almost wish I’d stayed home when I walk inside and nearly collide with Dotty.

  In addition to being our part-time receptionist, Dotty Magee is the town’s busiest busybody. She’s holding a cardboard tray of coffees, and her cheeks are so red, I’m afraid she’ll explode.

  “I didn’t think you’d ever get here,” she cries, and I know the look of hot gossip.

  I keep walking, straight to my office. “Sorry, Dotty, no time to chat. Is Darlene in yet?”

  “She’s not on the schedule til nine. You’ve got fifteen minutes.”

  “Dotty! Coffee, stat!” Ruby cries, charging into my office right behind her. “Which is the low-fat soy?”

  Dotty turns the tray, and Ruby takes the paper cup with the black R marked on it. Dotty hurries to my desk. “I asked them to add a little cinnamon to yours today.”

  “Thank you, Dotty.” I’m doing my best to wake up my computer quickly.

  The last thing I need is to be armchair analyzed by the staff. Still, they’re both standing on the other side of my desk watching me with wide eyes.

  I give up. “Okay, let’s get it over with.”

  “Grayson Cole is back and he’s re-opened his uncle’s garage. I sent that young man Billy James, you know the one of Hispanic descent? I sent him over first thing this morning.”

  “He’s Mexican, Dotty,” Ruby jumps in. “It’s okay to say he’s Mexican.”

  Dotty’s worried eyes fly to her. “I wasn’t trying to be provocative.”

  I scrub a hand over my eyes. This entire conversation is provocative. “You sent Billy to the garage? Why?”

  “He’s been hanging around here, butchering the lawn and pulling the flowers instead of weeds. I confess, I was shocked at what a terrible landscaper he is. He leaves big patches of uncut grass…”

  “Dotty, seriously. You have got to evolve.” Rolling my eyes at the overt stereotype from Miss Non-Provocative, I remember Hunter’s observations. “Hang on, does Billy cut Mrs. Green’s lawn?”

  “I’m not sure, but I can ask him.”

  My eyes go to Ruby’s, but she’s confused. “Maybe Billy’s taking the yard ornaments!”

  “Well, I’ll be dogged,” Dotty whispers. “I never thought he stole anything.”

  “I did not say stealing.” Shaking my hand, I wave her away.

  Dotty’s eyes are wide as she looks from me to Ruby. “Maybe he’s selling them on the black market. I heard about that dark web on the Today show…”

  “My poor wiener!” Ruby cries, playfully. “He’s being trafficked!”

  “Nobody’s selling anything.” This is how rumors get started. “I’m sure there’s a logical explanation.” I’m checking the clock. Where’s Darlene?

  But Ruby’s into it now. “So you sent Billy to the garage. What did he say when he came back?”

  Dotty gives me another worried look. “Gray told Billy he’d give him a job. Billy was real excited about it. Said he’d start next week.”

  So he’s planning to stay a week. My lips tighten, and I fight against the knots tying up my stomach. Push it down. Compartmentalize.

  “I know!” Ruby jumps up, suddenly inspired. “We should have a w
elcome home party for him.”

  “No!” It’s an involuntary cry, but if I were any closer, I’d kick her in the shin.

  “Why not? He’s a hero. We should welcome him home.”

  Dotty’s entire demeanor changes. “I love it! We can have it at the church, invite everybody, and get the story straight from the horse’s mouth!”

  The vein in my left temple starts to pound. “This is a terrible idea… Gray doesn’t like big parties.”

  I’m grasping at straws. The last thing I need is the entire town being there to witness me breaking down in front of him.

  Ruby nods, slowly pacing my office, arms crossed. “You make a point. Gray never was as outgoing as Danny. Something smaller, more intimate is his speed. I’ll talk to Ma and do something at our house.”

  The bell on the front door rings, and Dotty hops to my door. “Darlene is here. I’ll check her in then we can start planning.”

  “Saved by the bell.” I take out my notepad.

  “You know, my daddy was never the same after Vietnam. Back then they called it shell shock…” She continues down the hall discussing Gray, and my brow furrows.

  As much as I hate gossip, I’ve lived here long enough to know there’s often a kernel of truth in what they say. Now in addition to my insides stuffed with glass and my stomach in knots, my heart aches at the idea of Gray suffering from trauma.

  I don’t have time to dwell on it before Darlene enters my office dressed in ripped black skinny jeans and a tank.

  She flops on my couch with a heavy exhale.

  “Good morning, Darlene.” I take out my notebook.

  “What’s up, doc?”

  “I’ve told you, I’m not a doctor.” Scanning her file on my computer, I refresh my memory of our last session—something I should have done before she arrived instead of being pulled down Crazy Lane.

  We don’t use that word.

  “How was the road trip with your mom? Did you tell her your memory of the neighbor?”

  Darlene’s family doesn’t live in Oakville. She was referred to me from the university. “We drove all the way to Burnside listening to sad 80s music.”

  I look back a few dates. “That’s where your mother grew up?”

  “I guess.” She studies her black fingernails. “We went through a prison area. It had a sign that said ‘Do not pick up hitchhikers.’”

  “Okay.” I pick up my pen to make notes—which I transfer to the computer in the evenings.

  “After she went to bed, I got up and took the car. I went back and just drove up and down the road, looking for one.”

  My brow furrows. “One what?”

  Brown eyes snap up to mine. “Hitchhiker. I drove past every night, back and forth, over and over slowly. Watching.”

  “You told me the neighbor you believe touched you is in prison now.” I make a note on the legal pad. “Do you think he might be there?”

  She blows air through her lips and arches her back. “I don’t know! I don’t care about him. I want to find a young Brad Pitt ex-con and pick him up and see what happens. I watched Thelma and Louise every day while we were there.”

  “You didn’t talk to your mother.” It’s not a question. I make another note on my pad.

  “What difference will it make? He’s in prison. It’s done.”

  My lips press together, and I inhale slowly. “Engaging in risky behavior won’t make the pain go away. We’ve talked about this.”

  She flips on her side, tracing a fingernail over the seam of the cushion.

  “Darlene?” She doesn’t look up. “Have you been sleeping?”

  “I slept last night.”

  “Did you sleep while you were with your mother?”

  “No.” She glares at me, challenging, and I dial it back.

  I give her a warm smile. “We’re working on healing here, avoiding triggering situations. You’ve come a long way.”

  The defensiveness melts away, and I take out my assignment pad. “I want you to keep a thought log this week. Keep a record of how you think about yourself…”

  “We did that in the beginning.”

  “I still have it. We’ll compare next time and see how much progress you’ve made.”

  Our time is up, and she stands, walking over to take the slip of white paper. “I’ll try. If I have time.”

  Focus on the small wins. “And no more driving past prisons looking for hitchhikers. Brad Pitt’s not in prison.”

  She exhales a huff and shrugs. “It was worth a shot. You never know when that dream might come true.”

  “Not all dreams turn out the way you hope.”

  My words hang in my ears after she’s gone, and I look out the window in the direction of the garage. My dream has certainly not turned out how I had hoped.

  He’ll be here at least a week. I wonder if that’s enough time to find the answers I need.

  Chapter 10

  Gray

  The beat-up old station wagon pulls into the garage and Sylvia Green steps out. “You open for business?”

  Her gray hair is tucked under a cotton cap. I’m pretty sure she looks exactly the same as she did when I left here four years ago—scowling, dressed in denim overalls.

  I walk over to where she’s waiting. “The garage is open for now.”

  “It’s about time.” Her blue eyes bore into mine like she’s looking for answers. “I’ve been driving halfway to Charleston every time I need an oil change for the last two years.”

  “You need an oil change?”

  “And rotate the tires while you’re at it.”

  She drove through the rolling steel door I’d opened this morning, right over the car lift. It’s just how my uncle designed the place. I walk over to the supply cabinet and open it. Sure enough, Mack has a stock of oil filters just for this old lady’s car. He was like that, remembering what people needed.

  Hitting the button on the wall, the steel pads go under the axels and raise the old body to the height of my head then muscle memory takes over. I step under the car and loosen the drain plug, allowing the oil to stream down into the trap under the floor. Just like riding a bike.

  She watches me the entire time with those eagle eyes. “You doing everything by yourself now?”

  We both glance out at the road where the occasional car slows down, curious eyes peer into the shop, and I shrug. “Had a kid stop by this morning looking for a job.”

  “Did you hire him?”

  “Pretty much.” I go to the lines of brake fluid, transmission fluid, washer fluid, coolant, and oil.

  I give them a test to see if they’re still functioning. Looks good. Uncle Mack left everything sealed up tight, and the garage is cool and dry. These lubricants should be ready to do their job.

  “Who is he?” She looks around the space. “More importantly, where is he?”

  Fluids topped off, oil filter replaced, I lift the car back up to replace the drain plug before taking out the impact wrench and quickly spinning off the lug nuts on her tires, letting the heavy wheels bounce on the concrete floor. It’s familiar work, soothing and uncomplicated. It occupies my mind, drowning out my memories, the long blonde hair, the soft lips.

  It distracts me from my guilt until my hand catches my eye. It’s smeared in grease, black at the fingernails. Grease monkey.

  “He’ll be here tomorrow.”

  “Good.” She nods as if approving my unspoken decision. “We need you here.”

  I give her a quick glance. “What?”

  “The town needs a good mechanic, a garage that isn’t thirty miles away.”

  “Oh.” I lift the heavy tires, powering the lug nuts back on.

  “Don’t torque those too hard. You’ll strip ’em.”

  Shaking my head, I don’t even answer. She continues. “Towns change. The old people like me die, and hopefully the new ones do better. The crazies are always with us.”

  “Okay.” It’s the only answer that I can give her. The problems
I have here are all still alive and well. “Anything else?”

  Her tires are all on. I hit the switch to lower it all the way before grabbing the hose to refill the oil.

  “Nope.” She follows me to the counter, where I write up the work order, take her cash, and drop it in the box.

  “Thanks.”

  “I’ll be back.” She’s walking back to her car when a lime green Subaru pulls into the open bay.

  I take the shop cloth and wipe my hands, wishing I’d gotten Billy’s number. If Mrs. Green is right, I’m going to need help right away. Two cars, and I’m already falling behind. When the driver steps out, I take a step back.

  “Look what the cat dragged in!” Ruby Banks is as bold as she ever was, and she’s Drew’s best friend.

  I brace myself. Ruby always has a lot to say. “How’s it going?”

  “I’d say the same as always, but things just got really interesting all of a sudden.” She closes the space between us, brown eyes leveled on mine. “So are you back or are you just wrapping things up before you leave again?”

  My hands are still dirty, despite my attempts to clean them. I decide to own it. It’s fucking symbolic.

  “I’m planning to stay for a little while.”

  Her eyebrows rise. “Good! I’ve put together a little welcome home party for you—”

  “No.” I turn and head for the office, but she’s right behind me.

  “You can’t say no. It’s at my place, and I’ve only invited a handful of your friends. Remember those pesky things called friends?”

  “I said no. I’m not here for parties.”

  “What are you here for?” She stands at the door with her arms crossed over her chest.

  Inhaling, I think about it. I wanted to come back to pay my respects. Now… “I’m not really sure.”

  “You’re over-educated to be working in a garage.”

  “I own the garage.” My eyes roam over the neat, open area. “It’s honest work I enjoy.”

  Both her hands go up in surrender. “Far be it from me to knock what somebody loves. I happen to love throwing parties. I’ve put together a really nice, intimate gathering for you. Are you going to disappoint your friends?”