All Wheel Drive

by Z. A. Maxfield

  “I’m sorry you had to go through that alone.”

  “I wasn’t alone. I was with Ford.”

  His statement seemed ludicrous now. Fraught with ominous warning. He’d always depended on Ford to anchor him, even though Ford had problems of his own. And he’d failed horribly to return the favor.

  Maybe he’d been unable to help for reasons wholly forgivable. But maybe he’d simply been blind, and Ford had suffered.

  The front door of the house opened and welcoming light spilled onto the porch—along with Fjóla. She waved happily at Nash, who’d pulled up behind them, but gotten out of the car first.

  Healey and his father joined them.

  “Welcome to my home.” She hugged Healey gently when he got to her, and then his pop hugged her, and Nash hugged everybody.

  This.

  This was what he’d been hoping for when he got back to Bluewater Bay. He needed his family, and here they were, here for him, like always.

  “C’mon.” Nash tightened his arm round him. “I gotcha.”

  The sheer joy of having his family here was brilliant. Knowing he could sleep without fear of anything or anyone. Without keeping one eye open. He could let go.

  He could simply—finally—rest, because his family had his back.

  Healey’s voice was choked with relief when he spoke. “I don’t know what I’d do . . .”

  “Me neither. Shh.” Nash shook him like a puppy. “It’s going to be okay.”

  When Diego didn’t hear anything from Healey for a week, he was frankly relieved.

  Guys like Healey, men with siblings who kept in touch over minutiae—men with parents who flew halfway around the world to be with them after a college romance breaks up—weren’t his usual hookup fare.

  Diego’s usual hookup fare left when he was done, and everyone was okay with that. He’d dodged a bullet, as far as he was concerned. A guy like Healey could easily get clingy.

  Of course . . . Healey had left. It had been over a week, and Healey hadn’t sent so much as an emoji.

  Goddamn it.

  That didn’t feel very awesome.

  Healey had left without being told to go. Without saying good-bye. Healey wasn’t presuming they were a couple, like he’d feared. So, that was great, right?

  Why did it feel not great? Why did it feel like he’d been rejected, when the only thing that had happened was he’d been given the gift of not having to spell things out to a one-night stand?

  “What am I so worried about?” he said out loud.

  “At a guess, I’d say talking to yourself?” Tori, owner of Stomping Grounds and maker of the best Cuban coffee—well, probably the only Cuban coffee—in town, stared down at him. She looked mildly amused. “You should see your face. Want another?”

  “I’m good.” Diego put away the phone he was fiddling with. Was he the only person over five years of age still playing Pokémon Go? “Caught a Magikarp.”

  “My condolences.” Tori sat in the chair opposite his. With filming on hiatus, lethargy could turn into depression at light speed. Since his routine was to get coffee and a protein pack every weekday morning, rain or shine, Tori had become Diego’s unofficial mother figure.

  “As if there aren’t enough wide-eyed idiots around here staring at their phones, not watching where they’re going, walking out in front of traffic—”

  “What’s got you muttering to yourself?” When he didn’t answer, she guessed. “Guy trouble? That’s men for you. Can’t live with them, and in all but a few progressive states, you’re not allowed to shoot them unless you have a pretty good reason. Tell Mama all about it.”

  “There’s no guy,” he corrected.

  “Is that the problem? Because I know a whole bunch of guys who’d be awesome for—”

  “No. Jeez. Not everything is about relationships or whatever.” Diego hoped to hell he didn’t look as crusty as he sounded. “I have to do some things that aren’t going to be easy, is all.”

  She gave a slow nod. “Anything I can help with?”

  “Unless you have an encyclopedic knowledge of billboard advertising in the last half of the twentieth century?”

  She shook her head.

  “I have to go through my mother’s papers and photographs.” He explained finding the picture of the altered billboard, and how he was searching through his archives for others. “I’ve been putting off looking through her things. You know how it is.”

  Tori shook her head. “The only thing my mom left behind was empties. I lined every single bottle up along the fence and spent an entire day shooting at them.”

  “That’s two gun references in a single conversation.”

  Red lips curved up in a pretty white smile. “Wow. Guns and sex. Maybe it’s me who needs to get laid, huh?”

  “Yep.” The sooner they could talk about anything besides getting laid the better, as far as he was concerned. “Anything interesting going on around here next weekend?”

  “I’m so glad you asked.” At last, he’d triggered a new direction for her thoughts. She nodded happily. “We’re doing a movie party on Friday the thirteenth. I’ll be showing Weird Science and Real Genius. Can you tell Healey to call me?”

  “And how would I do that?” Shoot. He might have sounded a bit snappy, there.

  Her mouth twisted wryly. “Because he’s living in your garage apartment?”

  “My garage was the last place he needed. His brother’s in town—”

  “Yeah, I saw Nash a few days ago. I just assumed he was staying with Healey. They said Ace was coming too, huh?”

  “How would I know? Healey stayed in the apartment over my garage for a single night—” true “—a week and a half ago. That’s all there was.”

  Most definitely not true.

  “They must be staying with Fjóla, then, you think?”

  “I don’t know. Why the interrogation, Tori? Why do you even give a shit?”

  She gave his arm a playful shove. “I don’t. I’m trying to figure out why you’re so cagey about the Holly boys. Those two usually make a hell of an impression, especially on men who like men.”

  His face got hot. “I’m not cagey. They’re gone. I bought their house. It’s mine now. I’m not their fucking gardener.”

  She scooted her chair back. “Wow.”

  “No. Sorry.” He was so ashamed, he just gave up. “I am so sorry.”

  “Just wow.” She stood slowly, mimed backing away in terror, and picked up her chair as if he were going to maul her. “Who pissed in your Cheerios?”

  “Knock it off, Tori. Can I just have a fucking brownie please? I need sugar and caffeine.”

  She swallowed anything caustic, even going so far as to allow a fleeting maternal expression to escape as she went to get the treat for him. She picked up a bottled water from behind the counter on her way back and returned, sitting down again.

  “Thank you.” He took the brownie while she uncapped the water and took a big swig. “I appreciate you for more than your brownies. You know that right?”

  “I do know, and—” narrowing her eyes, she tapped a bright-red fingernail on the table “—I’ve given you chocolate. You must now give me truth.”

  He sighed. “Healey and I hooked up.”

  As casual as he made the words, he knew she wouldn’t let things go at that.

  And of course she didn’t.

  “Oh my God. That’s perfect. The two of you make so much sense—”

  “It’s no big deal, okay?” She looked like she almost believed him, but then he went and spoiled everything by adding, “It was only once, and he hasn’t even called or anything since. So I doubt—”

  “I see.” Only Tori could invest those words with so much chilling portent.

  “It was nothing.” Keeping her from learning the truth was hopeless. He couldn’t stop himself from revealing too much. Like catching a falling knife.

  Or . . . Tori was just that good.

  “Really,” he finished
lamely.

  “Really.”

  She smiled and . . . boom. There it was. The laser-like focus of the inveterate matchmaker. The crafty, knowing expression. The hint of self-congratulatory delight.

  And her aspect—beatific.

  “Movie Night is Friday,” she said warmly. “I was thinking of inviting the Hollys. Who better to facilitate the event than Bluewater Bay’s own Weird Scientist. Here’s what we’re going to do—”

  “I’m really busy these days,” he said. “Sorry.”

  She clutched the edge of the table tightly. “What could possibly be more important than Movie Night?”

  “I told you. I’m doing something for my stepdad and my mother’s friend Rachel. I doubt I’ll have the time to stop by, but—”

  “Oh, you’ll stop by all right.” She had the nerve to finger-point. “You are the only one I trust with my precious audio-visual equipment. That’s a sacred responsibility, Diego. And it’s one I know I can count on you to do your best at because that’s just the kind of fine young man you are.”

  Tori’s tone was so familiar. “You used to be a nun, didn’t you?”

  She dimpled at that. “That is one thing no one has ever accused me of.”

  He finished his brownie in one last big bite. After chewing, he agreed, “Okay, I’ll run your movies, Madrina. But don’t count on me hanging around for the festivities. I don’t feel so much like partying these days.”

  At this, her teasing demeanor disappeared, leaving only his concerned friend. Her gaze calmly searched his.

  “Hey,” she said gently. “I’ve made some guesses as to what brought you up to Bluewater Bay, and why you’ve chosen to stay.”

  He fiddled with his cup. “I came because of Wolf’s Landing, but I moved here because . . . I like the Sound.”

  She put her hand over his. He didn’t move it, even though the urge to draw away came naturally as breathing.

  “You once told me you were a gymnast?”

  He snorted. “I did gymnastics. I wasn’t exactly some elite athlete.”

  She nodded. “You know about momentum. Bluewater Bay is a good place to land, but it’s also an excellent place to find your balance. To spring back from.”

  “How many moms I gotta have?” he teased.

  “As many as you need, mocoso.”

  “Oh, you did not just call me that.”

  “I did.” She stood and stretched. Tilted her head and peered at him. “So are you ever going to talk about those piercings?”

  “What about them?” He glanced up. “They’re not new.”

  “No, but you’ve started wearing jewelry again. And I know for a fact you had to have your eyebrow redone. I saw you go into Ink Bay with Ringo.”

  “Stalking me much?” She had the grace to look contrite. “Healey noticed the scars and it reminded me, is all. He’s observant like that. I didn’t think about my piercings after the accident. It wasn’t a priority, and they healed.”

  She leered. “You look hot today, Rico Suave . . .”

  “Oh, for God’s sake. I didn’t have a makeover.”

  “What can I tell you. I like piercings. Got any others?”

  Cagily, he replied, “I don’t have to answer that.”

  Her grin widened. “So that’s a yes.”

  He shrugged. “Can’t anymore, but yeah. I did have.”

  “Okay, so seriously. I want to set you up with one of my baristas. Will you let me? I could give him Movie Night off, and you could get to know each other. Alternatively, I could ask him to work and you could be a super attractive distraction for him.”

  “Not interested.”

  “Because . . .?” she asked, slyly.

  Oh, he knew what she wanted to hear. She figured the mention of Healey meant something. If he started down this path with her, there’d never be an end to it.

  “Not interested.”

  “You want to know what I think? Someone’s going to change your mind about that sooner than you think.”

  “All right. Place your bet. You pay your money and you take your chances.” He shoved all his trash in the single bag on his lap and rolled toward the bin. To leave no doubt that he wouldn’t be changing his mind anytime soon, he said, “I’ll let you know if it happens.”

  As she waved good-bye, she called out, “Town like this one, poppet, everyone will know before you do.”

  Right. She was actually right. Why had he moved to Bluewater Bay again?

  He followed the same path he always took, zigging and zagging along the grid of streets with numbers and tree names. Pretty boring shit. He had his camera with him, so he stopped and took the time to pull it out, to drape it around his neck in case he saw anything worth shooting.

  It was taking a while for him to get used to the damp chill of the Pacific Northwest. The wind coming off the water picked up the leaves on the ground and whirled them, stiff and chilly, around his wheels. Diego donned a beanie, zipped his hoodie, and wound a colorful scarf—the hand-knit product of his stepfather’s enforced captivity after knee surgery—around his neck several times.

  The sun was breaking through the clouds, arrowing icy light onto the trees guarding the old cemetery. He rarely saw anyone other than Derrick from the B&B there, so it came as a bit of a surprise to see a handsome, silver-haired man standing in an older corner of the property, arms folded.

  In a flash, it came to him who the man must be: Ace Holly. Healey’s “Pop.” The resemblance was unmistakable. He had that American Staffordshire look, but the gray-muzzled version. A happy, healthy old dog who turned, saw Diego, and came bounding over with a genuine smile on his face.

  “Hey, are you Diego Luz?”

  “What gave it away?”

  Ace laughed in chagrin. “I deserve that for presuming. How are you enjoying living in Bluewater Bay?”

  “I like it fine.” He’d picked up his camera to take a couple of shots from the ridge, and he subtly caught Ace. Didn’t really know why, except he wanted a picture of the man. “You miss it?”

  “Sometimes. My wife is buried over there.” Ace pointed toward where he’d been standing. “When we put her in the ground, all I could envision was standing here, year after year, looking into the distance as time crawled by.”

  “It’s a nice view.”

  Tranquil. Cool and pleasant for the people who came to visit, unlike the manicured mediocrity of big business cemeteries that feature traveling art exhibits and live theater. Old cemeteries were peaceful. Modern cemeteries were practical. His mother was at Forest Lawn. You couldn’t get more practical than that.

  “Funny thing. You can look into the distance, but not the future.”

  As if there was a city-wide fire sale on pithy advice, Ace offered his wares.

  Diego heard his mother’s laugher on the wind as he echoed, “Funny.”

  He’d resigned himself to the chair and everything that went with it. But he wasn’t ready for some new “life” to begin. He didn’t want to be wrapped in the web of interconnected lives in Bluewater Bay, and yet . . .

  Bluewater Bay was a typical small town. The people there drew him in and tested and plotted and probed. He was resigned to that too.

  He held up his camera. “Mind if I take your picture?”

  “What for? Doesn’t matter.” Ace beamed at him before striking a dignified pose. “Sure.”

  On Movie Night, Stomping Grounds was total chaos. The kids danced to Oingo Boingo. Tori’s staff served coffee. More than one person snuck sips from a flask. Healey was just a big kid himself—wearing a lab coat and Docs—whose wavy hair had been sprayed Poison Ivy green and secured in a bun with a different wooden pin.

  Diego set up the video feed while Healey took the microphone. Tori had set tables for mini “science” experiments. She and Healey’d found fun things for people of all ages to do—vats of borax-and-school-glue “Slime,” mint-and-soda-pop carbonated fountains. Someone had even brought a “plasma” ball.

  Healey h
ad a way with kids. “The noble gasses,” he said with a laugh, “are not the kind your dads make when they fart, because unlike dad farts, they are what?”

  When he advanced his Powerpoint presentation, the audience called out each property with him: “Colorless, odorless, tasteless, and nonflammable.”

  Everyone ended up laughing.

  “Boys will be boys.” Tori grimaced before turning to Diego, who was double-checking the sound.

  “I wouldn’t know,” he said sourly. “I’m a man.”

  He didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want his body lighting up like a beer sign whenever Healey looked his way. Parts of his body. Weird parts.

  He could taste Healey’s kisses. Feel his tongue glide, slick and languid, over the highly sensitive hotspots they discovered together—his armpits, nipples, the side of his neck.

  Being that emotionally interested without the corresponding physical sensations sucked. It frayed his nerves. It filled him with inexplicable rage.

  Attraction crackled between them, and he had nothing to do with it. Healey drew him in, even if he was only talking about Nikola Tesla, high-voltage electromagnets, neon-filled glass spheres, and the value of additives like argon and krypton.

  While Healey talked, probably three dozen adults and half again as many kids learned science wasn’t an ominous, clandestine club, but a hands-on, fun, family pastime.

  When they started playing with some kind of high-tech bubble juice, Diego rolled outside for a breath of fresh air.

  “Hey. Diego!” Across the street, Ace Holly emerged from a dark SUV waving happily. “Crazy night here, huh?”

  Diego waited for Ace to cross. “Sure is. It’s hopping in there.”

  “Healey had a lot of fun devising the experiments.” Diego followed Ace back inside, where they had to speak over the crowd to make themselves heard.

  “Tori comes up with some good ideas.” He should know—because he knew his way around Final Cut Pro he’d gotten roped into half of them lately.