By junior year of college, she was done screwing around. Buckling down, she worked to graduate on time. Pippa had been one of the best things to happen to her. A family girl from a small town and likeably decent, she embodied the fun, girl-next-door sort that Sophie was at heart… but a bit more extreme.
They’d met at a highly anticipated basketball game. Set to be ranked well in March Madness, UCLA had been on fire that year. Sophie had needed a little break from cramming for exams and went to a big game with a miserably dull date. Pippa had made a similar mistake and was there with the guy’s good friend. Hitting it off right away, the two chatted through the game and moved in together the next year.
***
Turning the key, he heard the slightest tease of the engine trying to wake. Poor, tired old truck had quit right about the time he got back from the mission that wiped out too many of his team. A record-breakingly horrific op.
What glowing luck, to have his truck die the day he got back. He couldn’t bring back his friends in one piece, but dammit, the pickup was a piece of machinery. He’d managed to patch it up again and again, but the days it actually ran were becoming fewer and farther in between. His copy of the Chilton’s repair manual he’d inherited with the old clunker was so worn he could hardly make out the words anymore. Even YouTube was out of ideas.
His therapist had asked if maybe it was time to let the truck go. Ha. The metaphor was painfully obvious; he wasn’t dumb enough to miss the message. Nor was he giving up.
Laying on his back, he rolled under the chassis and stared blankly at the antiquated parts, looking for hints at what might be ailing the old rig. Kicked up by a warm gust of summer breeze, a mouthful of dust swept across his face, grit sticking in his teeth.
Vision obscured with thick dust, the explosion echoed again and again in his ears. He turned sharply, mid-stride, and sprinted back to the explosion, Zane close at his heels. Another blast knocked them both to the ground, dropping him to his hands and knees. Grabbing Zane in the dusty commotion, he pulled him into the cover of the alley. Incensed, Zane tried to pull away to run into the fire after the others.
“They’re gone. We need to get out of here,” he’d shouted over the ringing of his ears.
“Not all; they can’t be.” Zane’s voice was as hollow as his own, his eyes crazed with uncertainty. Gritty debris and ash caked onto to the thick sweat on his face.
Fuck. They couldn’t just leave them.
Taking aim, they covered each other as they re-entered the street. Dead quiet, there was no sign of anyone left to defend against. Not that anyone could see through the pervasive airborne debris to shoot them anyway.
“Anyone there?” Pulling himself out from the crumbling doorway on his elbows, Jack hacked up whatever particles had lodged into his lungs. Sticky, bloody sputum clung to his chin.
Ignoring the possible danger, Zane was at their friend in an instant. Covering the pair, Asher remained vigilant, keeping his back to his friends and watching the street, the nearby buildings. It was too murky, zero fucking visibility.
Muted by the ringing in his ears and the echoes of broken concrete still breaking off of the rubble, he could just make out the crunching of boots approaching. Rotating his head at the sound, he faintly made out a wounded enemy rounding the corner, on his way to check for others, as they were.
Fearing his own end, the enemy didn’t hesitate. Neither did Asher. He wasn’t losing another friend today.
Silencing the scream that filled his chest, Asher whacked a loose part with the flat side of his wrench. Trembling, he slid out from under the truck. Wiping away the dust-coated sweat and tears from his face, he hopped back into the cab.
Turning the key again, he elicited a tired, but steady response. Shutting off the weak rumble of the engine, he dragged his own creaky joints out of the truck. The hood was still open, as it was so often these days. Standing in front of the cool motor, he checked the connections. He was almost there. Had already replaced half the damn parts, rebuilt what he could alone.
“Even your grandpa knew that truck wasn’t going to live forever.” His mom came out of nowhere, ice water and a sandwich in hand.
“What time is it?” He glanced around, remembering his phone was plugged into the stereo across the room. Silent now, his playlist must have run out. How long had he been lost in the flashback?
Shaking her head, she cleared some tools from the table and set down the lunch she’d prepared. “It’s two o’clock.”
No wonder his stomach hurt. Even small children were known to figure out that belly ache meant mealtime. “Thanks.” He wiped his hands on the shop rag he’d remembered to keep handy this time.
Tearing into the sandwich, he about moaned at the gooey grilled cheese with its perfectly crispy outside and a heap of cheese and chipotle mayo oozing out the side. Studying the sandwich, he attempted to solve the mystery as he swallowed the huge bite. Was it really that good or was he this hungry? “This is brilliant. Why have you never made this before?”
Denise smiled proudly. “Sophie’s favorite. She had a rough day, so I called Pippa to find out what I might be able to convince her to eat. I made a spare, realizing you hadn’t eaten either.”
He swallowed a mouthful of the cheesy goodness. Chuckling from deep in his belly at his mother as he downed the rest in a few massive bites, he teased, “Food doesn’t solve everything.”
Considering what she’d said, he worried after Sophie. She seemed to have everything figured out, so what could have spoiled her appetite? “What’s up with Sophie?”
Steam blasting out of his mother’s ears, he could see her getting fired up on Sophie’s behalf. She’d already burrowed her way into the hearts of his sister and parents, and he suspected she was heading right for his, too. “Have you heard anything about her upbringing?”
He shook his head. His Sophie knowledge was pretty limited by design.
“Her dad was in the army, killed in action when she was no more than five. I’d love to have met her mother; she sounds like she was an incredible woman. So tragic though. Her mother died when Sophie was twelve.” Denise leaned back against the workbench, ignoring the grease and oils that were deeply embedded in the woodwork around here.
Asher gulped down his water. “I had no idea. That’s terrible. What happened to Sophie?”
Denise shrugged as she fought back the rage that boiled just under the surface. “Her Aunt Yvette, a chronically struggling actress in Los Angeles, took her in. Her parents and her grandparents set her up well. But her mother must have known what a greedy monster her aunt was, and arranged for a pretty stringent allowance from her trust fund. I don’t know the details, but I do know that Yvette still calls her for money.”
“She calls Sophie for money?” What kind of aunt asked her niece for money? If his stomach weren’t so happy from the delicious lunch, it would be roiling on her behalf.
“Poor Sophie just got off the phone with her, manipulated into sending her more money.” Denise stood tall again, stretching her neck and rolling her shoulders as if preparing for a knockout punch. Instead, she picked up his empty glass and plate. “If I could get my hands on her aunt… I’d show her a thing or two about human decency.”
Fuming, Asher wasn’t sure the term human decency was the wording he would have chosen. “Sophie doing okay?”
Denise nodded. “She’ll be alright. She’s a tough one. Anyway, thanks for listening to me vent. I almost had violent thoughts.”
He chuckled and rose his hands in the air in feigned surrender, “Heaven forbid. If you’re considering violence, everyone better flee. You’ve got a lot of pent-up aggression in there.”
His mother rolled her eyes and motioned at him with the empty dishes. “You’d better watch yourself mister. You don’t want to be in the way when I get angry.”
A true pacifist, he couldn’t picture her going Hulk-crazy. Might be fun, though. She was full of fire. Yet, she managed to be very effective without th
rowing punches.
7
Sophie needed a break. From everything. Yvette had ruled so much of her life. Faintly, she remembered the few times her own mother had taken Yvette’s call when Sophie was a kid. Occasionally she’d sent money to keep her sister out of prostitution and life on the streets. Or that’s what Sophie figured out much, much later.
Strolling out to the garage, hair on fire despite an hour of useless meditation, followed by therapeutic spreadsheet design, she decided to take a drive into town. Or something, anyway, to clear her mind.
She needed to get started with work. Soon. Maybe find a place to live. Keep herself occupied.
A familiar screech of mechanic tools rang out from the third garage bay. Asher’s legs stuck out from under the truck. Silence. Another screech. Silence again.
In a flash, Asher appeared from under the truck and popped up to stand, distracted by his current automotive repair mission. From afar, still standing in the huge doorway of the open garage bay, Sophie watched. He hadn’t noticed her yet. He hopped in the driver’s seat and tried the engine.
Started right up with a rumble then a purr. A whoop of satisfaction echoed out of the truck cab. He revved the engine, noting it responding appropriately. Jumping out as quickly as he’d hopped in, Asher checked under the hood.
No squeals or rattles. Better than when he’d tried a few days ago when Sophie had left with Pippa and Denise for yet another round of wedding errands, followed by a lady’s lunch. The grinding sound it made that day had been terrible. Sophie moved closer, not quite sure if she was heading to her car or to Asher.
Something tugged and pulled in her gut the moment he laid eyes on her, creating a gnawing, craving sensation like she hadn’t eaten in days and his touch was the only food that could bring her back from the brink of starvation. His expression heated, her breath caught in response. He dropped the hood and stalked toward her like a predator moving in for the kill.
Stopping a few feet from her, he was careful not to get too close. Not that it cooled anything down. If anything, it made her tense in anticipation of the final strike.
Seeing she held her car keys and purse, the fading redness of her eyes from her self-pitying crying jag, his posture opened. “Where’re you headed?”
“Nowhere, actually. I just need some fresh air.” She looked back to the mountains, hearing them call her name.
“Want to hop in? I need to take her for a test drive.” He gestured toward the smoothly running truck with a shrug and a smile.
Biting her lip, she nodded. “Sure.” Finding herself suddenly the shy one, she climbed in as he held the door open for her with subtle finesse.
They were quite the pair today, she noted as he climbed in the driver’s side. She wore a pink cotton sundress, her hair neatly straightened and styled in an effort to perk herself up. As usual, he wore a low-slung pair of jeans with a fitted, ragged t-shirt; this one had SEAL printed across it and had clearly seen better days, as the jersey fabric was faded with a few rips scattered around the stiff white letters.
Backing out of the garage, his hand rested on the seat behind her. He wasn’t even touching her, wasn’t even trying to make a move, and her skin prickled, longing for a physical connection. He shifted into drive and the truck rumbled down the driveway. Her shoulder suddenly felt cold at the loss of the almost-contact.
Turning up the hill, he tested the engine’s muster up the hill, it’s rumbling engine complaining, but cooperating.
“Don’t you think we ought to stay within cell phone range in case the truck breaks down?” Despite the recent improvement in the truck’s functionality, she had her doubts it would make it up the mountain roads. After all, this was the first she’d ever seen it leave the driveway.
Scoffing, Asher shook his head in feigned disbelief. “This baby will do fine. Besides, I brought my toolbox just in case. And I brought this great long, skinny arm that can reach into awkward places in the engine to retrieve things for me.”
“That’s a brilliant plan. Unless we need a tow.”
Glancing over at her, he looked a little defensive with his jaw set firmly. “Hey, Grandpa bought this truck right off the lot in the early 1970’s; over three hundred thousand useful miles on it. It’s a worthy truck.”
Sophie could hear the fondness for the rusted piece of machinery. “It’s a classic; I’m not questioning that. You must be a decent mechanic to have kept it running all this time. Did you learn that from your grandpa?”
“Yeah,” he answered wistfully, his head tilting and his eyes steady on the road.
“Denise or Paul’s dad?” She’d met Denise’s dad twice before he passed away. He was a jovial man with a rubrous complexion and a smattering of wiry gray hairs on the top of his head, but he hadn’t quite seemed like he’d ever been the handy sort.
“Paul’s. The second Sutherland of Sutherland’s Hardware, but a much better grandpa and mechanic than shop owner.” His tone was pure pride.
“You were close?”
Asher kept one hand on the shifter and the other loosely on the wheel as they crossed a long bridge over a rocky river, continuing to climb in altitude. “Yeah. Grandpa retired early, as my dad was more than ready to take over. Plus, Grandpa preferred to play. So, while Dad worked seventy-hour weeks–mind you, that he didn’t have to work–Grandpa would come over and take me fishing, hiking, camping.”
“Pippa was fond of him, too. He and your grandma. He passed away, what, five, six years ago?” The truck wound round the bends of the hillside as they gradually increased altitude.
“Yeah. I was deployed, deep cover op, and didn’t find out for two months. He and grandma were on a cruise in Alaska. He got sick while they were there and died of pneumonia a few weeks later. Refused to admit it was more than a simple virus. Pissed Grandma off so much, she followed him to the grave a few months later. Stubborn ass.” The words sounded harsh, but the tone was regretful, affectionate.
“I’m so sorry.” Sophie didn’t know how to respond. She’d lost so many, she ached to think of others going through that same pain.
Before reality sunk in too deeply and irrevocably, in the form of Yvette’s disinterest and manipulation, she used to imagine what it would be like if she’d had a grandparent that could have taken her in when her mom died. Chocolate chip cookies after school, trips to the park or the movies, learning to sew, knit, fish, and camp. Life doesn’t always work out the way it should.
He patted her knee and gave her leg a sympathetic squeeze before moving his hand back to downshift for the next turn. Slowing the truck, they pulled into an overgrown road Sophie wouldn’t have otherwise noticed. Not seeming to care that not much was left of the road, Asher drove them over the grassy ruts, breaking branches of the shrubs and low hanging trees along the way.
“Are we allowed to be down here?”
“Not exactly. It’s an old logging road, but it sold hands three or four times within a few months’ time, years ago, so no one realized they never locked the gate. Those of us who noticed didn’t exactly advertise it.”
After a quarter mile of bucking and bumping in the springy old seats, they came to a small clearing with scattered stumps and patches of tall grass. No concerns about traffic, they parked in the middle of the path. Looking her up and down, taking in her attire, he hesitated. “It’s a bit of walk; you okay in that?”
Sophie glanced at her outfit. The dress was one of her favorites, pretty but practical. She’d worn light tennis shoes with it. “All good. We should have brought a picnic.”
They climbed out of the truck. Asher came around to meet her and led the way. “Didn’t you just have lunch?”
“Yes. But now we’re out in nature so I feel like I need to bring supplies.” She grinned up at him. Hiking hadn’t exactly been Yvette’s thing, of course, but her mom had loved to hike and would always bring a backpack full of snacks, even for brief jaunts in the park.
“Hang on.” Asher disappeared for a moment, retu
rning with a branch of leaves and berries. He popped one of the orangey red berries in his mouth and handed her the tasty looking bundle.
“I didn’t know raspberries grew wild around here.” She took the offered branch and studied one of the berries.
“Salmonberries. They’re everywhere around here this time of year. Try one.”
Popping one in her mouth, she was surprised at the pleasant taste. A bit seedier and tarter than a raspberry, but very refreshing. “Thanks.” She munched a few more as they walked.
Before long, they reached a babbling brook bathed in shade from the surrounding maples and alder. The place was a surprising oasis, something one might find in a fairyland. Linking his hand with hers, Asher led her over and under a few fallen trees until he found just the right one.
They stepped up onto a massive tree trunk that had fallen across the creek. Maybe a foot and a half wide, it was wide enough that she didn’t have to worry much about watching her balance. The bark was already stripped off by time and weather, so she had no trouble walking across it. Asher stopped halfway across and sat down, his feet dangling over the side. Sophie sat next to him on the log, her feet facing upstream while his faced down, a few inches of space between them. They watched the stream pass below them, the surface of the water a good three feet beneath their shoes.
At first, they took in their surroundings, listening to the summer birds chattering away around them. Eventually, they commented about the scenery, the weather, growing into more personal topics. They visited comfortably until Sophie’s cheeks hurt from smiling and chatting. Later, she couldn’t have recalled what they talked about. Something, nothing, anything.
For someone his family didn’t think talked much, he was surprisingly easy to visit with. Even more so out here than he was over their morning coffee. She didn’t want to pry, but from some of the things he said, it was more than the distance and friendships that had widened the distance between he and Pippa.
All the Days After Page 7