Uncharted Fate

by Racette, Cynthia

  For a lack of anything better to do, she got out and lifted the hood. She held a flashlight from the glove compartment over the tangled, incomprehensible mess of the grimy wires and whatever else was stuck in there. It meant nothing to her. She recognized where the oil stick went, and where the battery was, and where some of the spark plugs were located. Beyond that, nothing.

  "Damn." She stood staring at the tiny car in the huge garage, and wanted to kick it, but knew it would hurt her foot more than the car. "What'll I do with it?" she mumbled. Maybe she could call Jeff. After all, he'd fixed the dryer, so maybe he knew about cars, too. At least he might be able to tell her what was wrong and give her a tow to the shop. There was a time for independence and a time to yell 'uncle.'

  She went into the house and dialed his number; Cam answered and put his father on.

  “Jeff here.”

  "It’s Anna. I have another favor to ask you. I hate to keep calling you, but my car is sitting in the garage, and it won't turn over or anything. Could you take a look at it, and maybe give me a tow to the service station?"

  "Sure. I'll be right over. Do you have a chain?"

  "I think so. Mike had one. It's somewhere in the garage. I don't know where."

  "If we need it, we'll find it. Give me a few minutes."

  "Thanks. You're a lifesaver."

  She was standing in the lighted garage, shaking her head in confusion at the motor when he drove up. He wore old jeans and a faded orange tee shirt that read, ‘Syracuse Basketball,’ and he was carrying a battered metal toolbox.

  "Hi," he said. Setting the box down on the cement floor in front of the car, he got into the driver's seat and turned the key. He nodded, got out, opened the toolbox, and extracted a tan box with wire leads hanging from it.

  "What's that thingy?"

  "A voltmeter." He proceeded to hook it up to various points near the front of the engine. Each time he hooked it up, he glanced at the black needle and pursed his lips. Finally, he nodded again, and put the voltmeter back in the tool box.

  "What's wrong with it? What did you find?"

  "I think it’s the starter. It's hard to tell sometimes with the ignition system, because a lot of things can interfere with the spark. From the readings I got, I'm pretty sure it's the starter. How old is the car?"

  "Two years."

  "It's pretty new for such problems, though not impossible.”

  "Is it expensive?"

  "Enough, not outrageous." He looked at his watch. "We can get to the foreign auto parts store before they close at nine. I'll put it in for you."

  She lifted one eyebrow. "You can do it? Isn't it complicated?"

  "Not terribly. I've done it before. The hardest part is getting the old one out. Got your purse? C'mon."

  "But Jeff, I've no intention of you spending hours working on my car. I figured maybe you could help me tow it to the shop. I can't ask you to fix it."

  "You're not. I'm volunteering. I want to do it. I know how to put it in, and it doesn't make sense to pay a big wad of money to have the garage do it. I know you're on a tight budget until you sell the house. Besides, you need this car to get to work in the morning. A garage wouldn't even look at it until tomorrow."

  "Yes, but—"

  "Are you coming, or do I have to go by myself and buy the part, too?"

  He walked out the garage door to his car, and she grabbed her purse off the front seat and ran after him. "I'm coming."

  They got the new starter and she held the flashlight for him so he could see while he worked. It took him over two hours because the old starter had considerable corrosion on it from winter salt.

  When at last he crawled out from underneath her car, he was greasy and dirty down to his hips. She tried not to stare at his sweaty, grimy, muscular arms, but it was hard. He sported nicely delineated muscles. And it was a good thing his t-shirt was old, because it was also caked with God-knew-what. There was a streak of dirt on his cheek and sweat glistened on his forehead.

  Jeff smeared the dirt more as he wiped it with his forearm. "Okay, let's give it a whirl. You do it. I’m a mess."

  She slid in and turned the key and it caught right away. "You did it. I don't know how to thank you. It would have cost me three times what it did if I'd been forced to take it to the repair shop."

  "Anything for you." He grinned.

  "I'll bet you say that to all the ladies," she said, disconcerted.

  "Maybe." He leaned over and put his tools back in the box before straightening once more. "Do you suppose I could use your bathroom to wash up?"

  "Of course. There's a half bath off the rec room."

  She could see him lather up his face, neck and hands through the crack in the door. When he came out, Anna was pouring some coffee into the red mug with the hearts on it. "Would you like some pie and coffee before you leave? I have to reward you somehow."

  "Pie?" His face lit up. "It wouldn't be cherry, would it?"

  "It would."

  "My favorite." He sat down and ate two pieces without blinking while she nibbled her way through one, distracted.

  "What's wrong?" he asked.

  She jumped. "What? Oh. All this seems terribly domestic and I guess it caught me off-guard a little."

  His smile was warm. "Yes, doesn't it?" He leaned back in his chair with folded arms. "If you only knew how long it's been since I felt this contented and happy. It's such a simple thing—fixing your car, sitting in the kitchen late at night with a cup of coffee and a piece of pie, but it feels right. There's a wholeness to it, a sense of coming home."

  "I know," she mumbled.

  He must have noticed her discomfort because his smile disappeared. "It's not quite the same for you, is it?"

  "It is, in a way. I mean, you wouldn't feel so at-home here if there weren't good vibes coming through. It's not like I don't want you here. But everything feels, I don’t know, unsettled. I do like having you here. I want you to know that."

  She fidgeted with her fork, studying the crumbs of crust she was gathering into a pile, then watching them crumble further beneath the tines. "It's just I can't keep myself from thinking, ‘Anna, what do you think you're doing sitting here at this hour of the night, with a man who isn't Mike?’ Maybe I shouldn't admit it because I don't want you to go, but I have to be honest."

  "I want you to be honest. You have to break ties that bound you through fifteen years of marriage. It isn't easy. It takes a long time to clear out old habits."

  "Mike wasn't a ‘habit.’"

  "I know." He laid his hand on her arm. "I didn't mean it the way it sounded. Let me put it this way. There were strong bonds between you and Mike. Bonds it took years to build up. Because he's gone doesn't mean those feelings of being bonded to him go away instantaneously. It takes time. You were used to doing certain things with him. It'll be a while before you feel comfortable doing those things with someone else. That's what I meant by habits."

  He caught her hand and gave it a squeeze, and ran his thumb over the back of it. "And another thing, just because you enjoy spending time with me, then feel guilty, doesn't mean it's wrong. It's natural to feel that way after losing a loved one. It's also natural to meet other people and enjoy being with them sometimes."

  He stood and came around the table, pulling her to her feet. His voice soothing, he lifted her chin with his fingers, and his brown eyes were warm and compassionate. "Anna, I'm not trying to take Mike’s place. He was a fine man and you owe it to him to save a perfect piece of your heart for his memory. The rest of your heart has to go on living and loving, though."

  He ran his fingers through her hair, winding one curl around his forefinger. "There's nothing wrong with meting out parts of it to another man if you like him and are attracted to him. I can tell you're attracted to me.
If you weren't, it wouldn't feel so right to me being here with you." One side of his mouth drew up in a self-mocking grin. "I can tell when I'm not wanted, at least."

  His fingers on her skin felt hot; it made her weak and quivery inside. "You're wanted," she whispered. "Beyond that, I'm not sure." She watched as his head came down to hers. His lips were firm, with more pressure than the first time. He drank from her lips as if he were a hummingbird sipping nectar from a flower. She returned the pressure at first and then got spooked when she felt his erection pressing into her belly. Anna stepped back, fighting not to tremble as her eyes took in his masculinity and confidence.

  Jeff dropped his arms. "I know, honey. It's scary and strange yet. But I'm giving you fair warning. We're not through with each other. Not by a long shot."

  "For now, this is enough."

  Jeff nodded, though the lightness in his heart dimmed a little. He wanted to kiss her again, but he didn't want to scare her any more than she already was. He ran his fingertips down the soft skin of her cheek and stepped back.

  Looking bereft as soon as he stepped away, she cleared her throat. Jeff saw the flicker of disappointment in her eyes, and cursed himself for his cowardice, wishing he could turn the clock back or recapture the mood. It was too late. He wanted this woman, badly. But he would have to bide his time or he could lose her. It’s not going to happen. He made the vow to himself.

  "Thanks for the pie and coffee," he said, feeling awkward.

  "Thanks for fixing my car."

  "No problem." Jeff headed for the door. "See you tomorrow night, about seven."

  "Tomorrow?" Anna’s brow wrinkled.

  "Tomorrow was the day we agreed I'd come help Brian varnish the CD cabinet for Mallory."

  "Oh. I'd forgotten. Listen, you've already done enough. You don't have to come tomorrow night, too."

  "I want to. Plus, Brian is expecting me. See you then." He turned and was through the door before she could object again.

  "Jeff?" He heard her call, and stopped with his hand on the handle of his car. She was leaning out the screen door. "Why don't you come around six and bring Cam? You can have dinner with us before you start work.”

  "Great." He grinned. "Six it is."

  Jeff was amazed she'd asked Cam and him for dinner. Sometimes—well, most of the time, actually—he didn't understand women at all.

  The next night, Anna made a quick and easy recipe for beef burgundy when she got home from work. After dinner, Brian and Jeff went downstairs, and Mallory and Cam headed into the rec room to play some of his DVDs on the Blu-Ray. After she finished the dishes, Anna baked a pan of cherry crisp, on the assumption if Jeff liked cherry pie, he would like cherry crisp. It was ready a few minutes before the two came up from working on their project. She dished out five portions and put whipped cream on top, letting it melt into the hot cherries.

  The kids, Brian included, took theirs into the rec room to continue watching their movies. Anna and Jeff had theirs in the living room, along with cups of coffee.

  "Mmm, this is delicious," he said after the first large bite. "You're some cook."

  She smiled, pleased. "I try."

  He finished his crisp and, setting the plate on the end table next to him, stood up to stretch. "Mallory's CD cabinet is finished. It only has to dry a few days. When do you think we should tell her about it?"

  "I think we'd better let it slide for a while. It did Brian good to work on it with you. There's no doubt in my mind that Mallory isn't ready to see it yet. She's pretty sensitive about her father, and I'm sure it would upset her."

  "Okay. I'll leave it be. It's not going anywhere." He walked over and sat next to her on the couch. When she finished her own crisp, he took her plate and set it on top of his. Turning on the cushion to face her, he slid one arm along the back of the sofa as his hand fingered the soft waves of hair falling to her shoulders.

  Anna shivered and closed her eyes, leaning back against his arm. The fingers of his free hand closed around hers as they rested in her lap. He pulled her head into the hollow of his neck, tightening his hold on her. They sat like that together for a long time without moving, content to murmur an occasional remark.

  Jeff kissed her, and when she didn’t pull away his lips eagerly trailed open-mouthed kisses down her neck and then to the vee above her blouse. Returning to her mouth, the tip of his tongue ran along the seam of her lips. She was nervous about allowing him to kiss her so intimately, but her own just-barely-leashed hunger compelled her to open her mouth and give him access.

  He wasn't pushy or aggressive. His tongue learned her mouth with lazy strokes and she found herself returning his caress. Before long, Anna was sucking his tongue further into her mouth. She reveled in Jeff’s passion as he rose onto his knees, pushing her back onto the sofa to get better access. A frisson of pure feminine sensation stole through her. It had been so long.

  Without warning, Brian came careening around the corner, howling, and they sat up with a jerk. "Mallory won't let me play my DVD." He stopped dead in the middle of the room when he noted the tableau in front of him, his young eyes widening.

  Then a whimper burst from his lips and he seemed to forget everything else, as he turned and ran upstairs.

  Jeff watched him go, and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his fingers clenched so tight his knuckles whitened. Anna felt badly for him. He’d been so patient with her.

  "Damn,” Jeff said. “He wasn't ready to see us kissing. We were getting along so well and I thought I was doing him some good. I wasn't thinking, obviously. I mean, look what we were doing. We shouldn't have let ourselves get caught up like that."

  Anna briefly skated her fingertips over his face. "Don't beat yourself up. One, we weren't doing anything awful. It's just that he's never seen us together in anything but a friendly way. Two, you are doing him some good." Shifting her hand to his shoulder, she added, "After he's thought about what he saw, he'll get used to it and he'll come around. He likes you a lot. It'll be all right."

  "I hope so."

  In the rec room, Mallory barely noticed her brother's flight. After school, she'd shut herself in her bedroom with a joint and now she felt marvelous. She'd gotten some good stuff from a kid at the high school, but she’d have to lift some more CDs to sell if she wanted to replenish her stash next week. At the rate she was going, she might need some sooner.

  She and Cam had moved to her room to listen to music after the DVD finished. He hadn't turned out to be the romantic interest she'd hoped for, but he treated her like a much-loved sister and it felt good. They talked and talked, and the pot made her loose and free. He told her how he felt when his mother left. She was amazed he'd experienced many of the same things she did now, and it was good to know she wasn't weird or crazy or selfish.

  A while back, she'd excused herself by saying she had to go to the bathroom. Would he realize when she got back to her room that she'd hurried to smoke a joint in the bathroom, to bolster her fading high?

  When Mallory returned, she felt pretty relaxed. Stretched out on the red pile carpet, her head lolled to one side as she spotted Cam watching her. She didn't even care if he noticed or not.

  After a while, the high started to wear off a little and she saw Cameron still lying a few feet away, his head propped on one hand as he watched her. He looked worried. And she could tell from his face he knew she'd done something in the bathroom to come back feeling this way. She suspected, too, he was going to say something.

  He reached out, slowly settling his hand on her arm. "What is it you're on?"

  "Huh?" She jerked out of her reverie, and lifted her head to squint at him.

  "You're taking something. What is it? E, coke, heroin, weed, what?"

  Mallory sat up abruptly and looked away from his serious brown eyes but the motion made her
dizzy. She giggled and fell over. With difficulty she straightened, and bit her lip as fear and indignation jostled for dominance. "What d'you mean? I'm not on anything."

  "You're lying. You're high on something." He sat up too, and grabbed her by the chin to bring her face close and get a good look at her eyes. "You're spaced out. I can see it. I'm not blind."

  "It's nothing." She pulled her chin out of his fingers. "I smoke a few joints once in a while. It helps the pain go away."

  His eyes bored into hers. "You smoked some tonight, right?" She nodded. "Did you smoke any last night?" She hesitated, then nodded again. "And the night before that?"

  "What is this? An inquisition?" She leapt, stumbling, to her feet and turned her back on him.

  He stood and grabbed her shoulder, pulling her around to face him. "Did you?"

  "Did I what?"

  "Smoke any joints the night before last?"

  "Maybe. I might have. I don't keep track." She flung her hair over her shoulder in defiance.

  "Maybe you should keep track. This isn't good for you."

  "Marijuana is harmless." She swiftly reversed her opinion of two months ago.

  "No, it's not. It's dangerous. And you're getting hooked on it."

  "Impossible."

  "You're developing a psychological dependency. You rely on it to help you forget your grief. It won't help you forget. Not really. It's masking your pain and you're playing with fire."

  "I can handle it."

  "Can you? You just smoked more. I can see it. I can smell it on you, and it sure as hell doesn't look like you're handling it from here."

  She swung her head around to look at him. "How do you know?"

  "Come on. You were ready to fly when you got back. You can barely stand up and you can't stop giggling. Why don't you try staying off it for a while? See if you can do it. For a week."

  "Of course I can do it. No sweat."

  "Then you'll do it?"