by Freya Barker
So fucking tempting.
“I’ve got shit to do,” I blurt out rudely, and watch that deep color bleach from her skin.
“Of course. Well, thanks again.” This time her words are delivered with a tight smile, and I feel the loss of her warmth as she gets behind the wheel.
I’m still standing in the same spot when she drives by me and pulls out of the parking lot.
Never even sparing me a glance.
Chapter Six
Robin
“And how did they react?”
I lean back on the couch and put my feet up on the coffee table, the phone beside me on speaker as I sip my morning coffee.
Shirley just told me she finally worked up the courage to contact her sons. We’ve been in touch a couple of times since I drove her to Grand Rapids a week and a half ago. I know Kim’s been checking in on her as well. No one has heard from Mike, who’d been released on bail and has apparently been keeping a low profile. Who knows, he may not even be in town anymore. Good riddance if you ask me, but I’m not so sure it’s the last we’ll see of him.
“Angry. Mostly at their father, but some at me.”
“At you? Why?”
“For not leaving him sooner.” She’s quiet for a moment before she adds, “For not talking to the cops. They want me to tell them everything from the start.”
My fist pump is silent but I’m so relieved to hear that. I’ve been worried she might end up going back to him, like so many women do. I don’t want her to become a statistic.
“What are you gonna do?” I ask her carefully.
“Tell it all.”
I hang up twenty minutes later, feeling better about Shirley than I did before. Her kids sound like decent young men wholeheartedly supporting their mother; notwithstanding the shitty example their asshole dad had shown.
I’m just cutting vegetables for the stir-fry I had planned for dinner tonight when my phone on the counter starts ringing. I suck in a sharp breath when Olson’s Automotive appears on my screen.
“Hello?”
“Hey, it’s Tank. We may have found you something.”
I pretend I’m not disappointed it’s him instead of Gray calling. For some reason that man has made a lasting impression on me. One I can’t seem to shake, no matter how hard I try.
Tank had come into the diner the day after I picked up my rental in Midland. Despite Gray blowing me off, he’d apparently still talked to his boss about finding me new wheels. He asked me what I was willing to spend and said he’d keep an eye out.
“Really?”
“Three-year-old Honda CRV with just thirty-five-thousand miles. Decked out, comes with winter tires, and all within your budget.”
Since my budget is fifteen grand and I’ve done a little research myself, this sounds too good to be true.
“What’s the catch? Those things go for at least twenty-two K if not more.”
Tanks starts laughing.
“I told him you wouldn’t fall for it.”
“Told who?” I ask, but I’m not surprised when he mentions Gray’s name.
“Look, it was a leased car he picked up at the auction for a steal. The engine needed some work and there was a small ding on a rear fender. He was able to push out the dent and fixed the engine. In fact, he spent the past week taking it apart and rebuilding it.”
I’m struck silent, unsure what to think of that. The more I learn about this man, the more confused I get, and the more I want to know.
“How much for parts and labor?”
“He did it on his off time, Robin. You’re gonna have to take it up with him.”
“Wait a minute, if he’s the one who found me the car, why isn’t he the one on the phone?”
“Fuck if I know, pardon my French.”
“Not to worry, I speak it fluently myself.”
He chuckles. “I knew I liked you for a reason. Anyway, do you have time to come in tomorrow and take it for a ride? See if you like it?”
“I don’t start until noon, if the morning is okay?”
“Any time is good. See you then.”
I’m still puzzled when I put my phone down and turn back to my veggies. I would’ve sworn a week and a half ago Gray wanted nothing to do with me—it couldn’t have been clearer—but now I find out he’s been working on a car for me on his own time. It doesn’t make sense.
A few weeks ago, I’d come to the conclusion I was ready to start living again but the first time I stuck my head out in an attempt to do that, I got slapped back. By Gray. I’d half convinced myself my radar was off because I had a feeling maybe there was interest on his part, until he made it abundantly clear I’d imagined it. Now he goes and does something like this. I don’t understand what he’s getting out of it.
I try to watch some TV after I eat, but not even the new series I’ve been devouring on Netflix can hold my attention. Annoyed with myself, I end up going to bed early at ten, unfortunately my mind still won’t settle.
Gray Bennet is not only an enigma; he’s fast becoming an obsession.
“Can I help you?”
A young kid I’ve seen at the diner a couple of times before approaches me when I walk up to the bay, wiping his hands on a rag.
“Hi. Yes, Tank told me to come by for a test drive?”
“Oh, you’re the lady for the CRV? My name is Kyle. The boss is out on a tow, but let me get Gray.”
I knew the chances were good I’d run into him, but I still feel a niggle of excitement when the kid disappears into the shadows. It’s quickly followed by disappointment when Kyle comes walking out, dangling a set of keys in his hand.
“He’s in the middle of something, but he says to give it a good run. It’s right over here.”
He leads the way to a shiny black SUV, looking brand-new, opening the driver’s door for me before handing me the keys.
“Thank you.”
“The boss should be back in twenty minutes or so, to handle any paperwork. It’s a great car. Gray fixed it up nice for ya.”
Another reminder of his unexpected kindness, yet he didn’t come out to show me the vehicle himself. I shrug it off and get behind the wheel. Kyle shows me how to adjust my seat and I take a moment to familiarize myself with the interior, which looks and smells like a new car.
I start the engine and can hear right away how much quieter it is than my Tribute. Pulling out of the parking spot, I catch a glimpse of a coverall-clad figure standing inside the shop, his face hidden in shadows. The gleam of silver hair is a dead giveaway, though.
Half an hour later I pull back into the lot, completely sold on the SUV.
“I love it,” I announce when I walk in to find Tank talking to Kyle. “It’s perfect.”
“That’s great. Come into the back and we’ll get the paperwork sorted.” I follow him into the small office where I hold out the keys. “Might as well keep those,” he suggests.
“But I first have to get the rental back to Midland.”
He indicates for me to sit down and slides a bill of sale toward me, detailing the vehicle and the price tag.
“We can take care of that for you. We make that trek regularly to pick up parts. Gray is making a run tomorrow and Kyle can drive the rental down.”
“You guys have done enough. Which reminds me, how much for parts and labor? I don’t see it included here.”
Even before he says anything, I can feel his presence behind me.
“It’s taken care of.”
I twist in my seat and look up at him.
“You can’t do that,” I protest, despite those distracting eyes boring into mine.
“It’s done,” he states firmly. “Parts were nothing and the rest was just time. Got too much of that anyway.”
There’s a lot in that statement, but I’m not sure what any of it means. I’m determined to find out, though. Call me a sucker for punishment, but there has to be a reason a virtual stranger sacrifices hours on your behalf.
He may act
like it’s all the same to him, but I don’t think I’m mistaking the keen interest in his eyes.
“Then, thank you.” I turn back to face Tank, who seems to be amused by the interaction. “No need to bug Kyle. I’ll be driving the rental back tomorrow myself, but I’d appreciate a ride back.”
“Done,” he says, a big grin on his face. “Gray would be happy to give you a ride.”
There’s definitely no mistaking the growl I hear behind me.
Gray
Fucker.
I don’t know why he felt he needed to throw me under the bus, but he did. With a motherfuckin’ grin on his face. I was also pissed to find out he’d told her about me working on the CRV. There was no reason for her to know that. So much for staying out of her way.
Who am I kidding? It’s my own fault for getting involved in her quest for a new vehicle, but fuck, I didn’t feel right about her driving something that wasn’t completely reliable. I don’t want her stuck on the side of the road in the dark again.
I’m not even sure there wasn’t some intent on my part.
Christ, if I’m this confused about my own motivations, I can’t even imagine how fucked up I must look to her.
I glance over to the passenger seat where she’s buckling in. Robin; the woman whose face I haven’t been able to get out of my mind since seeing it tilted back to the bright New York sun. I stopped believing in fate the day I lost my entire family, but I wonder what else to call bumping into this woman at every turn.
“It won’t take long,” I inform her, as I set out for the warehouse to pick up the parts for the garage.
“Good. That’ll leave us time to grab a bite before heading back home. It’s the least I can do.”
I open my mouth for the automatic rejection, but shut it again when I realize she isn’t exactly asking this time. She’s stating. Not that I’ve been particularly friendly before, but I’d have to be a real asshole to blow her off now. The kicker is; I don’t really have it in me.
After loading up the truck with boxes at the warehouse, I climb back behind the wheel, turn to her, and ask, “Where to?”
“Hamburgers good? I haven’t had one in forever.”
“Fine by me.”
She directs me to a family restaurant close by she’s pulled up on her phone.
“So…” she starts after we’ve been seated in a booth by the waiter. I brace. “Here’s what I don’t get. You give every indication you don’t particularly like me, yet you go out of your way to get me a good vehicle.”
“Who says I don’t like you?” The truth is out before I let my brain process what I’m admitting to. The humor shimmering in her eyes tells me she planned it this way.
“Good to know I’m not crazy,” she mutters under her breath before giving the waiter her drink order. I ask for water and find her eyes on me when the kid walks off. “Well, it may have been the fact you weren’t exactly friendly in our previous encounters.” She tilts her head and scrutinizes me so thoroughly that I’m starting to feel like a bug under a microscope.
“I don’t talk much,” I try to deflect, but that only makes her chuckle.
“That might be an understatement.” Her delivery is dry but her smile is wide. “Here’s what I think; your New York visit, like mine, is something you keep to yourself. The reasons, the motivations, they’re private and kept away from day-to-day life. Am I right?” I grudgingly nod because she is. “So we already know more about each other than most people at home do, and you don’t like that. Heck, I don’t like it either, but it is what it is. Now, as I see it we can try to pretend we never saw each other, but frankly, I’m not very good at lying, especially to myself.”
The return of the waiter gives me a chance to process her blunt, straightforward, and eerily accurate assessment. She scans the menu, but I don’t need to, I know what I want, a cheeseburger with fries and coleslaw. She orders one with Swiss and the sweet potato fries she says she loves. When the kid walks away, she leans her elbows on the table.
“Or…” she continues as if she never stopped, “…we could be friends.”
“Friends,” I echo, and she nods to confirm.
“Yes. You said yourself you’re back in town after a very long time, and I’ve recently decided I need to expand my horizons. We could both use a friend.”
Her expression is dead serious and yet I want to laugh. She thinks we can be friends. If only she knew she’s sitting across from a convicted felon—a killer. She’ll undoubtedly find out soon enough, but I don’t have the heart to laugh in her face when what she offers so generously has me swallow hard.
“Okay, friends,” I agree.
Her responding bright smile warms me from the inside out with the kind of light I’d hate to see snuffed out.
As I’m sure it will be when she discovers the truth about me.
Chapter Seven
Gray
I watch her generous hips sway as she moves between the tables.
I’ve been here a few times this past week for lunch. Once with Jimmy and the other two times by myself. I’m putting myself out there and it wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it might be.
Oh, I got the looks I expected from some, but a couple of people I remember from before actually stopped by my table to welcome me back. I hadn’t expected that. Truth is, even if the cold shoulder was all I got, it would’ve been worth it just to get warmed by Robin’s smile for me when I walked in.
Our run to Midland last week was eye-opening for me. Sharing a meal as the friends she suggested we could be had me lower my walls a bit. I was surprised how good it felt just to talk to another person. A regular conversation—mostly. She told me about her daughter, and the fact her mother lives in Lansing. She asked about my family and I told her I didn’t have any left. She didn’t push though; instinctively knowing it wasn’t a subject I was comfortable with. When we landed on the topic of books, though, we’d found safe ground.
I held off until day three after that before I ventured into Over Easy on my lunch hour. It had been a struggle between the need to stay out of the public eye, and the craving to see her again. Robin won.
“More coffee?”
She walks up with a carafe.
“Thanks, but I should get back to the shop. Just the bill, please.”
“Sure.” She starts turning away before swinging around. “You know, I’m off tomorrow, but I was planning to make a pot of goulash. Would you like to come for dinner? I mean, I usually make much more than I can eat and end up freezing—”
“That’d be great,” I find myself saying.
She smiles wide, “Great. I’ll just go get your bill then,” and walks off.
“Be gentle with that one.”
I turn around at the sound of a deep, familiar voice. Sitting behind me is Frank Hanson, owner of the town’s favorite watering hole, The Dirty Dog. He has to be at least seventy-five or something. Last time I saw him he was pinning me against the side of the bar, his arm pressed up to my throat. I remember almost blacking out, wishing he’d finish the job.
“Mr. Hanson.” I nod at him, hoping Robin will be back soon with the bill. I’m not in the mood for a confrontation.
“Gray. Good to see you, son.”
I’m sure shock is visible on my face. This wasn’t the welcome I anticipated from him. Frank had been a good friend to my father and the one to pull me off his body.
“Frank, I—”
“Was hoping I’d run into you,” he continues, as if I never spoke. “I’ve got a few things I’d like to talk to you about.”
“You do?”
“Come by The Dirty Dog? Maybe Sunday?”
I notice Robin approaching my table, the bill in her hand.
“Sure, okay,” I tell Frank quickly before turning to her.
I pull my wallet from the pocket of my coveralls and leave a few bills on the table, enough to include a decent tip for Robin. I lift my chin at Frank, who does the same, and lightly touch Robin’s arm wh
en I pass her.
“Later,” I mumble, a little startled by the charge that small touch caused as I walk out of the diner.
Robin
I’m not sure what moved me to ask him for dinner, but I’ve probably reconsidered half a dozen times since I blurted it out at the diner yesterday.
There is something about the man making me want to look after him. An awkward vulnerability simmering right under the gruff surface. He doesn’t appear particularly skilled socially and seems to keep himself carefully shielded. Yet I’ve seen a few tiny cracks in that carefully impassive veneer, and I feel compelled to find out more about him. About why he affects me the way he does.
Then these past few days, since he started coming into the diner, I’ve heard some whispers. Things I find hard to reconcile to the quiet man with the intriguing pale blue eyes. I know about rumors and misperceptions, so I’m determined not to judge on what I hear, but on what I know. So far, all I know is Gray has been kind—although not always friendly—helpful, and quite generous with his time. I was also pleased to discover his love for reading, something we share.
It’s not the only thing we have in common. We both lead a quiet existence, don’t socialize a whole lot, and we both carry secrets. Even without the rumors stirring, it wasn’t hard to see that. Although the resulting impact on our existence may not have been the same, it’s a safe guess both of us lost someone important in our lives on September 11th, 2001.
I’m nervous, almost slicing my finger as I cut vegetables for the goulash. I never mentioned a time, but I assume he won’t be here until after five when Olson’s closes, which is two hours from now.
My phone rings on the counter and for a moment I wonder if he’s calling to cancel, but then I see my mother’s name on the display.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, sweetheart, how are you?”
“I’m good, Mom. Cooking your goulash as we speak. I had the day off. How are you? Feeling any better?”