by J. M. Kelly
Natalie squirms the whole time I strap her into the car seat, but I know she’ll be happy once we get to the park, so I try to ignore her squeals of protest. I run inside the house, leaving the car doors open and Bonehead on duty, and quick as I can, throw some snacks together for her. There’s pizza on the table, but I’m not that hungry. I’ll have to share Nat’s Cheerios.
Bonehead almost loses his mind when I unhook his chain and let him into the back seat. I hear Nat shriek as I go around to the driver’s side, and when I look in the back, Bonehead’s licking the piece of banana I gave her. I take it away from her and give it to the dog, and then I make him get in the front seat with me. She’s screaming now, mad at both of us, and I grab a handful of fish crackers and put them on the tray of her car seat. She immediately stops yelling and stuffs them in her mouth with both hands.
Amber’s waiting outside the Glass Slipper.
“Get in the back,” she tells Bonehead, pushing him until he climbs over the seat.
“Is the park okay?” I ask.
“Whatever.”
There’s a fenced area for dogs where we can let Bonehead run. He’s not fixed, though, so if there are any other dogs, we’ll have to keep him on the leash, because he either fights them or humps them. None of the other owners like this very much, but the dogs don’t seem to mind.
“It’s your lucky day,” I tell him when we get to the park and no one’s around. Once we’re inside the fence, I let him loose and he goes absolutely crazy. He jumps, runs, barks, back and forth, back and forth. I don’t even need to throw a ball to keep him busy. He’s so excited it’s contagious, and all three of us laugh. Me and Amber each hold one of Nat’s hands while she toddles around, giggling and screaming happily.
As we walk, I tell Amber that Han flew down and drove back home with me.
“He did? How come?”
“I kind of freaked out. Being away from Natalie . . . and what you said . . . calling me her mother. I was driving like a crazy person, like I could outrun the truth.” I explain how I wanted to fly.
And when I tell her how much my speeding ticket is, she hits me in the shoulder. “Crystal!”
“I know, I know. I can’t even think about what it’s going to do to my insurance.” Then I tell her about sleeping in the cactus room and the chile rellenos and how I called Han because we had to talk about Natalie.
“Really?” Amber drops Natalie’s hand and stands there, staring at me. “You talked about that?”
“We had to.”
“About friggin’ time.”
“You knew it was him, right?”
“Well, I figured,” she says. “I mean, who else could it have been? It’s not like you were going around having sex with a bunch of strangers.”
I cringe at the word “sex.” I’ve let myself remember the who and the when, but I’m still blocking the details.
“Doggy! Doggy!” Nat screams, and Bonehead runs over, licks her face, and knocks her over.
Amber sets Natalie back on her feet and I push the dog away. “Go. Run. Get out of here or we’re going home.” Bonehead takes off, covering ground in leaps and bounds. “I want you to know,” I tell Amber, “I wasn’t faking it. I really didn’t know Han was the one until the other night when I kind of lost it and everything came back to me.”
“I never thought you were lying. I could tell you didn’t remember. But don’t you think it’s weird you didn’t know all this time?”
“Yeah, I guess, but it’s also like . . . the thing is . . . as soon as I forced myself to try to remember, I did. But before that, I refused to go there.”
“You blocked it,” Amber says. “It’s PTSD. Like when a girl gets raped.”
“Han didn’t rape me!”
“Duh,” she says. “Chill. I know. I just meant that people can block stuff out if they want to forget.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s what happened.” I can’t even admit all of it to Amber, though. While I was never afraid I’d been raped, I was terrified that maybe I’d slept with one of my tormentors, just to prove them wrong. How sad would that have been? If one of those assholes was Natalie’s dad, I think I’d want to kill myself.
Nat’s face is turning a little pink, so we lead her over to some shade. “You should go on one of those talk shows,” Amber says.
I laugh. “Forget it. I can barely even admit the truth to you.”
The three of us sit down on a patch of dry grass. “I could pretend to be you,” Amber offers.
Natalie climbs into my lap and leans against me. “Can we change the subject now?” I try to think of something that doesn’t make my stomach churn. “So what’s new with you?”
“Aunt Ruby made me the assistant manager.”
“Wow. Already? Cool.”
“Yeah. I’m really excited. I have a lot of ideas.”
She tells me about her plans for the tavern for a while, but ever since I picked her up, we’ve been talking around me going to college and we both know it. Now it’s time to tell her I’m gonna do it, and Natalie’s going with me. I wait until there’s a pause in the conversation, and then I take a deep breath, which does absolutely nothing to eliminate the queasiness in my stomach. “You know when we were having that big fight in the driveway? Before I ran off?” I ask.
“What fight?” Amber says, all innocent, and for a second I’m confused, but then she laughs. “Oh, you mean that all-out screamfest we had the other day where we shoved things in and out of the car, including our baby. That fight?”
I nudge her shoulder with mine. “Yeah . . . that one.”
“What about it?”
“Well, you said something . . . You said that if I really wanted to go to college, I’d do what everyone else does and find a daycare, not ask you to give up your life.”
“Oh, that.”
I smile at her. “So . . . you’re right.”
“I am?”
“Yeah. And that’s what I’m gonna do. Me and Nat are going to Kansas. And Han’s going to help me find someplace for her to go when I’m in class and working.”
Amber puts her arm around my shoulder. “I think that’s great,” she says. “I know I never told you, but I’m really proud of you for getting into college.”
“You are?”
“Of course. My sister, the college graduate. I like the sound of that.”
“Yeah, well . . . it’ll be a while.” Natalie’s fallen asleep in my lap, and I stroke her sweaty hair. “God, I love this kid. I have no idea what I was thinking when I took off like that.”
“I knew you’d be back,” Amber says.
“I’m glad one of us has faith in me.”
“I have enough for both of us, Crys. We’ll all be okay.”
We sit there in the shade, our little threesome of a family. Things are changing, but I think Amber’s right. We’re gonna be okay.
Chapter 32
On Saturday morning I bundle Nat into the car. We’re going to a car show in Banks, Oregon. Amber has to work, but she made sure I knew she’d be giving it a miss even if she had the day off. “You’re never gonna get me interested in cars, Crys,” she said. “But have fun.”
Bonehead practically yanks his stake right out of the ground—he’s dying to go along. He looked so happy at the park the other day that me and Amber decided he needs a new home, one where he can run around. We asked Han for help, and in two hours flat, he found a woman who lives out in the country and takes rescue dogs. She said she’d be happy to have Bonehead if we got him neutered first. After I take him to the vet on Monday to get snipped, he’ll probably never want to get into the Mustang again. Today, I decide to let him have his own “last.”
As soon as I let Bonehead off the chain, he lurches toward the car and I have to grab his collar and yell at him to calm down. I make him sit before I let him inside the Mustang so he doesn’t trample Natalie in his excitement. When I finally open the door and push back the seat, he hurtles himself into the back
and starts licking something off her face, making her laugh.
At the show, I pay my registration fee and find my spot, and then I get Nat out of her car seat and into the fancy stroller. I wheel her onto the grass about ten feet behind the Mustang and tell her I’ll be just a minute.
“No,” she says. “No, no, no!”
“Don’t worry. You can still see me.” I tousle her strawberry curls and head back to the car.
“No!”
“I’m right here,” I tell her while I do all the stuff you do at a show, which is kind of like a cruise-in except there are hundreds of cars here, plus judges and trophies. Mostly it’s the same guys and cars I see everywhere, but it’s still fun. I take all the junk out of the inside of the car and pile it by Natalie.
“See? I didn’t go anywhere.”
“Up!”
“In a sec.” I prop open the hood and trunk and run a chamois over the chrome. I keep the car pristine, but you always do the basics anyway.
A couple of hot rodders are walking by, and Stick notices the Mustang and comes over. “I thought we seen the last of you.”
“Almost. False start. But I’m leaving soon.”
“Good thing or we’d want our money back,” he says, giving me a big wink.
“No chance of that.”
He wanders off and I get Bonehead out of the car. I’ve got the choke chain on him—it’s the only way to keep him under control—but he still drags me behind him. When we get back to the stroller, I stake the dog to the ground. Two car widows are cooing over Nat and she’s smiling up at them.
“Who’s this?” one of the women asks me.
“That’s my daughter, Natalie.”
I hear a funny noise behind me, like a gasp, and when I turn around, David’s standing there, his face full of surprise. “Your daughter?”
I want to be brave enough to look him straight in the eye, but instead I bend over Bonehead and scratch his ears. “Yep. My daughter.” The words still feel weird in my throat, like I’m choking on a hazelnut in one of those coffeecakes Mom brings home from work. But they feel good, too. I’m proud of Nat.
“But . . . all this time I thought she was your sister’s kid.”
“Yeah, well . . .”
The two women give each other raised-eyebrow looks and wander off.
David’s staring at me. “That’s so weird. Why did I think that?”
I want to say it was his mistake, but I can’t do that anymore. “I kind of let you think she was Amber’s.”
“Okay. Now I don’t feel so stupid. But why?”
I take a breath and let it out with a little self-conscious laugh. “Because I was ashamed of being dumb enough to get knocked up. Can we leave it at that?”
He looks confused as well as a little embarrassed. “Sure.” He leans over and squeezes Natalie’s bare foot and she squeals. “Hey, Nattie baby.”
I’ve been dreading telling him. He probably already thinks I’m a bigtime liar because of how I kept McPherson a secret from Amber. It’s pretty clear I’d misled him about Natalie, too, but he’s acting cooler than I deserve, and I try to relax.
All around us are the sounds of hot rod engines . . . that sort of loud lion’s purr of hard work, sweat, grease, and love. Car doors slam, guys with beer bellies call out greetings to other hot rodders, and 1950s music blasts over the loudspeaker. These are the sounds of summer, the sounds I love so much.
“I was hoping I’d see you,” I tell David. “I stopped by Jimmy’s to talk to you yesterday, and he said you were coming here.”
“Yeah, he told me. Why aren’t you in Kansas?”
“I forgot something,” I said. “Had to come back for precious cargo. But I’m still going. I have to do a few things first. Like make you an offer you can’t refuse.”
He snags my folding lawn chair. “Sorry, I’m taken.”
“You wish. It’s better than that, anyway.”
He grins. “Ooh. Sounds promising. I’m listening.” Bonehead sticks his head into David’s crotch, and Stanford Boy laughs and shoves him away. But then he scratches Bonehead’s ears and wins a new friend for life. The dog relaxes, falling in love for sure and settling at David’s feet on the grass.
I take a deep breath. I can’t believe I’m going to do this, but I’ve thought about it constantly for the past two days, and I know it’s the right thing to do. It’ll be hard, but as an old hot rodder once told me, “Darlin’, we don’t really own these cars. We just steward them for a while and pass them on to the next guy.”
I pull a FOR SALE sign out of the diaper bag. “So . . .” I say, holding it up. “Should we put this in the Mustang or your Chevelle?”
David looks horrified. “Why would I put it in the Chevelle?”
“Me and Amber own the Mustang together, and she’s staying here, which means I need to sell it so I can give her half the money. Do you want to sell the Chevelle and buy my car or not?”
His look of horror turns to confusion. “Huh?”
“I’ve gotta sell the car,” I explain. “And I’d rather sell it to you than to a stranger.”
“But what would I do with it?”
“Finish restoring it. You keep saying you want to learn how to do stuff. You need a project car for that.”
“But—”
“Look, I know I’ve already done most of the fun stuff—the body work and the engine—but there’s still the interior to do. And it needs to be painted. Maybe you could learn to spray cars.”
David looks at me like I’m crazy.
“Up! Up! Up!” Nat screeches, and I take her out of the stroller and let her toddle around on the grass, holding her hands so she doesn’t fall.
“I’m going to Stanford, remember?”
“So drive it like it is this year,” I say. “And then come back in June and get some help from Jimmy.”
I can tell he’s totally considering it. “I don’t know . . .”
“Or better yet, skip the high-powered internship next summer and drive the Mustang to Kansas to take some of the short workshops at the college.”
I can see him debating the pros and cons. Finally he says, “My parents would kill me if I sold the Chevelle.”
“But it’s yours, right? I mean, you’ve got the title in your name, don’t you?”
“Well, yeah . . . but they would be so freaking mad.”
I smirk. “Bonus, if you ask me.”
He smiles. I play patty-cake with Nat, giving David time to think things over. His parents might run his life, make him go to Stanford, insist he study pre-med, all the clichés . . . but there’s a car geek inside him, and if you’re born with that gene, it can’t be suppressed.
“How much should I ask for the Chevelle?”
I know I’ve got him now. “How much did you pay for it?”
“I’m not sure. My parents got it for me for my sixteenth birthday.”
I roll my eyes. I knew it. “Well, I did a little research . . .” I give him a price, and he chokes on his bottled water.
“Holy shit! That much?”
“Probably. Maybe more at auction.”
“And what do you want for the Mustang?”
“I need to get twenty thousand out of it.” This isn’t exactly true. I’m hoping for sixteen, but you always start high so there’s room for negotiation. “Even paying me what I want would leave you with a bunch of cash to work on it.”
“Okay,” he says, nodding. “Let’s do it. You’ve got a deal.”
I shake my head and let out a noisy sigh of disgust. “You rich boys. Don’t you know anything?”
“What?”
“You can’t just accept my asking price. You’ve gotta negotiate or you’re gonna get taken for a ride. Besides, whoever buys your car’s gonna talk you down too.”
“Oh, I’m not selling mine.”
“What do you mean? I thought you said you were going to buy my car.”
“I’ve got the cash. Don’t worry.”
I slug him hard.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“Taking my shifts at work all year when you didn’t need the money.”
David’s face turns a little pink. “Oh. Sorry about that.”
“Whatever. So you really want to give me twenty for the car?”
“Don’t I?”
“You know I’m overcharging you, right?”
“You could use it for college.”
“I’m not taking charity. Negotiate or no deal.”
I wait for him to counteroffer, but he stares at me blankly. “I’m not really good at this stuff,” he finally says. “Whenever I go to Mexico I just pay whatever those street vendor guys ask for.”
“Even I know you’re not supposed to do that.”
“Could you walk me through it? Since we’re friends?”
“Oh my God. You’re pathetic.” I’m sitting cross-legged on the grass, and I fall back laughing. He looks like he’s about six years old, afraid of being wrong or messing up. Man, his parents have done a number on him. Natalie laughs because I do, and then she plops herself down next to me and leans against my arm, putting her thumb in her mouth.
“Yeah, okay,” I tell him. “But pay attention.” I cross my arms and look him up and down. “I want twenty thousand for the Mustang. Not a penny less.”
“I thought we were negotiating.”
I stare at him, amazed. “And they’re gonna let you be a doctor?”
He finally realizes I was leading him through the negotiation like he asked. “Oh, right. Sorry. Okay. So what do I say?”
“I don’t know . . . Something like: ‘It’s a sweet car. But that’s a little too rich for me. I could give you . . . maybe . . . fifteen?’ ”
He repeats what I tell him, word for word.
I shake my head. “No can do. Can’t go lower than nineteen five.”
“Okay,” he says.
“Oh my God. You are so bad at this. Forget it. Give me seventeen and we’ll call it good.”
“Thank you. I really hate haggling. I’ll get you the money on Monday.”
After we shake, I tell him that even sixteen was probably a little high, but he doesn’t care. I can see the excitement in his eyes, and I’m glad that if I have to part with it, then at least it’s going to a good guy. Kind of a nerd, but still . . . he’ll treat my Mustang right. And with the kind of money he has to put into it, the car’s gonna look awesome when he’s done. I can hardly wait to see it. Maybe he’ll even let me drive it someday.