by Gilead, Kate
“I worked full-time as a clerk at a video game store and took a night course in skip tracing. Receivables management, collections, that kind of thing.”
“Oh you went to the dark side, you mean?”
“No, that’s advertising,” I retort, and we both laugh. “Collections pays really well but it’s no fun and I hate doing it, if you want to know the truth.”
“Yeah, I can imagine. How’d you end up back in Toronto?”
“Work. A collection agency was hiring. Offered big money and I went for it. They helped me get into a rent-controlled building. That lasted for a few years until the agency moved their operations Stateside. By then, the job market got really soft and I depleted my savings looking for work.”
“You couldn’t go back to the folks again, even temporarily?”
“Only as a last resort. By then, they’d sold their house and retired to a condo. Very small. They’d take me in, but…you know.”
“Yeah, too close for comfort.”
“Exactly. The next job I got was the one in Pickering. I used nearly the last of my money to move, and for first and last month’s rent and all that. My car was…well, you see the shape it’s in. I found a place in walking distance from work so I could save up for a new car. It seemed so perfect.”
“You couldn’t ask your folks for money? Just a temporary loan?”
“No.”
“I see. And so, what happened with that job?”
“There were a lot of problems there. Very toxic atmosphere, corrupt management. They wanted me to cook the books, basically.” I shake my head. “I was told to hide uncollectible debt and make things look better so that the bank would lend them more money. Money which was just going to line someone’s pocket anyway. The manager got right in my face about it. Said I had to. Like hell I do! So I quit, walked out, and here I am.”
Just thinking about it makes me get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.
He’s silent for a moment. Then, “Jesus. I wonder if they were planning to set you up to take the fall for it if they got caught.”
“Maybe. Who knows? All I know is, I wanted nothing to do with it.”
He nods. “You did the right thing, honey. Okay? Never doubt that.”
“Okay,” I say. Honey. He called me “honey”. The kindness of his unexpected endearment makes me feel like crying.
I give him my best smile. “Thanks for the moral support.”
He smiles back, his eyes warm and kind. “Anytime. So, uh…you ever get married or anything?”
“Married or anything?” I tease. “No, I never did.” Pause. “Never even had a real close or long-term relationship. You?”
“What? Are you kidding me? Nobody snapped you up? I can’t believe that.”
If he thinks that’s hard to believe, I wonder if he’d believe that I’ve never had sex, either. Well, never went all the way, anyhow.
Maybe he’d believe it. Or, maybe not.
Probably not.
Because honestly, who’s still a virgin at the advanced age of twenty-five? Especially these days?
“I dated a bit but, never…it never went anywhere,” I explain. “I moved a lot, as I said.” Pause. “The other thing is…I don’t do the club scene or go to places where there are a lot of crowds. I mean, I still like video games, Brad. And reading. Solitary pursuits, you know. I’ve learned to be alone, to entertain myself I guess. Anyway, that’s what I’d rather do than go out with an endless parade of Mr. Wrongs.”
He gives me a speculative look. “That doesn’t sound so bad. I always thought it’s better to hold out for someone special than fall into a serial-dating sort of thing.”
I nod. “So, what about you? Did you ever get married?”
“No. I did have a five-year live-in relationship. That started right after I left Borden, and decided to abandon the whole corporate grind thing. I was trying to find myself, I guess.” He fiddles with the heat control for a second. “She wanted to get married but…there were strings. She didn’t want me to abandon the nine-to-five. She didn’t…she wasn’t supportive of my, well, dreams. It was a security thing for her I guess. But I couldn’t do the corporate thing anymore so…that was that.”
“She didn’t support what you wanted to do?”
“Nope. Didn’t believe in me, I guess.”
“She wasn’t for you then, Brad. I hope you don’t mind me saying so.”
I’m for you, is what I’m thinking. Me.
It’s not even a thought, as much as it is a feeling.
Hope.
Maybe that’s why we met again like this.
Maybe, that’s why I haven’t met anyone else.
Maybe…that’s why you never got married.
That’s why I can’t stop looking at you, I think to myself. That’s why my heart is still beating too fast in my chest, even though the accident is over and I’m safe.
I’m the one for you.
But I say nothing.
That warm look in his eye…that small smile. What is he thinking?
Something good, I hope.
“Course, I don’t mind you saying so, Cherry. It’s just the truth, after all.”
* * *
Finally off the highway and out of the worst gusts of wind, Brad lets out a sigh of relief.
“Now it’s just a ways up the road here to the repair shop.”
The surface roads haven’t been plowed and it’s still slippery and dangerous driving.
Outside, it’s kind of eerie, like a ghost town of sorts. Even the bus stops are full of drifting snow rather than people.
“Looks like a ghost town out there, doesn’t it,” Brad says.
“I was just thinking that exact thing,” I reply.
He winks, points at his temple, and says, “Telepathy. Another of my talents.”
“Oh? What am I thinking right now, then?” At that moment, my tummy gives an audible growl.
“You’re thinking how hungry you are.”
“That’s cheating,” I laugh.
He shrugs cheerfully, then drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “I’m getting hungry too actually. It’s nearly lunchtime now. We can grab something at the coffee shop, if it’s open. Meanwhile, let’s get the half-hourly news update and see what the weatherman has to say,” he says, turning on the radio.
It only takes a few moments for the weather man to confirm what we can see for ourselves: It’s bad. Winter storm warning in effect until the weather system moves off to the east, which is not expected until the early morning hours. Until then, police and road crews are cautioning travel for emergency traffic only, and advising businesses to close early or allow people to shelter in place.
“Shelter in place?” We look at each other, wide-eyed. Even for Toronto in winter, that’s pretty extreme. “Shit, this is bad,” I say.
We’re both silent for a few minutes as Brad steers the truck along the street. The few other cars on the road keep to the far lane to avoid vehicles which are parked or abandoned in the right lane, covered in humps of snow like mysterious winter dromedaries.
The further we get from the highway, the more residential the area becomes, with detached homes and townhouses stretching between small, neighborhood strip malls, the ones with a mix of convenience stores and businesses that seem to cluster at the corners of every block.
Outside a grocery store, an employee with a shovel is trying to clear the walkway. I feel sorry for him, watching him struggle. The boss there should have let these people go home.
“Look at that poor guy,” I say. “I wonder if the people working at that store will have to stay there overnight?”
Brad looks past me out the window. “Oh, that’s Gus, the owner of that store. My sister and I both worked for him when we were teenagers.”
“Oh, he shovels his own sidewalk? That’s pretty hands-on.”
“He doesn’t usually. He’s getting a little old for that. He probably already sent people home, or told them not to com
e in. I bet he’s keeping the store open in case someone needs something.”
“I hope he doesn’t get stranded too.”
“Maybe I’ll text him later and check on him.” He peers around through the windows. “Yeah, most of the businesses along here are already closed for the day.” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel again. “Wouldn’t be surprised if the repair shop’s closed,” he continues, “and the coffee shop. I mean, they might be open for stragglers but…we’ll see in a minute.”
“So, what about you, Brad? What happened with your life after Borden? How did you end up driving a tow truck?”
“That’s a long st…well, hang on. Look ahead there, see that shop? Vic’s Collision and Repair? That’s where I’m taking your car.”
“Doesn’t look like anyone’s there.”
“Nope. Look, the coffee shop’s closed as well.”
“Well, damn. Now what?”
“We drop your car off in Vic’s lot. Just gimme a sec.”
He wheels the truck into the shop parking lot, and carefully backs my car into place. After flicking a few switches, he gets out and goes to the back, where clanking noises follow as he detaches the equipment.
“There,” he says, climbing back into the truck. “That’ll keep for now.”
He turns to me and regards me seriously.
“Okay, now, listen. We’re in a pickle here for sure, “ he starts.
I like how he says “we’re” in a pickle, when it’s my pickle and not his.
Remembering how he likes to think out loud, I keep quiet to hear what he has to say.
“As you know, there’s no bus service out to Pickering, so even if you wanted to try getting home in this mess, your only choice for public transport would be taking the train. The nearest train station is…well, probably an hour in this weather. Maybe more. Then, there’s no guarantee the trains’ll be running. Right?”
“Right.”
“If you really want, though, I will drive you to the station, but you could end up be stuck there overnight. I wouldn’t like to leave you in a situation like that.”
I open my mouth to speak, but he continues.
“Or, we could try finding you a hotel room. The nearest hotel is back by the highway. Another long drive in bad weather, and, no guarantee you’ll be able to get a room, especially on a Friday, and especially on this particular Friday. Because, no doubt, lots of other people are gonna be stuck or stranded. Right?”
“Right.”
“Or…and just take a minute to think about this before you say no. All right?”
I nod, wondering if I know what he’s about to say.
“You could let my sister Lana put you up in her spare room for the night. We live in the same building.” He points up the street. “It’s on this street actually, just down a ways.”
“Oh? Your sister? I thought you were going to…”
“What? I hope you weren’t thinking I was gonna say you had to stay with me, were you?” Eyes gleaming, he adds, “You really think I’m that cheap and easy?”
Oh that wicked gleam! I remember that, too.
I’m already smiling and shaking my head.
He holds up a finger. “Because, I’ll have you know, I’m not one of those guys. I don’t give up my…my…precious body…to just anyone.” He purses his lips and crosses his big hands over his chest like he has to defend himself against me.
“Oh good Lord,” I say, snorting. “Still got that old Brad Abernathy “Bullshit Artist” thing going on.” We both laugh, remembering an old running joke of his about what his initials really stood for.
But what I remember about him is that he’s actually totally honest and forthright.
“Hah! I only save my artistry for people I like,” he says. “You should be flattered. Now…of course, you could stay in my spare room too, if you wanted. If you think you could be comfortable with that. I haven’t turned into Jack the Ripper since we last met.”
“No, I wouldn’t think you had,” I say. “I really hate to impose on anyone but I doubt I’ll get a better offer tonight.”
“If you do, just let me know and I’ll double it,” he jokes, the he steers the truck back onto the street for the final leg home.
Chapter Four
Cherry
Making our slow way down Brad’s street is a bit like going back in time.
“It’s a good neighborhood,” he says, as we pass a row of brownstone townhouses. Evidently, from their style, all were built in the twenties and thirties. “Everyone has tried to keep their homes and properties in good shape, and as true to the spirit of the original architecture as possible.”
Next, we pass by a long stretch of duplex and detached houses, all with old-fashioned porches and narrow driveways leading behind the homes.
Huge, old growth trees line the boulevard, now without leaves and covered in snow but promising a green explosion come spring.
Next, we enter into an area with old low-rise apartment buildings, all showing the once-modern fifties and sixties architecture.
The tallest is only five stories, but they were built in a time when, unlike today’s cramped offerings, apartments were made with spaciousness in mind. Long balconies grace each unit and many of the buildings still have that art-deco look about them.
We pass those buildings and then enter an area with open, park-like space on both sides of the road.
“There we are,” he says, using his chin to indicate another low-rise building just coming into view.
It looks oddly alone out here. Just one, three-story building in the middle of a huge parking lot, surrounded by this large park-like area.
In the clearing surrounding the building, clusters of tall, old-growth maple and oak trees raise their naked winter branches to the sky.
They stand among their greener cousins, fir trees like pine and spruce.
Benches drifted with snow can be seen here and there.
The blanket of snow covering everything makes the scene look like a Christmas card, but in the summer this must be a lovely green space for the residents here.
Beyond the trees, I can just glimpse the chain-link and wooden fences of neighboring homes through the snow-speckled distance. They’re far enough away to make this building very private and secluded.
It’s like someone planned another apartment complex here, but only constructed the one building and then gave up.
From what I can see of it, it’s the same art-deco style as the ones we just passed, but more so. The same basic design but with certain differences.
Brad pulls the rig into the building’s driveway and then heads around to the rear.
* * *
There’s a pick-up truck with a plow attachment clearing snow off the parking lot. As the driver of that truck wheels around for another turn, Brad lifts a hand at him and the driver waves back. “That’s Frank, the manager,” Brad says. “Never have to worry about being able to get my trucks in and out of here, thanks to him.”
Brad indicates a row of black tow trucks like the one we’re sitting in, all parked neatly side-by-side and getting a good covering a snow.
Some are fitted with flat beds while others have the more standard arrangements. One of the flatbed trucks is currently loaded with what looks like a snowmobile under a tightly-lashed tarp.
Emblazoned on the sides of each vehicle are gold-on-black decals lettered “Abernathy Towing” with a stylized gold hook-and-chain graphic.
“Oh! These are all yours? That’s…that’s a lot of trucks!”
He nods. “You were asking what I’ve done with myself since Borden. Well, this is it. I’ve built the biggest fleet of towing service vehicles in east Toronto. ” He waits until Frank runs the plow through a central area of the lot, then pulls his rig into the freshly cleared area.
“Brad, this is amazing. You really broke out of the mold, didn’t you? You should be very proud of yourself.”
He beams. “Thanks. It was a lot of hard
work but I loved it. I’m way more suited to this than crunching code at a desk all day.” He puts his hand on his door handle. “All right, now, you just sit tight there for one second.”
He gets out of the truck, comes around to my side and opens the door for me. “Allow me, m’lady. Frank will come back out with salt after he’s done plowing, but right now it’s slippery as hell out here.” He gestures towards his feet. “My boots are good, but I noticed that yours don’t seem to have any treads.”
I look down at my fashionably-high-heeled but not particularly snow-proof boots. “Well, I wasn’t expecting to have to trudge through a snowstorm. Just, you know, from the car into an office and back.”
“They look expensive,” he notes.
“I got them on sale,” I reply as I step down from the truck. “But no, they really don’t have any treads to speak of.”
“I love sexy heels on a woman but I have no clue how any of you manage to walk in them. Never mind. Here, take my arm,” he says, offering it to me. “Or, I could carry you. Give you a piggy-back ride if you want.”
I take a step and my foot slides almost instantly out from under me.
“Whoa there,” Brad grabs my arm and steadies me, closing the passenger door with his other hand.
“Actually I like to save the piggy-backing for the second date,” I joke, “but I might have to make an exception for you today.”
“Oooh baby,” he jokes back. “I love it when you talk dirty.” He turns his back to me, crouches down and says, “Okay, hop on.”
“Oh geez, I haven’t done this since I was a kid,” I say, putting my hands on his shoulders. I raise one leg and kind of wave it around his side, not sure where it should go.
The silliness of it strikes me and I start giggling like a maniac. “Oh boy this is awkward,” I gasp. “No idea how to um, mount you, if that’s the right term.”
“Yeah the mounting should probably wait til the third date, at least,” he laughs. “Just…here, grab me around the neck…yeah, good…no, not too hard! Okay, now, c’mere.” Grabbing me behind the knees, he pulls me towards him and bounces me upwards until I’m straddling his back.