Jess stared at TJ skeptically. “What do you see?”
The question surprised TJ, who figured Jess would be more interested in hearing herself talk than learning about her. Another assumption upended. “Let’s finish eating and I’ll show you.”
After lunch, TJ led the way down sand-covered steps to the beach. At the bottom, she pulled off her shoes, rolled up her slacks, and waited for Jess to do the same. She led them to a tide pool where they found tiny crabs, mollusks, sea urchins, hermit crabs, and anemones. They perched on the rocks closer to the water.
“Look, breathe, listen, and touch. Tell me what you see, smell, hear, and feel,” TJ said.
The rock under Jess wasn’t smooth, and TJ watched with amusement as she tried to lose herself in the moment. “Water. Sand.” She turned to TJ. “I know. Duh.” She faced the ocean and took a deep breath. “Crashing waves, like thunder. Seaweed or something salty, but not like a margarita. Is this what you mean?”
“Yep. Keep going.”
“The air is slightly damp as we’re misted, so gently it’s like a breath instead of a spray…seagulls cawing…children laughing…the coolness of the wind interspersed with the warmth of the sun through the clouds. The sand hugging my toes. My butt falling asleep on this uncomfortably jagged rock.”
TJ burst out laughing. “You were really good at this until then. Come on. Stand up and continue.”
Jess stood and shook her bootie as if enjoying that sensation was returning to her nether parts. She looked around. “Blue. Endless blue. Clouds like spun cotton on an invisible wheel. Sailboats like tiny corks pierced by a white flag on a toothpick, floating, disappearing, returning. Birds bobbing. Whitecaps appearing and disappearing. Children running, stopping, assessing. Dogs chasing, bounding, begging.”
“Amazing.”
“That I’d forgotten all about that little detail called the ocean? The feeling you get when you’re trying to find your sunglasses and they’re on your head?”
“Not even. You’re a natural.”
“As natural as my stepmother’s hair color. When you asked, ‘What do you see,’ I had the distinct impression you’ve asked that question many times before. Is Kara your usual audience?”
TJ nodded. “We never had much money growing up, so for amusement we used to tell stories about the things we’d see and touch around us. We were only limited by our imaginations, which is to say, we weren’t.”
“Give me an example.”
“Well, here at the beach, for instance. When Kara was young, I might take her to a tide pool, point to a crab, and say in a silly voice, ‘That’s Henrietta the Hermit Crab. She doesn’t like other crabs. Why is she so crabby?’ Kara would giggle and then launch into some story about how Henrietta was bullied as a baby crab, which is why she built a shell around herself. And it took Studly the Starfish to bring Henrietta out of her shell or some such.”
“Do you still play?”
“Not often. It’s hard to compete with electronic gadgets no matter how much more flexible and extensive our imaginations are. But sometimes. In fact, we played the other day in her hospital room. Kara’s always been a good storyteller.”
“How much younger is she?”
“Eleven years. She’s sixteen.”
“You seem close.”
TJ nodded, though closeness was a fickle companion. Some days, Kara talked to TJ as if they were best friends, sharing intimate details, admitting vulnerabilities, laughing. Other days, TJ was lucky to receive a grunt and an eye-roll. She didn’t remember her own moods oscillating so much at Kara’s age. But she suspected they probably did, and like the way the recollection of the pain of childbirth dulls conveniently the moment a mother contemplates having more children, the amnesia of what one really was like as a teenager was a requirement for the survival of the species. Otherwise no one would have kids.
TJ started heading back.
“Wait. We’re leaving?” Jess asked.
“My boss is pretty strict.”
Jess laughed. “Completely untrue.”
“Maybe. Not sure yet. She’s sort of an enigma.”
“Oh, right. Complicated and confusing, that’s me.”
“I stand by my assessment. Thanks for the outing. I appreciate that the daughter of Derrick Spaulding deigned to take the intern to lunch.”
“Haven’t you learned by now? All the important jobs go to me.”
TJ heard the sarcasm and wasn’t offended. “Hey. I was kidding.”
“I was too, but I really shouldn’t. Your program bears my father’s name and you’re in the first class to graduate. We have a vested interest in you.” Jess’s attempt to smile was obviously halfhearted.
“I see.” TJ didn’t understand why the idea of having a stake in TJ’s future made Jess seem glum. Was it because it made their relationship into a calculated thing that wasn’t the basis of a real friendship? Was it because TJ was one more work-related thing Jess had to deal with? As much as she was beginning to like Jessica Spaulding, she was at Magnate for an internship. This was professional, not personal. Best not to lose sight of the fact that Jess was simply doing her job.
Chapter Eight
Gary knocked on Jess’s office door frame. “Got a minute?” Without awaiting a reply, he entered and closed the door.
“What’s up?”
“There’s a girl up front who says she’s TJ’s sister, and I can’t find TJ anywhere.”
“She’s at the printer.”
“In what?”
“My car.” At his doubtful expression, she said, “Don’t ask.”
“We can’t leave this kid in the reception area. She’s going to scare away our clients.”
“She’s in high school. How intimidating can she possibly be?”
“Black eye. Swollen cheek. Cast. Crutches. Great for a PSA against domestic violence, but not so good for people looking for a safe place to park their cash.”
Damn it. “What’s that got to do with me?”
“Your intern, your problem.”
Jess had no experience with children. Youngsters, she corrected herself. Youths? Whatever. As far as she could tell, they were either self-absorbed thrill-seekers with too much free time, or dour fit-throwers who felt their every whim should be attended to once they could be bothered to look up from their smartphones. “Have the car service take her home.”
“She insists on waiting for TJ.”
Double damn it. “Fine.” Jess marched past him. She was sending the kid home. As soon as she entered reception, however, she abandoned the thought. Kara’s eyes held a mix of swagger and surrender, acting tough though her bruises spoke of frailty and pain. The idea of forcing this girl into a car, no matter how luxurious, to spend the afternoon alone, held no sway.
“Hi, Kara. Nice to see you again.”
“Do I know you?”
“I’m Jessica Spaulding. They had you on some good drugs last time I saw you.”
“Oh. The hot one.”
“Sorry?” Jess hadn’t heard that the temperature of a pharmaceutical was a thing.
“My sister mentioned you.”
Wait. What? Was Jess the hot one in this context? Impossible. What a strange comment. “How about you come on back and wait for her in my office?”
“I won’t bother anyone.” Kara sounded like she thought she was always a bother. It pulled at Jess.
“You won’t be bothering me, and I could use the company. Come on.” With a flick of her head, Jess prodded Kara to follow.
Pushing to a precarious standing position, Kara coordinated feet and crutches and did so.
Jess had Kara settle at her small conference table, an ironic name for furniture at which no one ever conferred since coworkers had so few expectations of her. Today Jess’s reputation worked in her favor. She could keep the youngster in her office all day if she wanted. Hell, they could play cards or board games. No one would question it.
Jess settled in her desk chair and watched
the girl fish something out of her backpack. It was a magazine called Hot Rod, which she began to read. Why was she about to vie for this girl’s attention? “So what brings you here today?”
Without looking up from her magazine, Kara said, “My sister.”
Helpful kid. “You’re supposed to meet her here?”
The response came in the form of a nod.
Not easily dismissed when she put her mind to something, Jess asked, “She’s taking you to an appointment or something?”
Kara raised her eyes. Such fire there, crackling beneath the surface. Then, as if smothering a blazing comeback, she dropped her head and spoke into the magazine. “I have to come here after school from now on.”
Ah, punishment. Still, couldn’t she go to the library or a café or something? This wasn’t the YMCA. Jess bit back the question. She didn’t want to make the girl feel any less wanted. “You’re in the doghouse?”
Another nod.
Teenagers! How did parents put up with this stuff? Jess corrected herself. How did TJ put up with it? Then again, what choice did she have? “What’d you do?” Jess asked.
Kara flicked her eyes in Jess’s direction. “Borrowed a car.”
Jess had trouble imagining why that was a bad thing. Then it struck her. “Without a license?”
“I have my license.”
Then what was the issue? “Did you keep it longer than you were supposed to?”
Kara shrugged.
This pulling teeth was tiresome. “You stole it?”
Another shrug.
Finally. “I see. And you…” She pointed to Kara’s cast and face. “Drove into a wall? Tripped on your way to return the keys?”
“Something like that.”
The penny dropped. “Its owner hurt you?”
“He wasn’t happy.”
Jess wanted to yell obscenities. This ninety-pound girl was brutally beaten for joyriding? “Please tell me he was arrested.”
Kara shrugged again. “I deserved it.”
No one deserves to be beaten! Jess tamped down her enormous anger. She rested her chin in her hand and innocently asked, “What’s his name and where does he live?”
Kara laughed. “She’s going to be in so much trouble.”
“A woman did this to you?”
“No. TJ. Never mind. I did it to myself.”
Did she really believe she was responsible for her injuries? “You both committed crimes. But that’s what our justice system is for. He had no right to assault you. As much as I’d like to find that creep and give him what’s coming to him, this isn’t the Wild West where people take the law into their own hands.”
Kara shook her head and grabbed her crutches. “Look, Miss Spaulding, if you could just point me to my sister’s desk, I’ll be out of your way.”
Jess raised a palm to stop her. “Okay. We won’t talk about it. One more question, and you can get back to your magazine.”
“What?”
“What was the car?”
Kara harrumphed. “Not a Rolls or Mercedes, that’s for sure.”
“Not very exciting then.” Jess goaded her.
The pages grew louder with each flip of Kara’s wrist. Jess had caught a live one. “1970 Plymouth Duster 340. Two-hundred seventy-five horsepower.”
“Not bad.” She’d never heard of it.
Kara snapped the magazine shut. “Not bad?”
“Probably the best you could do around that part of town.” Jess had no idea where the incident had taken place.
“What would you know about it?”
Not much. But if she played her cards right, she could pretend otherwise. “So what’s the draw?” Jess inclined her head toward the crutches and indicated her own face to mirror Kara’s bruises. “To make it worth it. Is it the particular car or the ability to steal it?”
Kara flipped a couple pages of her periodical, making Jess wonder if she’d heard the question. “I like muscle cars. Fixing ’em. Restoring ’em. Driving ’em.”
“You fix cars?”
Kara shrugged.
If she received one more shrug in reply, Jess was going to scream. If the girl had to have gotten hurt, couldn’t it have been a shoulder? “Doesn’t seem as though you care too much about getting caught.”
“Maybe I want to.”
The bravado was so B-movie, so over-the-top, it made Jess contemplate the statement more than she otherwise would have. She parsed the girl’s comment and began thinking it through. Did Kara want to get caught? If so, why?
She got back on track. “So no interest in an already restored, cherried-out classic that starts faster than lightning?”
The magazine rolled into the shape of a telescope in the teen’s lap.
“Yeah. No challenge in that.” Jess glanced at her watch before focusing on her laptop screen. “She should be back any time now.”
“What kind of classic?”
Jess feigned confusion. “What? Oh. Never mind. Not your thing. I get it.” She waved Kara off. “Forget it. My friend’s probably sold it by now anyway.”
“Sold what?”
“’57 Corvette Fuelie.” The only year, make, and model combination she’d ever committed to memory. She hoped this was her version of Jeopardy—whipping out some long-held, useless fact in the hope it became useful one day.
Kara tsked and resumed her reading.
Mutely replaying the last few seconds to ensure she hadn’t misspoken, Jess opted not to cave in to her desire to ask why the self-proclaimed hotrod devotee wasn’t interested in such a revered automobile. Game over. The room was quiet as seconds ticked by.
“The two fifty or the two eighty-three?” Kara asked.
Double Jeopardy. “Two eighty-three.”
Kara laughed. “Right. You expect me to believe your friend owns a car they only produced about a thousand of?”
Jess fought to relax her facial muscles, which were rebelliously intent on forming a smug expression. “You expect to believe I’d have the slightest clue about any of it had I not been subjected to his incessant fawning over that car?”
“Ohmygod. He really has one?”
And because she simply had to, Jess shrugged.
Kara’s eyes grew wider than a pug puppy’s. “Can I see it?”
“Do you think your sister would be interested in joining us?”
The girl’s exuberance immediately cooled, and she shook her head.
Jess wondered at the change but didn’t hesitate. Smartphone in hand, she swiped to her favorites and clicked on the familiar name. After more than a dozen rings, she heard his greeting and replied, “Hey, handsome. Up for some company?”
*
The service center never ceased to awe Jess. Mechanics, service managers, clerical staff, and customers moved about the place like a busy anthill. Her driver dropped them off at the main entrance. Certain her hobbled passenger would be able to keep up, she marched past the waiting area to a door marked Private, which she pulled open and held. Kara shuffled past, then stopped to allow Jess to retake the lead. At the end of the corridor was another door. Jess keyed a code into the security device, and the steel door unlatched. She pushed this one as well and again allowed Kara to pass.
But Kara stopped in the doorway, mouth open. Jess had expected as much. It was an impressive sight. The well-lit hangar-type facility was the owner’s private showroom. Four pristine classic cars were backed into spaces along one wall. Opposite were two others. Beyond them was a man working beneath another car raised by a hydraulic platform. Though the area smelled vaguely of grease, the air conditioning and ceiling vents minimized its impact.
Jess recognized one of the vehicles as the Corvette. Two others she identified as an MG and a Porsche. She had no idea what the others were.
“Knock knock,” Jess shouted over Bob Seger’s “Old Time Rock & Roll.” The man glanced over and waved. Dillon. He broke into the smile that still melted hearts, though hers was no longer one of them. He placed wha
tever tool he was holding onto a nearby tray and hit a button on a remote that reduced the music volume. He peeled off his gloves, removed and hung his shirt on the corner of the tool chest, leaving him in a white T-shirt. “Hey, beautiful,” he said as he walked over to Jess, twirling her around and kissing her briefly on the lips.
Jess kept her arms around his waist, enjoying the intimacy they shared. “Hey, yourself. Thanks for seeing us.” She turned to Kara. “Kara, this is Dillon Bradford. Dillon, this is…” But Kara wasn’t paying attention. She was staring at the cars as if they were unicorns. “Kara.” Jess stepped between Kara and the automobiles. “Kara.” With the girl’s focus finally on her, Jess extended her palm toward Dillon. “Kara, this is Dillon Bradford. Dillon, Kara Blake. This is Dillon’s body shop and these are some of his toys. I thought you might like them.”
Kara accepted Dillon’s outstretched hand, but her eyes never left the autos as she said, “These are yours?”
“Yes, ma’am. Do they pass muster?”
Kara nodded like a bobblehead on steroids. “Is that…is that the Banshee? The Banshee?”
“It’s not the Banshee. It’s a Banshee. There were two that year,” Dillon said.
Kara’s mouth hung open and she turned to Jess. “You didn’t mention that one.”
“I didn’t know.” To Dillon, Jess said, “Is she new?”
Dillon smiled. “Picked her up at auction last month. Isn’t she a beaut?”
“She’s incredible. I can’t believe you have all of these. ’60 Camaro, ’64 GTO, ’68 Road Runner Hemi, ’73 911 Carrera RS.” Kara pointed to the MG. “Is that a seventy or seventy-one?”
“Seventy.”
“Not much of an engine but not bad for its size.”
“She’s faster without the emissions equipment.”
With four large pendulum steps, Kara surrounded herself amid the automobiles. “Can I sit in one?”
“You can sit in all of them if you’d like,” Dillon said. While Kara took him up on the offer, he asked Jess, “What have you gotten yourself into?”
“The better question is, what have I gotten you into?”
“I don’t think I like the sound of this. Who is she?”
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