Indisputable

by A. M. Wilson

  She did a pretty decent job trying to cover her bruises with makeup. I wish she would stay home with me today instead of subjecting herself to a possible interrogation from her coworkers.

  As I shift the car into drive, I notice the backpack sitting between her feet.

  “What’s that?” I ask, gesturing to the blue bag.

  Her cheeks flush, and she looks out the window before answering. “I grabbed a few things…for your place.”

  “Oh.” The word slips out of my mouth before I can stop it and at the look of distress on her face, I rush to comfort her. “I mean, that’s great. I want you to be comfortable. How long do you need to stay?”

  She shrugs.

  “If it’s a problem, I’m sure I can find somewhere else. I don’t want to intrude…” she trails off, and when I peek at her, her chin is trembling. She’s trying not to cry.

  How am I supposed to do this? Where are her parents? I know my job wouldn’t agree with me housing a student, regardless of the circumstances. I’ll let it go for now, but I need answers in order for us to continue this…whatever the hell this is.

  “It’s not a problem, Sweetheart,” I say, smiling at her gently. “Stay as long as you need.”

  Our town is small enough that I manage the short drive to the nursing home without her directions. Which is good, because she hasn’t looked away from the window since we left her apartment. When I pull up to the small facility, Tatum doesn’t move right away. Instead, she stares down at her hands before turning slightly in her seat to face me.

  “Thank you for doing this. I know I was really rude to you before, and I’m sorry.”

  “It makes me happy to help you. Let me help you,” I tell her sincerely, imploring her with my eyes and my voice to listen. She nods her head again, before opening the door and stepping outside. “When are you off?” I call out to her.

  “Pick me up at 6:30?”

  “I’ll be here. One more thing.” I wait until she leans down into the car to ask, “Where’s your car at?”

  She stiffens noticeably, and shakes her head at me sadly. “I’m not sure if it’ll still be in working condition after yesterday. I’ll see you later.”

  I watch her until she’s in the building. Minutes pass. Still I sit, contemplating my next move. It’s dangerous for me to meddle. If someone were to realize that I’m her teacher…

  I let that thought trail off.

  But I can’t sit back and let her deal with this all alone. What kind of man would that make me? She needs someone to help her. Even if it makes me an idiot, I want to be that man.

  Like the nursing home, there’s only one mechanic shop in town. Unless this guy works 20 miles away or at his own private garage, he has to be here. I park out front, scanning the lot on the left where the cars being serviced are parked. I forgot to ask her what she drives, so I can’t tell by looking if her car is here or not. But I remember what that punk ass kid looks like, and she mentioned his name was Wyatt, so I make my way inside.

  I step into a small convenience store when I first walk in, and I can see the service station is near the back. A young girl, probably sixteen or so with a small round face and dirty blonde hair is manning the cash register. Her eyes go round, and she blushes noticeably when I lock eyes on her so I decide to question her first.

  “Hi, can I help you?” She asks shyly, her voice way too high for nonchalance.

  “Hey, I’m looking for a mechanic I think works here. Do you know someone named Wyatt?” I ask, making eye contact and trying to not be dismissive towards her childish behavior. She’s twirling a strand of hair around her finger and blinking her eyelashes so fast she looks like she has a tic.

  “Oh yeah, Wyatt. Cool guy. He’s working in the garage today.” I cringe inwardly when she slowly runs her tongue along her lower lip. Too much.

  “Great, thanks. Can you point him out to me? A buddy of mine told me to see him about doing some work on my truck, but I’ve never met the guy before.”

  “Sure!” she giggles annoyingly as she leads me towards the shop.

  We step in front of a large 4x4 window, and she points to a guy standing by a beat up Honda. Even though he isn’t looking this way, I recognize the son-of-a-bitch from yesterday.

  “Thanks for your help,” I tell the girl without taking my eyes off my target.

  Before I step into the garage, I take stock of my surroundings. Two other guys are talking over a white SUV, and a third is changing the oil of an Avenger, which means I need to keep things from getting too messy. I keep myself in shape, but I’m not too confident about taking on four guys at once. As I walk through the door, I slip my Leatherman out of my pocket, opening the knife and concealing it in my hand beneath my sleeve.

  “Hey, you Wyatt?” I ask as I approach, loud enough to get his attention, but somehow retaining the hostility I’m feeling inside. If I didn’t have an audience, I’d jam this knife down his fucking throat.

  “Yeah, do I know you?”

  “I’m here for Tatum’s car,” I reply, ignoring his question. If he doesn’t recognize me, then it’s best we keep it that way.

  He’s surveying my appearance when he scoffs. “Seriously dude? All she has to do is call and I’ll bring it right back over to her. I’m not giving it to you.” He plasters a smug grin on his face, crosses his scrawny arms over his chest, and leans back against her car.

  “You’re going to give me her fucking car, and you’re never going to talk to her again,” I threaten through clenched teeth. My anger is rising at an alarming rate.

  “Oh yeah? And why should I listen to you?” he asks, taking a step towards me. I reciprocate with a step forward of my own. We’re now standing toe to toe, face to face, and I wish I could beat that smug look off his face.

  “You might not remember because you were too busy getting your ass kicked, but I. Saw. Everything. yesterday, you punk ass little bitch.” I step even closer, our chests bumping, and I bite out, “I wasn’t done beating the shit out of you for what you did, so you’re going to give me her car and never speak to her again, or I’m calling the cops and your ass will be sitting in jail.”

  He stares at me, and I stare back, not going to be the first to break contact. Suddenly, one of the other men approaches us, probably noticing the tension from across the room.

  “Hi there, I’m the owner here. Can I help you with something?” he asks, his voice stern and bordering on impolite. I can tell he’s the type of boss who protects his own.

  “I’m just here for my girlfriend’s car. This guy said it’d be ready yesterday,” I reply coolly.

  “What car is it, Wyatt?” the boss man asks him, and Wyatt’s face turns an unbelievable shade of red.

  “The Honda,” is all he says.

  I watch as the owner walks to a peg board with several sets of keys hanging on it and plucks one off the rack. He leans over the counter to consult a record log and walks back over to where Wyatt and I continue our staring match.

  “Here you go, sir. Looks like she’s all paid for.”

  I take the keys, realizing when I check the key tag with the license plate her car is this beater of a Honda right next to me. Wow. I can’t even be sure this thing is street legal.

  Praying I don’t die a fiery death in this beater mobile, especially with the knowledge that stupid fucker worked on it, I climb into the car without another word. My house is only a few minutes’ drive so I take the car there and walk back to the service station to retrieve my own car.

  With Tatum’s car back in possession, I decide to pick up some groceries so she has something substantial to eat after work. In this morning’s awkwardness, I failed to get her some breakfast. She probably doesn’t feel that great with an empty stomach after a night of drinking.

  The supermarket is packed on a Saturday afternoon, so I try my best to hurry through. I gather the ingredients for homemade spaghetti sauce, pasta, and garlic bread. Lettuce, cucumbers, and tomatoes end up in the cart as well fo
r a toss salad. Italian is quick and easy. Seems like a safe option considering I don’t know anything about her.

  As I walk through the pantry type aisles, I end up grabbing more than is necessary, filling the cart with different kinds of cereals, granola bars, canned soups, chips, cookies, Pop tarts, and a couple 88 cent boxes of mac ‘n cheese. I want to be prepared since I don’t know how long she’s staying.

  How long do I want her to stay?

  As I’m pondering that question, while staring at the assortment of fruit cups, my thoughts are cut short by the vibrating coming from my pocket. Extracting the device, Trey flashes on the caller ID. Damn, I never called him yesterday.

  “Hey man, what’s up?” I answer, ready to launch into an apology.

  “Why’d ya bail on me yesterday?” Always cutting right to the shit. That’s Trey. I met him at the gym two years ago when I first moved into town. He’s a big guy, with bulging muscles from practically living at the gym. He’s also military. With his nearly bald shaved head and darkly tanned skin, he makes a good wingman. Where I’m clean and fit, he’s massive and rugged.

  I’m struck speechless momentarily. Do I tell him about Tatum? Maybe I should lie. Scanning the people milling about the aisle, I decide to lie. I’m not talking about her assault in the damn canned fruit aisle in the only grocery story in town. A town where everybody knows everybody.

  “Sorry, man. I got caught up in some shit after school, and once it was all sorted out, I ended up at home nursing a couple beers.”

  “Well shit. You missed out on a good time last night. I ran into that Melissa girl you’ve been seein’, and she was all up on some other guy. Hope you’re covering your shit when you hit that, man.” He laughs into the phone, and I can’t help but chuckle with him.

  “She sure moved on quick for seeming so broken up the other day.”

  “Yeah, or maybe she’s been double dippin’ this whole time.”

  “Or triple.”

  “Anyway, man, besides checkin’ why you dipped out on me, I wanted to see if you were up for going out tonight since you left me hanging yesterday. Beer and pool at Old Willow?”

  I open my mouth to reply, but then I remember Tatum. I can’t leave her at my house all alone. I run my hands through my messy hair while I contemplate what to do.

  “Sounds great, but see, uh, I have this girl staying with me for a few days—ˮ

  “You have a girl staying with you?” he blasts, making my eardrums ring.

  “Dude, it’s not like that. I’m at the fuckin’ grocery store so I can’t talk about it right now. But it’s not what you’re thinking.”

  “Alright. Bring her with then.”

  “I’ll ask her. Let me text you, she gets off work this afternoon.”

  We disconnect, and I step into the checkout line, replaying the conversation in my head. Shit. She can’t come with to the bar, she’s only eighteen. At least, I hope she’s eighteen. My stomach plummets to the floor. What if she’s only seventeen? What the fuck am I doing?

  I add her age to the long list of questions I need to ask her about, and start piling my groceries on the conveyor belt at top speed. I need to get out of here.

  After unloading the groceries, I begin a pot of spaghetti sauce to simmer throughout the afternoon. After adding tomatoes, garlic, onion and some seasonings to a large pot, I start another pan to brown some beef. I wonder if she’s a vegetarian. After the beef is browned, I pop it into the fridge instead of adding it to the sauce in case she doesn’t eat meat. After the sauce is at a rolling boil, I turn it down to a simmer, and begin chopping some vegetables for a salad.

  At 6:15 I turn the sauce off before I leave to pick up Tatum. She’s already waiting outside when I arrive and she gives me a little wave when I pull up.

  “Hi,” she says as she buckles her seatbelt. Her mood seems to have improved dramatically since this morning.

  “How was work?” I ask as I pull onto Main Street towards home.

  “It was fine. I like working the day shift on Saturdays. It’s nice to see all my residents fully awake for once.”

  I can’t miss the happiness in her voice, and it makes me smile. I wasn’t sure how long it would take for her to recover from yesterday, but this is a start.

  “I bet. Do you work a lot?”

  “I put in 40 hours a week. Once in a while I’ll get some overtime if they need me to fill in for someone.”

  “Why the hell do you work fulltime?” My shocked voice fills the car. “When do you have time for homework?”

  “I need to work to live,” she responds simply, ignoring my second question.

  We drive in silence for a few more minutes and arrive at my townhouse. On our way to the front door, I tell her, “I made Italian for dinner. I hope that’s okay.”

  “Sure,” she says quietly. I can’t see her face, but I wish I could. I want to know what she’s thinking.

  I step back to let her inside, and she drops her backpack in the entry way.

  “Mmm, it smells amazing in here.”

  The warm aroma of garlic and seasonings fill the house, wafting in from the kitchen. My stomach rumbles, reminding me I haven’t eaten all day.

  “Just give me a few minutes to toast the garlic bread and boil the pasta, and we can eat. Feel free to use my shower to get cleaned up if you want,” I call over my shoulder as I enter the kitchen.

  I’m leaning over in the fridge to pull out the butter when I spot the beef I cooked earlier. “Do you eat meat?” I call behind me, and when I turn around I run face to face with Tatum, practically jumping out of my skin and dropping the container I was holding.

  “Shit.”

  “I’m sorry,” she says shyly. “Um…yes, I do. I was just coming to get some water.”

  “It’s okay,” I breathe, trying to calm my racing heart. Reaching back into the fridge, I grab a bottle of water and hand it to her. “Here.”

  “Thanks,” she says, and I notice she’s chewing her lower lip. Her long eyelashes fan against her cheeks as she focuses on the label to the plastic bottle in her fidgeting hands. I can’t help but stare, and this rolling sensation starts low in my stomach.

  Jesus, what the hell is that?

  “I’ll, um, go shower now,” she says as she scampers from the room.

  Did I really just check out my student in my own kitchen?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Tatum

  Well, that was fucking weird. The hot water cascades down my back, and my head drops forward, letting the steady stream massage the muscles in my neck. I can’t be certain, but I have the feeling Jacoby was checking me out. He’s my teacher for God’s sake! Okay, so maybe he’s good looking, and he’s been nothing but nice and generous since yesterday and sort of sweet. He isn’t much older than me. And then there was that kiss… But he’s my freakin’ teacher! I slap my hand against the tiled shower wall in frustration, enjoying the ringing pain echoing through my palm.

  If yesterday hadn’t happened, I’m sure we’d be back at each other’s throats come Monday. But now? Everything is different now.

  I finish showering, not wanting to seem like I’m avoiding him, even though I wish I could, and I walk back downstairs where I’m assaulted with the sweet aroma of tomato sauce and garlic bread. It smells amazing, and I realize how hungry I am. I ran out of here so fast this morning I missed breakfast, and thanks to work’s no eating rule, I didn’t have lunch either.

  When I round the corner into the kitchen, I notice Jacoby has set the dining table, complete with salad plates and fancy glasses. Hmm. There’s no way a bachelor eats this way every night, and I feel awkward that he’s doing this for me. I tell myself to get over it, and sit down at one of the two place settings.

  “Hey, there you are. Dinner is all set,” Jacoby says as he appears from the kitchen.

  “It looks amazing.”

  “Hopefully it tastes like it looks then. It’s been a while since I’ve cooked for someone other than myself.”r />
  “Really?” I question as we take our seats. “Well, thank you. But you know you don’t have to do this for me.”

  “I know,” is all he says in response.

  I can’t take my eyes off of him as he lifts his glass and takes a small sip of what I’m guessing is white wine. I pick up my own glass, eyeing it suspiciously before taking a whiff. It doesn’t smell like anything. Jacoby chuckles beside me.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask, curious what I did wrong.

  “It’s water. You really think I’d give you wine? Haven’t I done enough to put my job in jeopardy?” There’s humor in his tone and a twinkling in his eyes. I don’t find it funny, and suddenly, I’m not hungry anymore.

  “I didn’t ask you to,” I snap, embarrassed I’m still here. If I were smart, I’d go home. This isn’t right.

  He raises his arms in surrender. “Hey, hey it’s okay. I’m teasing you. My job is safe, don’t worry.”

  I’m not convinced, and I worry I’ve crossed a line somewhere.

  He continues, “Seriously, I want to help you, Tatum. You’re welcome to stay as long as you need, but I do have some questions for you.”

  I can only guess what questions he wants to ask, and I’m not sure I want to answer them. But he’s doing me a tremendous favor and I’m sure he’s confused, so I nod my head in compliance. Picking up my fork, I dig in, hoping the food can help buffer against some of the answers he’s expecting.

  “Do you like it?”

  “It’s amazing, seriously. I’ve never tasted food so good.” And I haven’t. I don’t have time to cook for myself, and there’s not a single cooked meal in memory from living with my mom.

  “Good. Let’s start with the beginning. Why do you live on your own, and why can’t you go home yet? Please don’t think I want you gone, I just want straight answers and honesty so I can help you, okay?” His dark chocolate eyes are soft and warm and filled with concern.

  Trust. He wants to know I trust him, and he wants honesty so he can trust me. We have to lay the foundation to our newfound…alliance.