by Peter Clines
His cheeks heated up. He stepped back.
A rattle of metal on metal echoed out of the engine compartment, and a minute later Harry straightened up. She tossed the wrenches into the box with a clang. Now that he knew what to look for, Eli could see her hips shift and the way her clothes hung on her. Not just a girl, but a grown-up woman.
“Why do you call yourself Harry?” he asked. “Are you hiding from someone?”
“Harry’s my name,” she said, folding down the car’s hood and rattling it into place. “Short for Harriet.”
“Oh,” said Eli.
“I never liked ‘Harriet.’ It always felt like a scratchy name. Kind of harsh.” She lowered the other side of the hood and pointed at the hose coiled up on the side of the church. “Does that work?”
He shrugged.
Harry pulled the hose free and dragged it over to the car. She stepped up onto the running board and reached across the hood to unscrew the cap of the gas tank. The hose went in and she walked back to twist the spigot. Water spurted out around the end of the hose. A rushing noise came from the tank.
“What’s that for?” Eli asked.
“Just a top-off,” she said. “I’ve got over half a tank in the main, but my reserve’s almost dry. I’d rather take the time now than wish I had when I’m getting close to a lead.”
He blinked. “But what’s the water for?”
“It’s fuel,” she said.
Eli frowned. “Cars don’t run on water,” he said. “That’s stupid.”
“I’d be careful tossing that word around, Master Teague,” said Harry. “You’re the one who just lost a fight with a rock.”
“Cars run on gas,” he insisted, “not water.”
“The carburetor breaks water down into hydrogen and oxygen. The engine burns the hydrogen, the oxygen goes out the exhaust pipe.” She pulled the hose free and walked around to the back of the car, making a long puddle alongside it. “Tap water’s not the best. The impurities build up on the plates, like I told you before.” A few twists of her fingers got the cap off the red tank and she shoved the end of the hose in deep.
“But if you really had a car that ran on water,” said Eli, “you’d be rich. A millionaire. Everybody would buy one.”
Harry shrugged and rapped her knuckles on the red tank. It was a hollow sound.
“Are you rich?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I believe I’ve got forty dollars to my name,” she said, tugging off her backward vest, “and fifteen of that’s in Confederate bills. Why would you think I’m rich?”
“Because of how you dress,” he said. “Rich people can dress however they want because they’ve got money. They’re not weird, they’re eccentric.”
She slid her arms through the vest and shrugged it over her shoulders. “Big word for a young man.”
“I read a lot.”
Harry rapped the tank again and this time it was a dull thunk. She dragged the hose out and spun the cap back on. She pulled the gushing hose back to the church and shut it off. “Well,” she said, coiling it against the wall, “it’s been pleasant, Eli Teague, but the road beckons. I must be on my way.”
“Where?”
“There’s a little ghost town out in Arizona called Jerome,” she said. “I need to get out there before the copper mine closes so I can talk to a man about a dream.”
Eli mulled this over. “But if it’s a ghost town,” he said, “doesn’t that mean the mine’s already closed?”
“Which,” Harry said, walking back to the car, “is why I need to get there before it closes.” She flipped a few switches on the dashboard. The engine started up, purring like a content cat. Harry walked back to the driver’s side, pulled her coat off the seatback, and spun it onto her arms. It wrapped around her and hung down almost to her knees.
Eli’s heart pounded in his chest. He took a step toward the car as she settled into the seat. “Why do you need to talk to a man about his dream?”
She looked at him. How did he ever think she was a boy? “It’s not his dream I’m looking for,” she explained.
“What’s that mean?”
“It means goodbye, Master Teague.”
He tried to think of something that might stop her. Instead he blurted out, “Will I ever see you again?”
Harry took her hands off the steering wheel. “How adorable,” she said. She pulled him in and pinched his cheek, the one away from his sticky eyebrow. “It was nice talking with you.”
She let him go and he took a step back. Her feet shifted and the car rolled backward away from the church. It curved around, pointing itself at the street, and started forward. The exhaust smelled fresh and clean.
“So will I see you again?” he called out.
“It’s a big country,” Harry said. “Anything’s possible.” She gave him a wave as the car turned out of the parking lot and onto Cross Road. The purr of the engine became a low rumble and the car raced away.
By the time Eli ran across the parking lot to the street, the old car was gone.
3
Eli was twenty-nine the third time he met Harry.
He’d finally had his growth spurt and ended up very close to six feet tall, which had spread out his weight and almost made him skinny. Despite his mother’s worries, he’d gone to college for computers and minored in history—two fields she couldn’t see anyone making real money in. It turned out she was right and he’d ended up living above a garage two streets from the house where he grew up. It was too hot in the summer and very cold in the winter. He drove two towns over every day to do IT work for the local Stahlbank branch and manage their network, which amounted to monotonous busywork nine days out of ten.
The Tuesday evening they met started as a long-overdue night with his friends. Neither of the bars in Sanders had a big-screen TV, Corey’s latest guideline for a good hangout. Plus Josh had been living in downtown Dover for three months now, and compared to Sanders it was a sprawling technological metropolis. So Corey and Robin picked up Eli. He sat in the back of their Honda and they sang the songs on the radio and met up with Josh at his new place.
As they all walked down the sidewalk, Robin pulled her arm free from Corey’s and pointed at a car across the street. “What’s that?” she asked Eli.
He glanced over. “That,” he said, “is a 1978 Chrysler Newport. Serious gas guzzler.”
“You’ll never stump him,” said Corey.
“I will,” she said. “Someday.”
“Not on cars.”
They found a bar that met with Corey’s approval and began to drink. Josh told them more stories of his miraculous life after Sanders and pushed them all to join him. Robin and Corey said no, as usual. They’d bought the Emporium, building and all, and lived in a spacious apartment above the video store.
“Why aren’t you living here?” Josh asked Eli, turning from the couple. “You’re heading this way for work every day anyway, right?”
Eli nodded and shrugged. His computer degree was worthless in Sanders. Every business in town was still working with cash registers and calculators. It was almost a thirty-minute commute each way. But it was home.
“Just admit why you’re not moving,” Robin said. “Things are finally getting serious between you and Nicole.”
Eli coughed. “That’s definitely not it.”
“She still trying to get that festival going?” asked Josh.
“Tried and failed,” said Eli. “Couldn’t get anyone to back the idea of a film festival at a one-screen, second-run theater. It just sounds too small-town.”
“It is small-town,” said Corey.
“So nothing between you, still?” said Robin.
Eli shook his head. “Nothing worth talking about.”
“Dammit,” she said. “We need better friends. I want to go on a double date.” She mock-glared at Josh.
“Don’t look at me,” he said. “The only guys worth dating around here are all straight.” He lifted one fing
er off his drink to point at Eli. “Speaking of which, there’s an apartment open in my building. Two floors up. Even better view than my place.”
Eli responded by ordering onion rings. Dover might have cable television, cell-phone towers, and actual computers, but Sanders was home. He said so and they all mocked him.
They helped Eli eat his onion rings and then a plate of jalapeño poppers that Robin called bland even though they made Josh gasp. Another round was ordered, but Corey had a ginger ale since he was driving. After finishing her drink, Robin pointed out women for Eli and men for Josh, but both of them laughed off her efforts. Josh and Robin risked some dangerous-looking shots the bartender offered them, but Eli chickened out.
And then watches were checked, jobs were mentioned, and the night was over. They walked Josh back to his brick-building loft and exchanged hugs. Eli and Corey guided Robin back to the car and they headed for home. Twenty minutes later the car shot past the plywood sign welcoming them to Sanders and imploring them to enjoy their stay. “Home again, home again,” Corey sang.
“Watch out for Zeke,” said Eli.
Corey lifted his foot and the car slowed down. Just past the sign they saw the patrol car sitting by the side of the road. The radar gun gleamed in the moonlight. Behind the wheel, Zeke Miller’s head turned to watch them pass.
“And a perfect end to the night is narrowly avoided,” Eli said.
“I only had one drink,” said Corey. “It’s fine.”
“He’d make you take the Breathalyzer at least five times. Just to be sure.”
“Yeah, he probably would.”
“He’s a jerk,” muttered Robin without opening her eyes. “You know he grabbed my boobs at graduation?”
“We all know, hon,” said Corey.
“He’s a jerk,” she repeated, but quieter. Then she perked up in her seat. “Oh, what’s that one, Eli? Looks really old.”
He straightened up in the back seat. The dark-colored car was almost invisible on the side of the road. Eli caught a quick glimpse of a jack holding up the passenger rear side, lit up by a flashlight beam, and a red fuel can sitting on the ground behind the car.
“Is that a Model T?” said Corey.
Robin whacked him on the arm. “He’s supposed to get it.”
“Model A, business coupe,” Eli said. “Nineteen twenty-nine. Stop the car.”
“What?”
His head twisted back again. The old Ford had already vanished into the night behind them. “Stop the car!” he yelled.
“Jeez, man, calm down.”
Corey pulled the Honda over. Eli reached around Robin to open the door and squeezed out. “I’ll see you later.”
“What the hell’s going on?”
“I’m sorry I tried to set you up with that woman at the bar,” Robin said.
“It’s okay,” Eli told her. “I’m just going to go check on the car back there, see if they need any help.”
Corey looked over his shoulder. “I can back up. It’s not that far.”
Eli shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.”
“How will you get home?” asked Robin.
“I’ll walk. It’s a nice night.”
“It’s about four miles back to your place,” said Corey with a wave down the road. “Are you sure?”
“I’ll be fine.” He patted the roof of the Honda. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”
Robin gave him an awkward hug through the window and he bumped knuckles with Corey. Then the Honda rolled back onto the road and sped away. Eli watched the taillights fade and wondered if he was doing something very stupid.
He turned and walked back along the shoulder. His heart thumped against his ribs. Despite the early October air, he felt warm. A cloud of steam formed in front of him as he let out a deep breath and sucked in another one. An October night, but his skin tingled like Christmas morning when he was eight.
The tall shape of the Model A appeared out of the night. The round eyes of the headlights stared at him, and beneath them the two straight bars of the bumper made a flat mouth. A few more steps and he could see the details of the radiator and the undercarriage. There were aftermarket suspension pieces by the wheels. The passenger door was open, and he could see someone moving beyond it.
Two steps to the left let him see around the door. Behind it stood a tall woman, about his age, dressed in dark corduroy pants and a blue frock coat. Her blond hair was half-hidden by a tricorn hat, but the loose ponytail still hung down her back.
A wire-spoked wheel with a sagging tire lay on the ground near the foot of an old-fashioned jack that held up the back end of the car. The woman was trying to wrestle with the replacement tire while holding a flashlight under her arm. A long pole leaned against the Model A, right by its oval rear window.
Eli took another step forward. “Hello.”
The tire dropped. The woman lunged at the pole and whirled. It swung up and Eli realized it was an old flintlock rifle. The weapon almost vanished in the flare of the flashlight. She held it under the barrel like a soldier or SWAT officer.
“Consarn it,” she said. The flashlight beam went to his chest, the rifle continued down to the ground. “You just scared the life out of me.”
“I could say the same thing,” he coughed. He’d pictured this moment a few hundred times and ways. None of them had begun with her shooting him in the head like a B-movie zombie.
She raised the flashlight. “Wait a minute,” she said, studying his face. “Are you…?”
He smiled.
The light dipped down again. “Eli Teague,” she said. “What a fine man you turned into.”
“It’s good to see you too, Harry.”
“Twice in as many months,” she said, leaning the rifle back against the car. “Are you following me?”
“I don’t think so.”
“It’d be quite impressive if you were.”
“Maybe a little,” said Eli. “For a while I wasn’t sure you were real.”
“Why not?”
“Well…the last time we met I’d just suffered a head injury. It makes you question things.”
She snorted. “Be a gentleman and come help me with this wheel, Mr. Teague.”
Eli gazed at her as she reached for the spare. The old clothes. The blond hair. The hazel eyes. “You look almost exactly the same,” he said. “Just how I remember you.”
“It hasn’t been that long for me.”
He gestured at the low loops around her neck. “I like your scarf.”
“I have to wear it,” Harry said. She waved her hand at the night. “You might not believe it, but this town’s infested with lecherous little boys trying to take advantage of a young woman’s virtue.”
He bit his lip. “Sorry.”
She pointed at the tire. “Lift it into place, please.”
Eli heaved the old wheel up. It was heavier than modern cars had led him to expect. He worked it in place while she picked up an old lug wrench.
She fitted the wrench over the first lug nut and spun it. “So, Mr. Teague,” she asked, finishing the nut, “what have you been up to? It’s been, what, twelve years for you?”
“Almost sixteen.” He shrugged as best he could while holding the tire. “I don’t know. Grew up. Went to school. Got a job.”
“Doing what?”
“I do IT work at a bank. Mostly it’s just keeping their computer network up when one of them downloads a virus or something.” He saw her staring and cleared his throat. “A computer’s sort of an adding machine that runs on electricity. It can—”
“I know what a computer is, Mr. Teague.” She twisted another nut into position. “I’m not an idiot.”
“Sorry.”
“Married?”
“What? No.”
“Why not?”
“I’m only twenty-nine,” he said.
“Twenty-nine,” she echoed. She spun the third nut with her wrench. “So, not married. Why not?”
“I tol
d you. I’m only twenty-nine. And I’m not even seeing anyone right now.”
He thought of Nicole as he said it. They’d been hooking up in the Sanders Cinema at least once a week for three months now. Usually on Thursdays when she stayed late to set up the new films. Nicole was only the fourth person he’d had sex with, fifth if one used a generous definition of what counted as sex. But Eli had enough experience to know the difference between sex and love. It was convenient for both of them. There wasn’t anything to it past that.
Neither of them wanted more than that from each other.
“My parents were married at eighteen,” Harry said, working on the last lug nut. “Well, father was eighteen, mother was sixteen.”
“That’s young,” said Eli.
“It’s old in most parts of the world,” she said, “even today. So what are you waiting for?”
“You,” Eli said. The word popped out without any thought from him. It hung in the air for a moment before settling.
Her eyebrows went up, but her eyes looked sad. “Me?”
Eli scooped up the damaged tire and carried it to the back of the car. He pushed it onto the small arm that extended up over the rear bumper, and stood there while Harry lowered the jack. The car settled on the ground.
A minute later she walked around and set the jack in the trunk. She went away, then came back with the toolbox. It joined the jack. She closed the trunk, cleared her throat. “I think you were confessing something, Mr. Teague.”
“I just…” His cheeks burned. “Yeah, okay, I’ve been kind of obsessed. You appeared out of nowhere when I was a kid and everything about you was just so…cool.”
“Cool?”
“Neat. Interesting.”
“I see.”
“Like that. You know about computers but you don’t know what ‘cool’ means. You dress like you’re from the late 1700s, drive a classic Model A, and you’ve got fifteen dollars in Confederate bills.”
“Only three now, I’m afraid,” said Harry, “but the rest went to a good cause.”
“Who are you?”
“I told you.” She wiped her hands off on the frock coat. “I’m Harriet. My friends call me Harry.”