by Kim Holden
“It was a pretty good week. A few bad storms out east, but that’s what makes it fun.”
I shake my head and laugh. “Yeah, whatever. You do realize that you are the only person on the planet who actually enjoys driving in bad weather, don’t you?”
My dad is unique, and I mean that in the best possible way. He’s opinionated and stubborn, but also equally kind and generous. He’s very smart, though he barely graduated high school. I suspect a strong mix of boredom and a lack of interest were to blame for his poor grades. He takes a common sense approach to life and works harder than anyone else I’ve ever known. He’s a perfectionist in every sense of the word. (The amount of time he spends doing and re-doing drives me insane. I’m critical of myself, but I’m a do-your-absolute-best-the first-and-only-time type of girl.) He has an amazing sense of humor that gets quite juvenile at times and embarrasses my mom to death. But, most of all he’s a great role model and, along with my mom, my biggest fan and supporter.
He laughs too. “So what’s on the agenda for today?”
“I need to meet Piper and the homecoming planning committee at eight o’clock this morning at school, but it should only take an hour or two, and then I’m going to the library. I need a book to get started on a report for English.”
“How is the Pied Piper?”
“Same. Wonderful. She’s Piper, need I say more?” Because she really is pretty wonderful and my dad knows it. Of all my friends she’s always been one of his favorites. She lives just down the street from us and we’ve been friends since her family moved here when we were both in seventh grade.
He smiles. “Did the Pied Piper bite off more than she can chew again? She needs help with homecoming?”
“Yeah, it’s pitiful to watch her struggle though. And besides that she’s so darn persistent, I think she’s part honey badger. She never takes no for an answer. It’s one of her best qualities.” I lovingly roll my eyes.
This makes my dad laugh again. “Yeah, but we love her anyway.”
I smile, too. “Yeah, we do.”
I put the cinnamon roll pan in the dishwasher and hurry back downstairs to apply some mascara and do something with my hair. I decide to avoid the blow dryer and pull it back in a ponytail to save time.
I grab my bag and the list of books to check out from the library. When I arrive back upstairs my dad is heading out to the garage, so we walk together.”Bye Dad, love you.”
“Love you, too, Ronnie.” He winks. “Have fun and don’t be too hard on Pied Piper. Tell her I said hi. I haven’t seen her in a while.”
“I will.” I jump in Jezebel, turn my key in the ignition, and back down the long drive.
• • •
The homecoming planning meeting doesn’t take as long as I’d expected. It’s a follow-up to the meeting on Thursday afternoon that I missed, and it seems like everyone already knows what they need to do. Piper puts me in charge of selling tickets before school the week of the dance and taking tickets at the door the night of. I’m pretty pleased. It could have been much worse. I could’ve ended up with decorating duties. Decorating duties suck.
I head to the library, list in hand. I’m definitely a list maker. I make a list for everything. It comes to me naturally, too. I’m a second-generation list-maker, just like my mom.
The library isn’t very busy so I decide to take my time and look around after I find the books I need. Time gets away from me and before I realize it, it’s almost eleven o’clock.
During my drive home, I think about the books and the book report that looms ahead of me. Although I enjoy English and I’m a good writer, I always get anxious when I have a paper due. The satisfaction doesn’t come until the paper is done. The entire process up to that point is nerve-wracking.
As I turn the corner and drive up my street I notice a car parked in front of our house. It isn’t unusual to see cars in front of our house; we often have visitors, especially when my dad’s home. But I’ve never seen this car before. It’s nice—really nice. It looks out of place on our street. It’s a shiny black Porsche with dark tinted windows. Maybe it’s Daniel’s car. He’s a friend of my dad’s, a car collector who’s always got something new to show off.
I park in the driveway instead of pulling in the garage, because I still need to drive to the auto parts store for oil. I stack up the books and balance them in one hand while I put the strap of my bag over my shoulder with the other. My mom’s in the kitchen making sandwiches for lunch when I walk in the back door.
“Hi Ronnie.” She’s flitting around the kitchen. My mom usually operates at 100 miles an hour. She doesn’t know how to relax. She kisses me on the cheek as she breezes by.
“Hey, Mom. What’s up, where’s the fire?” She’s making me dizzy.
Her laugh is nervous, giddy even. “I’m just making some sandwiches to take out to the garage. Do you want one?” The smile on her face could not be any wider.
I shake my head. “No, I’m not hungry right now, maybe later.” I’m confused. I set my books on the counter and hang my bag on the hook by the door. “So, whose car is that outside?”
“That’s funny, Ronnie.” She looks at me and realizes I’m not laughing. She’s confused. Good, now I’m not the only one. “You really don’t know?”
“No, did Daniel get a new car? It’s really nice.”
She smiles again, “I think you better take these sandwiches out to the garage,” and hands me two plates.
Her behavior is kind of freaking me out, but I take the plates and head out the back door. I need to ask my dad a question before I go to the parts store anyway and now I’m curious. My mom follows closely, like a hyper puppy, somehow carrying two full glasses of iced tea. I open the door to the garage and hear voices at the other end, but the TV is loud and I can’t make them out. I can see that there are two people sitting in the chairs facing the TV, their backs to us.
My dad turns around first. “Hey, Ronnie, I was beginning to think you got lost.” He reaches out to take a plate from me. “Thanks.”
I look at the chair next to him and nearly drop the plate. Dimitri stands up and quickly grabs it before it slips out of my hand.
I can’t speak. What? How? Too many questions are running through my head.
He looks at me like he can hear the incoherent babble in my mind. One corner of his mouth turns up into a boyish grin and he nods slightly. “Good morning, Veronica. Or is it afternoon?”
I’m still dazed. “Almost afternoon. Hi Dimitri. What are you doing here?” It comes out sounding rude and I want to take it back as soon as I say it.
“You said I should stop by this weekend to see the garage … that your dad would be home … remember? I apologize. I should’ve called, but you never gave me your number. I didn’t realize you had plans this morning or I would’ve waited.”
He’s struggling and I have to interrupt him before this gets any worse. I force a smile. “It’s okay. You just surprised me, that’s all. I guess you’ve already met my parents, then?”
They all look at each other and smile. Suddenly I feel like an outsider.
Dimitri nods, the odd, knowing smile still on his face, as he looks from my parents to me. “Yes. We’ve met.” The smile is the same one I saw on the first day of school when he asked me if I’d just come from French class. Only now they all seem to be in the on the joke and I have no idea what to think.
“Here’s some tea, sweetie.” My mom hands Dimitri a glass. “You let me know if you need some more. I just made a fresh batch.”
“Thank you, Jo. And thanks for the sandwich. It really wasn’t necessary. I’ve already made a pest of myself this morning.”
A pest? That indicates some period of time has passed. How long has he been here? What the hell?
My mom gives my dad his glass of tea and pats Dimitri on the shoulder as she passes and goes back to the house.
I feel like I’m in a goddamn twilight zone. My mom is always hospitable and always friendly
, but she’s usually a bit more tentative with any new guys I bring home to meet them. Not to mention that this new guy brought himself home, unannounced—without me. And then there’s my dad who, in the past, hasn’t acknowledged any of my friends that are guys unless it is blatantly obvious they aren’t boyfriend material. A grand total of three have passed the test: John, Tate, and Teagan. My dad trusts me implicitly, but doesn’t think anyone is good enough for his little girl. This is definitely weirding me out.
My dad pulls a chair up next to him. “Ronnie, why don’t you sit down?”
I sit down mechanically. It’s like I’m outside myself looking down on the scene. On one side I should be absolutely thrilled that Dimitri’s come to see me. But on the other hand, my parents’ reaction to him is so … strange. I know the effect Dimitri has on me. I’m completely spellbound in his presence, despite the fact that I’ve known him less than a week. I’ve noticed the way other girls react to him at school, too. His looks and confidence are intoxicating. But that shouldn’t work on parents, especially mine. My dad is sitting here in his goddamn shrine, watching an old western, eating lunch with Dimitri like they are old buddies. For crying out loud—he’s only known him for a few hours at most.
They eat their sandwiches in contented silence. My dad’s eyes are glued on the TV and Dimitri’s eyes are glued on me. He’s sitting directly across from me and holds my gaze. His eyes run through a range of emotions, carrying on a one sided conversation: apologetic, then playful, then morphing into a look that’s downright enchanting.
He’s broken me again. If he could bottle this and sell it, whatever it is that so overpowers me, he would be a gazillionaire. I smile in defeat. He returns the smile.
“When are you going to change Jezebel’s oil, Ronnie?” my dad asks. “You ready now? I’ve got some time before the basketball game starts if you need help.”
“I need to pick up some oil first. Do you want to ride with me, Dimitri, or would you rather stay here? You two seem pretty cozy.” I smile mockingly at him.
He concedes with a smile. “I’ll go with you. I’ve taken too much of your dad’s time already this morning. I’m sure he has work to do.” He turns to my dad and extends his hand and chuckles, “It was so nice to … um … to meet you, Will. Thanks for being so welcoming and sharing your garage with me. It’s amazing, and the Spyder is incredible.”
My dad shakes his hand and pats his shoulder with the other. “I’m glad you stopped by, Dimitri. Let me know when you’re ready to get some paint on that Volkswagen, I’d love to help.”
I wait until we’re outside to start with the questions, but Dimitri beats me to it.
“Why don’t you let me drive?” he offers politely.
Drive. Wait a minute—the Porsche out front. I’d completely forgotten about it. Could it be his?
“That is not your car,” I say incredulously.
“That depends on which car you’re talking about,” he says quietly, a half-smile on his face.
We’re nearing the end of the driveway, just past the house and the street is in full view. “That car.” I point to the Porsche.
The smile turns up in both corners of his mouth now, “Oh yeah… that one’s mine.” I don’t know how he does it, but there is a surprise around every corner with this guy.
“You’re kidding me, right?”
The headlights flash as he clicks the remote on his keychain. “Afraid not, Miss Smith.” He opens the passenger door for me.
I’m still in shock as I slip into the charcoal leather seat. It smells so good, like his cologne. I inhale quickly a second time before he gets in to sit beside me.
“Where to, Ronnie?” he asks as the engine roars to life.
“There’s an auto parts store on the corner of Federal and 107th Street.” I answer and then go quiet. We drive a few blocks before I realize how shallow and judgmental I’ve been acting about this car. I’m certainly impressed, but how does a guy my age have a car like this? I can’t decide which direction my mind’s going with it. I decide it’s best for both us to drop it for now.
“So, what’s this about a Volkswagen?” I ask, remembering my dad’s comment in the garage.
“I’m restoring an old Volkswagen bug. I have everything finished except the paint. I was telling your dad about it and he offered to help.”
“A bug? Really? That’s actually pretty cool, you don’t see them around very often.”
My interest brings him relief and he opens up. “Yeah, I’ve always liked them. Maybe its nostalgia, I don’t know. Anyway, I bought this one for next to nothing two years ago, and have been working on it ever since. It was supposed to be my first car, but it’s taking a little longer than expected to put on the finishing touches—”
I interrupt, “Please tell me you’re not one of those horrid perfectionists who dwells on even the smallest of details, details your average novice, or better yet even an expert, would likely overlook?”
He smiles, nonchalant and unoffended. “Guilty as charged.”
I roll my eyes.
He smirks. “But I save it only for the important stuff.”
“Ah, selective perfectionism.” I shake my head emphatically. “Not horrid at all.”
“I like to think of myself as perpetually patient. Good things come to those who wait, et cetera, et cetera.”
“You may have a point; instant gratification is an ugly business.”
His tone serious now. “In which much of our world, or at least this country, overindulges. Greed is open for business … and business is booming.”
“Says the young man driving the Porsche,” I say under my breath, but he hears me and shrugs. “Surely you see the irony in it?”
He sighs. “It’s one of the reasons I’m so anxious to get the bug finished. Believe it or not, I favor inconspicuousity.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You don’t say?”
He shakes his head in mock dejection. “That’s not a word, is it?”
“Nope. But maybe it should be. It sounded very convincing.”
He smiles as though he’s been comforted, as though maybe we’ve just touched upon something very real. “You, Mr. Glenn, are a paradox.”
“Was that a compliment? My, but you’re in generous form today.”
Against my will, I blush crimson. “Shut up, or I may be forced to take it back.”
He smiles. “Fair enough, I graciously accept that I am indeed a paradox, in the most uncomplimentary way of course.” The smile fades. “Really, Ronnie, it boils down to preconceived notions. People tend to have them about people who drive cars like this. They’re very quick to judge—good or bad. You understand?”
Unfortunately I do, having been guilty of it myself within the last five minutes, however fleeting it may have been. I like to think of myself as open-minded, but occasionally I can be very judgmental. It’s a flaw of mine. I suddenly feel sorry for him and ashamed of myself. “That’s why you always ride to school with your brother?” I ask quietly.
“Yes. I’d prefer people to get to know me before they decide if they like me or not. The car I drive, or the house I live in—money in general—shouldn’t have any bearing on it, you know? I’m a very good judge of character and can tell almost instantly if someone is worth investing myself in, but a little insurance doesn’t hurt.” He’s staring out the windshield at the traffic light waiting for it to turn green.
“So, why do you drive it?” I ask hesitantly.
“It belonged to my dad.”
“Oh, did he get a new car or something? This is quite a hand-me-down.”
We pull into the parts store lot and park before he answers. He looks at me and his eyes are suddenly tired. “My dad died last year.”
My hand involuntarily flies to my mouth. “Oh my God, Dimitri.” That is the last thing I expected him to say. I had no idea.
He takes my hand gently from my mouth and holds it in both of his. “It’s okay, you didn’t know. My mom drove it until w
e moved here this summer, but Sebastian and I thought she would be better off this winter in a four-wheel drive. We talked her into a massive SUV.” A small smile flashes across his face as he thinks about it. “The thing is a tank, so at least we won’t have to worry about her on the road, though I fear for everyone else in her path.”
“That’s really sweet of you and your brother to worry about her like that.”
His smile grows. “You don’t know Sunny. You’ll understand what I mean when you get to know her. She takes a little looking after. Anyway, none of us had the heart to get rid of his car, so I ended up with it.” He pauses and a devilish grin emerges. “It’s fast as hell though and fun to drive. In fact, I just decided that you’re driving us home.”
My stomach flip-flops. “No, no, no … I am not driving this car.”
The devilish grin is still there. “We’ll see.” He’s out of the car before I can counter.
After I find the oil and pay for it Dimitri takes the bag in one hand and tosses me the keys with the other. “I said no, Dimitri. Are you nuts?”
“Maybe. I really don’t want to make a scene, Ronnie. And don’t underestimate me, I’ll do it.” His mocking smile turns into a flirtatious smirk. “Besides, I bet you’d look damn sexy driving it. Humor me.” He winks and runs the last few yards to the car and jumps in the passenger seat.
I stop at the rear of the car. “This is crazy. What if I wreck it?” I whisper to myself.
He opens the sunroof and yells, “Stop talking to yourself, Ronnie, people are going to think you’re crazy. Get in the car, baby.”
“I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” I protest as I open the door and climb in. “Oh my God,” I think to myself, “Did he just call me baby? He did. He just called me baby!”
He raises his eyebrows. “Oh come on. Don’t tell me this doesn’t excite you in the least?”
I can’t help smiling … a little. A crooked, terrified smile. But, buried deep beneath the paralyzing fear of driving this incredible car, I do feel excitement. Wild, deranged excitement. “Maybe a little,” I confess. “But I don’t want to hurt it.”