Pop The Clutch: A Second Gear Romance

by Kristin Harte

  “No, when I was little, I thought you’d never lie to me. So I believed you when you told me they were bugs.”

  “Then you grew up.”

  “Yeah, and I learned not to take you too seriously.”

  She smiled, the corner of her mouth wrinkling. “No, you learned that what I’d told you wasn’t the truth, which changed your view of the watermelon. You perceived those seeds as dead bugs…until you didn’t.”

  My lips pulled down into what had to be a frown. Was the chemical cocktail already messing with her brain? “Yeah, so?”

  “So, perception is reality.” She turned to look at me, eyes watery but fierce. “You hate it here because people perceived you as something you weren’t. A fact you’ve never even tried to make them forget.”

  Her words made my stomach clench, made my heart beat a little faster. Her words made me long to stand up and walk out. But she was still hooked up to an IV, so I couldn’t. A fact that had me nearly sweating in my seat. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

  “You never do, but we may be running out of time.”

  “Grandma—”

  “Violet.” Her harsh tone shut me up. “People do shitty things, and we all have to deal with the fallout, but that doesn’t mean you run and hide. You belong here, with your family. You just refuse to see it.”

  Before I could answer, the nurse interrupted us to unhook the machines. I avoided Grandma’s stare, choosing instead to focus on the nurse. Gentle hands removed tubes from Grandma’s port. A soft voice explained possible reactions and stressed how each person was different. How Grandma shouldn’t worry, shouldn’t think about her chemo as something that could make her sick, and how she should rest instead. “You don’t have to fight it all in one day, Ms. Foster. You can retreat for now.”

  That recommendation from the nurse struck me as familiar, as a reminder of my life since high school. Don’t fight back, don’t worry, and don’t think about it…just go. Leave everything behind and start over. Start fresh.

  Until the next time it popped up, and the next, and the next, and you finally began to wear out your running shoes.

  After a quick vitals check and a plethora of instructions, we were heading home, both of us silent. Me, dealing internally with such a weird day. Watermelon and dead bugs, chemotherapy, my sudden lack of interest in baking, and the endless marathon of my life. All piled high on top of one terrifying thought—this cancer could take my grandma from me long before I was ready to let her go. The ten years I’d stayed away from home suddenly seemed wasted.

  “I think I need to go to bed,” Grandma said as I helped her into the house, her voice soft and sort of tired. It wasn’t bedtime yet, not even five o’clock, but I could practically feel the exhaustion radiating from her. And I understood it. Sometimes, you had to surrender to what your body wanted. She stopped at the entrance to the hall, looking over her shoulder. “You’ll be here, right?”

  “Of course. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Good. That’s good.” She turned, heading out of the kitchen but stopping before she made it through the doorway. “You should cook something, Violet. Cooking always seemed to calm you down.”

  “I am calm.” Lies. I was as far from calm as I could be, but the words had come automatically. An almost visceral response to her statement.

  She didn’t buy my story for a second. “Sure. You’re calm, and I’m running for Miss America next month.”

  “They may have a senior version.”

  “Oh, great. Let me just oil up these wrinkles and get right on that.”

  I chuckled. How could I not? “Love you, Grandma.”

  “I love you too, you evil child. Now cook something and stop driving me crazy.”

  If only it were that easy.

  I watched her shuffle down the hall to her bedroom, my shoulders slumping and my heart breaking. She’d always appeared so vibrant to me, so large and full of life. Funny and sarcastic and just plain sassy at times. And while her attitude seemed firmly in place, her physical form didn’t. Suddenly, with one afternoon of chemo, she looked shrunken. A little old lady, bones brittle and curving, barely able to pick up her feet. Someone who needed looking after, needed protection. Someone I’d have to leave behind again in a matter of weeks.

  I needed a distraction before the guilt suffocated me.

  The kitchen called to me, the cabinet where Grandma’s mixer sat begging me to come. To play. To create something. But looking at the bags of flour and sugar, inspecting the cans of cornstarch and baking powder, didn’t alleviate anything. They actually made my anxiety worse. I closed the cabinet doors without taking out a single ingredient. I needed a different distraction, apparently.

  A blinking message light on the house phone in the corner was my saving grace. I snagged a pen and pressed the buttons to listen to Grandma’s voice mails. Time to be useful. The first was from Mary, of course, checking in. The second was Grandma’s pastor offering prayers and support. But what truly caught my attention, what made me stop and stare at the flashing red dot, was the sound of Easton’s warm voice coming over the line on the third one.

  “Hi, Ms. Foster. This is Easton Cole from Second Gear Auto Repair. I wanted to let you know that your car’s ready and can be picked up whenever it’s convenient for you. Feel free to call the shop if you need anything.”

  I juggled the phone from one hand to the other after I deleted the message. I shouldn’t leave Grandma, but I also didn’t want anyone to have to call again because we didn’t show up. Hopefully, they could keep the car for the night, and I could deal with it tomorrow. I needed to call them to be sure, though, right? Calling was the responsible thing to do. It wasn’t as if I was only calling because of Easton. There were other people who worked there. Maybe Easton wouldn’t even answer the phone. Maybe Jude or Colton would.

  I hope not.

  I paced the length of the living room. I did not want to speak with Jude. That left me with either talking to someone who’d make me stutter like a teenager, piss me off, or who I’d never actually met but probably knew everything about my past. Not so great odds.

  Readying myself for any scenario, I hit redial and waited through three rings before the one voice I wanted to answer most—and least—came across the line.

  “Second Gear Auto Repair, this is Easton.”

  “Hi, Easton.” Too breathy, too breathy. “This is Violet…Foster.”

  “Oh, hi, Violet.” No stutters or awkwardness. Hell, he almost sounded happy to hear from me.

  “Hi. Again.” Deep breath. You can do this. “I was just calling because my grandma isn’t feeling well today, so we won’t be able to pick up her car. As long as she’s better, we can come first thing tomorrow, if that’s all right.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah. Well, no. She sort of, uh…” I pinched my eyes closed and took a deep breath. Her illness wasn’t a secret, so I could be honest. But it was something personal and painful, which made me choke up as I fought to find the right words. “She had her first chemo treatment today and needs to rest. I’d rather not leave her alone just yet. Plus, I don’t have anyone to bring me there. But if it’s a problem, I can probably walk—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Hang on.”

  I heard the thump of him setting the phone down, then nothing. The silence lasted minutes, way longer than a normal break should have. I was in the middle of a vicious argument with myself over whether to hang up or not when someone fumbled with the phone on his end.

  “Violet?” Easton huffed, sounding completely out of breath.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m so sorry. Colton decided to be twelve and chase me through the shop with the acetylene torch.”

  “That…” I choked back a laugh, picturing Easton running from a grinning Colton wielding a mini torch like what I used to make crème brûlée. Those boys always had been pranksters. “That actually sounds more like something you would do.”

  A p
ause. I bit my lip as silence reigned again, wondering if I’d insulted him somehow. But then he laughed.

  “Yeah, that’s probably why he did it to me. Payback, you know?”

  “I’ve heard it’s a bitch.”

  “Thanks for the tip.” Another laugh, easy and casual, my stomach flip-flopping at the sound. “Look, I’ve got a bit of time to kill. I’ll drive Beverly’s car over and drop it off so you two don’t have to deal with it.”

  I hadn’t been expecting that at all. “Are you sure? I don’t want to put you out.”

  “It would be my pleasure.” His voice husky, deep, he sounded as if he meant his words.

  Relief pulled an invisible weight off my shoulders, and my entire body seemed to slump for a second. I hadn’t even realized how tense I’d been until that stress disappeared. “That’d be really nice of you.”

  “Cool. I’ll be there in a few, okay?”

  “Perfect.” I almost hung up, but there was one more thing I wanted him to know. “Easton?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you, really.” My eyes burned, and my chest felt too full of all the emotions whirling through me, but I held everything together. I had to. “It’s been a rough day.”

  “You’re welcome, Violet. I’m on my way.”

  “Okay.” I ended the call and hugged the phone, needing a moment to calm down. My heart slammed against the walls of my chest, though not from fear this time. From excitement. Just talking to Easton over the phone had given me a serious case of the giggles. It was like a first crush all over again. One I needed to shut down…eventually.

  Not five minutes later, Easton pulled into the driveway in my grandma’s sedan. The car looked freshly washed and maybe even waxed, practically sparkling in the late-afternoon sun. I opened the front door as he stepped out of the driver’s seat, both of us smiling.

  “Hey.” I leaned against the doorframe, trying hard to stay calm. “She looks good.”

  “Yeah.” He studied the car before refocusing on me, that smile still on his handsome face. “She’s a well-preserved lady.”

  “You talking about the car or my grandma?”

  He stepped onto the porch, stopping mere inches away from me. “Both…maybe. If that won’t get me in trouble.”

  “None from me, but she might wag a finger at you if she finds out.” I wrinkled my nose, looking him over. “I hate to state the obvious here, but you’re a sweaty mess.” He was, too. His hair appeared darker, dampened with perspiration, and his black T-shirt clung to him like a second skin. Not that I minded.

  “Sorry about that.” He took a step back as he ran a hand through his hair. “It was hot as hell today, and we don’t have air conditioning in the garage.”

  My reply came naturally, without thought. “Would you like to come in for some lemonade?”

  All the dating advice my grandma had ever given me rattled through my head at my unplanned invitation. Who you see on a first date isn’t real. Take your time to get to know a person. Make sure the man has manners and treats his mother and your waitresses kindly. Coffee implies late nights and early mornings—invite the man you’d like to know more about in for lemonade instead.

  I didn’t usually drink lemonade, not since I’d moved away, but this was Beverly Foster’s house. Grandma believed in the charm of the drink. There was always a pitcher in her refrigerator just in case someone tall, dark, and handsome happened by. Someone exactly like Easton.

  “I don’t want to cause you any trouble or upset your grandma since she’s ill.” Easton’s words may have meant one thing, but his smile grew, and he rocked forward on the balls of his feet as he said them. Yeah, the man wanted to come inside. Thanks be to Grandma for her lemonade habit, because the idea of him in my space wasn’t one to be apprehensive about.

  “It’s no trouble.” I walked inside with him following close behind me. Trying my hardest not to put a little extra sway in my hips. The man was altogether too tempting, though. The sway came whether I wanted it to or not.

  “Nice house.”

  “Thanks.” I grabbed two glasses from the cabinet, biting back a smile as I caught Easton checking out more than just the house. The sway never failed. “My grandma’s been here forever. Her first husband bought the place but died pretty young. She refused to leave the neighborhood when she got remarried, so Charles—her second husband—begrudgingly moved in.”

  “He didn’t want to live here?”

  “Nope.” I pulled the pitcher from the refrigerator, hoping the cold didn’t tighten my nipples too much. My shirt was thin, and my bra wouldn’t help hide a full headlights moment. A little sway was one thing—flashing the high beams was a whole other level of tease. “Charles said he hated feeling as if he were living another man’s life. Didn’t help that the first husband died in the house.”

  “Well, I can see how that could be awkward.” He took the glass from me, tipping it up for a drink. But as he brought the glass down from his lips, he turned serious. “I’m sorry to hear about the cancer. I didn’t know.”

  My stomach turned, but I did my best to hang on to my composure. “She’s strong, so hopefully this won’t be too bad.”

  “Is that why you finally came home?”

  Home. To this place. To this house. To my past.

  I put the lemonade away, needing a moment to calm my heart. Trying hard to shut down the rising panic inside me. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “How long are you staying?”

  “A few weeks. Maybe a month.” I left off the at most.

  “Good, good.” He nodded and looked away, tapping the toe of one shoe a handful of times. “I’m really sorry Jude was an idiot yesterday.”

  I shrugged, trying hard to pretend as if it didn’t matter. As if it shouldn’t. “No biggie. People here remember one thing about me, so being called…that… It’s going to happen, right?”

  Easton watched me, his eyes piercing. Something about his look felt too personal, too intimate. It made me want to curl up and hide, made my skin feel too tight. “Does it happen—”

  “I didn’t see anyone following you,” I interrupted, fighting back a wave of nausea at the idea of having to answer what I knew he wanted to ask. Of having to think about all the times in the past when someone had recognized me, when someone had mentioned that damn video. Some things I simply couldn’t deal with. Heart pounding and skin clammy, I nodded toward the front of the house. “How are you getting back?”

  He stared at me for a long moment, his face serious. Inspecting. I looked right back but at his shoulder. I couldn’t handle the intensity from him anymore. Couldn’t deal with how he made me feel with a look. Didn’t need him trying to figure me out. “I was going to walk.”

  “Give me a minute.” I hurried to the phone, dialing from memory the second I had it in my hand.

  Thankfully, Mary picked it up on the first ring. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Ms. Michelson. I hate to bother you, but I need a favor.”

  “Is it Beverly? What can I do?”

  “Grandma’s fine, but she’s resting, and I need to drive—” I glanced at Easton, catching his eye as he watched me, stressing my words carefully “—a friend back to work. I’d rather not leave her alone.”

  “Go. I’ll get my shoes on and be in your kitchen in twenty seconds.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it. And I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “Take your time. I can do my crosswords there just as easily as I can here.”

  I hung up the phone and set it in the cradle before hurrying toward the hutch where I’d tossed my keys. Taking a few minutes to drive Easton back, to officially end this…whatever it was between us, was worth the guilt of leaving Grandma alone. It would take ten minutes, tops. She’d probably never even know. Besides, Mary would be here to watch over her.

  “Let me just take a peek at Grandma, then we can go.” I slipped down the hall, breathing deeply while I could. Thankful to be out from under that Easton stare. Gr
andma’s bedroom door sat open just enough for me to see inside. She lay on her side, curled around her pillow as she slept. Perfect. I crept back down the hall to the living room, nodding toward the front door when Easton looked up.

  “C’mon, I owe you one.”

  “Violet, wait.” Easton set his now-empty glass on the counter and followed me outside. “You really don’t have to drive me back.”

  “I insist.” I dropped into my car and turned the ignition, hiding the way my hands shook. He was too much, too big, too bold, too full of knowledge about stuff I’d rather lock away forever. He was also a strong part of this community, and I…was not. He was everything I shouldn’t want to be around. I needed to remind myself of that fact.

  Easton huffed and scowled as he slid into the passenger seat, almost slamming the door. “I can’t believe I’m in a Toyota.”

  “You got a problem with my car?” I asked, already knowing how this particular conversation would go. Lots of things in these parts didn’t change, including loyalty to an industry that had long been a staple in the region. That fight was familiar, almost calming in a way. That fight, I could deal with.

  “You got a problem with American made? With locally made?”

  I rolled my eyes as I pulled out of the driveway. “My Toyota was assembled in Indiana, hotshot. Besides, this little lady was cheaper and gets better gas mileage than anything else in its class.”

  “Yeah, but my old truck’s side panels were stamped right here in town.”

  He still had his truck? That fact shouldn’t have excited me the way it did. Not that I could admit that. “Most of that plant is nothing but empty space and sad memories at this point. There’s nothing good left there.”

  “Nothing? No happy memories or fun times?”

  “Nothing.”

  “This coming from the girl who won the watermelon-eating contest three years running at the stamping plant carnival, beating out my friends and me every time. I still remember your smile that last time. You were thrilled with yourself.”