Mechanic with Benefits

by Mickey Miller

  “Let me ask you this, just to make sure…” He jabbed a finger at the picture, at Jake Whitehead’s face. “Does he live in Murphysboro?”

  I shook my head at him, confused. “I’ve never met him, but he might be my father.”

  When I said that, the man’s already pale-ish face went stark white. He pursed his lips, staring at me then the picture. “I know the guy. Know him all too well, actually.”

  A chill ran through me. “W-what…? H-how?” I stuttered. I hadn’t had a stiff drink in a while but I was wondering if the whiskey was affecting me already. Had I just heard all that correctly?

  “You said that young woman in the picture is your mother?”

  I nodded, slowly, still dazed.

  He sighed, shaking his head, as though he wasn’t sure what to say but I needed to know what he knew.

  I looked at the other names in the newspaper. “Jack Whitehead is his name.” I pulled out the other piece of paper. I had no idea how Amy had gotten all this information but it was mind-blowing. “Looks like he’s got a nice long rap sheet, too. Seems like he was a real piece of work. Left my mom all alone after she had me. And I already know he has a bunch kids all over, too.”

  The old man nodded. “Yep, sounds like Jack all right,” he said, grimly.

  I blew out a whoosh of air. “Excuse me?”

  “Jack Whitehead,” he said, soberly and another chill crawled down my spine that this random guy in a bar knew my biological father. “From Southern Illinois. I’ve known the guy for a long time.”

  “Hang on,” I said, and took out my phone. “Mr…”

  “Charlie.” His smile was warm. “Just Charlie is fine.”

  “And you really know him?” I asked, still in disbelief.

  He nodded. “Unfortunately. Moves around a lot to avoid paying child support. Hell, half the kids he’s fathered, he’s denied paternity to but I see him in you, clear as day.”

  That wasn’t at all comforting. No wonder when my mom looked at me, she’d pause a little. I wondered how torturous that had to have been for her and suddenly, I was beginning to understand her, and our fucked up mother-son relationship. I thought about dialing her just then. I’d started Skyping her, and had even chatted with Bob, a little more regularly in the past few weeks, but we still weren’t on great terms. I was going to try though, I owed her that. However, asking about my dad was still a hard topic for her and one she wasn’t ready to explore with me quite yet. The way she’d talked about my dad, you’d think he was a serial killer. Hell, maybe he was.

  I looked back at the picture and thought, how strange it was, a guy his age with a high schooler, barely legal. Jesus. I could only imagine the kind of life my bio-dad could have had at that age, just traveling around and making it his job to woo women before moving on, like a job? Christ, did the guy even know I existed?

  The fact that Charlie knew Jack Whitehead was such a strange coincidence, it seemed to me that I had to find out more. “You’ve any idea where he could be?” I asked, not hoping for much. I mean, it couldn’t possibly be that simple, so easy to locate him after all these years of wondering about him. I wondered if my mom had known but it was hard to say. I couldn’t blame her from not telling me much about him if she had known more than she’d let on, especially growing up. With a rap sheet like his, even if it was all mostly petty crimes, it wasn’t something to be remotely proud of, not something you’d want to pass onto your child, that’s for sure.

  “He always touches back at Murphysboro, has property there,” Charlie was saying. “But like I said, the man runs away as fast as he can if someone’s trying to find him. Has an instinct for it, I’d wager.”

  I was sounding more and more like father then I liked. Up until a few days ago, I’d been a runner. Not anymore.

  “However…I can make a couple calls, see if anyone in town’s seen him since the last time,” Charlie offered.

  My heart beat a little faster, the alcohol buzz making it feel like it’d burst right out of me. “And, ah…how long ago was that?” I asked, anxious.

  “A couple years.”

  Damn. It was a definitely long shot but it was all I had. “Make the call, please?” I asked, urgently.

  Charlie gave a nod, and moved away.

  If this was really going to happen, I needed someone to go with me. And I knew exactly who.

  I dialed Amy’s number.

  Pick up. Pick up. For the love of God.

  It rang and rang, then went to voicemail. I called again.

  After two rings, I heard Amy’s voice. “What, Chandler?”

  Even hearing Amy pissed off made me smile. There wasn’t time for superfluous details. “The envelope you gave me at our last dinner. You remember it?”

  I heard a breath go out of her. “Yes. Of course.”

  “I opened it.”

  “Just now?”

  “Yes.” I exhaled, overwhelmed by it all. The past 24-hours had been insane. “Wow, Jack Whitehead and I have a hell of a resemblance, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Fuck, Chandler,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to force that on you. I thought you’d thrown that away. I thought…”

  “It’s fine,” I stated firmly. “It’s good what you did. But now, regardless of our status, I need you to do something for me.”

  She paused. I thought I could hear her whisper-grumbling. “What do you want?”

  “It’s sort of a strange coincidence, but I might be able to get his supposed address. I want you to come with me to visit him—he’s hopefully in Southern Illinois. I need you there to help me process all this. We can drive down to his place.”

  And maybe you’ll explain what the hell happened, I added to myself.

  A long sigh. “I don’t know Chandler…”

  “Dammit, Squirt,” I growled. “I wouldn’t be in this mess if you didn’t give me that envelope. And now you’re just going to leave me hanging? We had a pact, remember? And that pact had an underlying rule that friends are there for each other, no matter what.”

  I was totally pulling this out of my ass but she was quiet, just her breathing through the speaker and hopefully hearing me out.

  I waited, and waited. “Amy—”

  “I get out of the hospital tomorrow,” she blurted out at the same time. “Where does he live?”

  “Hold on…” I said, as Charlie came back.

  “Not sure if he’ll be there, to be honest,” the old man said, apologetically. “A neighbor saw him a few months back but nothing since then.” He had a little black address book. He had taken it out and scribbled the address onto the back of an old receipt. “But here’s his address, in case…”

  “Thanks,” I mouthed to him and then got back on with Amy. The information wasn’t much but it was more than what I had. “Amy? He lives at 4141 West Lincoln in Murphysboro.”

  “Southern Illinois? That’s like a four or five hour drive!”

  “I’ll drive. If you’re up for it, how about Saturday?” I said quickly.

  She hesitated. “I don’t know…”

  “Amy, please? I need you…with me on this,” I said, swallowing hard. I was terrified she’d say no. “You’re the only person that will understand what this trip means to me. And I can’t do it alone.”

  She sighed. “Damn you, Chandler. Fine. I’ll go with you,” she said, for a second, her voice was soft but then it’s like she remembered she was still pissed at me. “I’ll do this for you. As a friend. And then it’s goodbye.”

  My heart dropped. Her words cut through me like knives. I had to try to defend myself. “And you know what you heard was just me talking to Maria, right? Do you believe me? I’ll have Maria call you herself.”

  She finally relented. “Look, I do believe you, Chandler. But it doesn’t even matter. I’ve been thinking about everything a lot today. And we had a spectacular week and a half. My God, you’re amazing in a lot of ways and I love—” She stopped herself abruptly. “Loved the time we’ve spent t
ogether. And I’m sure you’ll make some girl happy one day. But it won’t be me. You’re basically my kryptonite. The fact that you have girls coming up to you wherever you go… I can’t go through life constantly insecure like I am with you. And, we want different things, remember? And I’m not going to change you because you’d just end up hating me for it, in the end. You shouldn’t change for anyone and some other girl will get that about you. I just…can’t. I won’t.”

  I held the phone tight. I wanted to slam it against the floor. Or maybe crumble it in my hand. Smash it. I wanted to smash everything in my sight.

  But I realized something. This was just the world finally throwing me back a dose of my own medicine. Even if I’d seen my relationships with past women as superficial and not going anywhere, how many of them had fallen in love with me? How many hearts had I broken?

  “All right,” I croaked. “I’ll rent a car and pick you up from your place on Saturday morning, and we’ll head down.”

  “See you then.” The call ended.

  I finished my drink and slammed it on the bar. I fumed for a good ten minutes and then I burned myself out. How could I have fucked things up with Amy so badly? “Hey Charlie,” I said, waving him over. I waited until he’d walked over before speaking again. “You said you know him well?”

  “Unfortunately,” Charlie said again, but somewhat good-naturedly.

  “Got any stories you want to share?” I asked, deciding I needed a crash course in all things Jack Whitehead before I met the guy. If the guy would even be there. Even if he wasn’t, I knew his haunting grounds and I could always try again—if I cared to, that is.

  Charlie’s eyes lit up. There’s nothing like an old man who’s lived the world, seen some shit, and made it through.

  “Do I ever. How much time you got?”

  I looked down at my phone. It was barely 6 p.m. I had two days in Chicago before Saturday, and basically no one to spend it with. I shrugged. “I got all night, old man.”

  He smiled. “Let me get this dear lady over there another drink and I’ll think of where to start off.”

  We chatted into the wee hours of the night.

  Thirty

  Amy

  Part of me felt like a drama queen, but the other part felt justified.

  I wanted to forgive him, or even better, believe Chandler’s story. But the fact was I just couldn’t. Cheating boyfriends were something I’d had to live with my whole life, and now I heard him, the one man I thought I could trust, talking about his fucking son?

  Maybe I was reading too much into it.

  The night before I was leaving with Chandler to go visit his dad, I called my parents and talked around the topic with Mom first. I just wanted to hear their voice even though they’d just left last night and were back in Joliet. After a while, she passed me to my dad, who immediately knew something was off.

  “Your head doesn’t hurt any more?” he asked.

  “I feel fine. Really.”

  “Amy, I love you,” he said, in his dad voice. “But you hit your head on a damn desk! That has me really worried, I’m not going to lie to you.”

  “It’s fine, Dad. I’m fine,” I repeated, for what seemed like the hundredth time. “I’ve just been working a lot this week and not eating properly.”

  I heard him take a deep breath and exhale. “I don’t want to have to pull the ‘if something is bothering you, you can talk to me about it’ schtick. But I will if I have to.”

  “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” I cracked a slight smile. “But Dad, you don’t have to worry about me. Honestly. I just wanted to call and say hi, and that I appreciate you and Mom. I haven’t been doing that enough lately.”

  He paused for a long few beats. “Okay.”

  My smile broadened. I knew he was holding back, resisting digging for more information about what was upsetting me. My dad knew me like no one else in my life did.

  I felt a little better after our conversation and was able to force down some chicken soup that night while I watched a movie. The fact was, butterflies swarmed in my stomach as I thought about Chandler picking me up the next day.

  I both longed to see him and wished I would never see him again. Once he came back into my orbit, he would pull me in like a force of nature. Telling him off in the hospital, though necessary, was the hardest thing I’d ever done.

  Plus, I felt responsible for having unleashed Pandora’s box on him. What was I even thinking that I thought it was a good idea for me to push him to meet his biological dad? Who was I to make that decision for him?

  I swallowed down another bit of broth. The heat of the chicken soup felt good on my throat. I checked my phone, wishing he’d text me. The truth was that I missed living in the same space as Chandler, as short lived as our little adventure had been. My phone dinged and I rushed to check it.

  It was Andrea, asking if I wanted to come by and watch a movie. With spring training for Jake starting, she’d been very busy lately trying to nab some new clients for us while I supported the back-end of the business in the office. I told her thanks but no thanks that I was going to bed soon so I could be rested for a trip tomorrow. I didn’t tell her who it was with.

  I still wasn’t taking my meds, even though I’d told everyone I was. I knew that was wrong of me but even though I was mad at Chandler, just knowing he was in the same city as me had buoyed me. That he’d dropped everything and flown in to see me as soon as he’d heard…it meant a lot to me. It still wasn’t enough. I’d do this one thing with him, for him, and wish him well. It was for the best, I knew that and he’d realize it too. But I went to sleep, hoping I wouldn’t be completely shattered and destroyed once he left me again—but this time, for good.

  The next morning, I stood outside in the freezing cold while I waited for Chandler to swing by. I was enjoying the relative quiet of the early hour and the warmth of the paper coffee cup in my hand when I heard a loud, loud buzz approaching.

  A huge F-series pickup truck that looked like it was plucked straight from the country and dropped in Gold Coast Chicago appeared in front of my block. The window rolled down and I saw Chandler. He wore only a white T-shirt even though it was well below freezing.

  “Get in,” he grumbled in a low voice, his breath visible in the cold air.

  I obeyed, draining my cup of coffee then having to jump up a step to enter. “Where the hell did you get this monstrosity?” I asked, setting the empty cup in a holder.

  He laughed. “I rented. Figured since we were going out to the country I’d get a truck like the old one I used to have in high school.” He shrugged. The faintest hint of a smile nipped at his mouth. “Good to see you.”

  “Good to see you too.” We took off, driving through light traffic in the early morning hours of Saturday. I felt more nervous than I’d ever felt around him, for some reason. He gripped the steering wheel with one hand and chewed on a toothpick as he looked straight ahead, focused on the road. His face was well stubbled. I wondered what he’d been up to for the last few days since he called me, but I didn’t want to ask.

  “Thanks for coming with me,” he said, after we’d been driving in silence for some time. “You didn’t have to.”

  “I did have to.” I explained to him that I felt this whole path he was on was my fault, in a way. He didn’t disagree.

  “It was going to happen sooner or later,” he went on. “The crazy thing is, I think you’re right. For a man to be fully present in the moment, he’s got to have explored all aspects of himself, all vulnerabilities. Who the fuck knows what Jack Whitehead is up to in fucking Murphysboro, Illinois.”

  “Murphysboro,” I repeated, pulling up the town on my phone. “Wow. It’s way down there. Did you let him know you were coming?”

  “Actually, I don’t know for certain if he’ll be there.” His jaw tensed. I saw the toothpick snap in his mouth. “He sort of…comes and goes.”

  I hated the idea that his dad wouldn’t be there when Chandler was
putting forth so much effort but from what I knew already, a man like Jake Whitehead wouldn’t give a shit, and that made me mad a little. For Chandler’s sake. “Did you let your mom know you were coming here?” I asked, keeping my voice mild.

  His jaw tightened. “Yes.”

  I waited. “And?”

  “Said to drive safe.”

  “That’s it?” I asked, a little incredulous.

  “Pretty much. She did confirm he was my father, but didn’t say too much aside from that. Sounds like she’s blocked him out of her life even more than I have.”

  The ride to Murphysboro was far, but Chandler drove like a maniac. The roads were clear of ice but the fields were covered with a thick layer of snow. Traffic at this hour was busy but not congested.

  We didn’t talk much, just listened to country music on low. After about four hours of driving, we got off the highway and pulled past the city limits sign, and into the town. I typed in the address and helped navigate him. It was a typical small to mid-size town. It had a town Centre, a fire department, a bar, and a courthouse.

  We pulled past a river, and empty, frozen cornfields on both sides of us that went on for miles. Soon, we came across an old, dilapidated one-story house that sat fifty feet back from the road. A single, huge tree grew to the left of the driveway. A long rope dangled from the tree. The tire, however, had been detached. Though leafless in the winter, it was massive.

  “This is it, I guess,” Chandler remarked when we got out of the truck and stood side by side in the driveway. He just stood there, in the cold, staring. He’d grabbed a jacket from the back seat of the truck, but didn’t even put it on in the freezing weather. I’d never seen him this off. I took a glove off and wrapped it around his bicep.

  “Hey. You okay?”

  After a long pause, he looked at me. “Yeah.” He blinked a few times and then reopened his eyes. “Fuck. I feel weird.”

  “You still want to go in?”

  He nodded.

  I let Chandler lead the way. He knocked on the door a few times, loudly, but no one answered. He knocked a few more times but still, no one came. I went to a dirty, small front window and tried to peer in. It was dark but what I could see was a hovel. It saddened me, the state of this man’s house. I didn’t want to feel sorry for a man like Jack Whitehead, but it was clear this man was as alone as this house was alone in the middle of nowhere.