by Pratt, Lulu
Even still, she looked back up at me. “You don’t have to apologize. I mean, I get it. But thank you.”
Being around her made me feel… gosh, I guess inarticulate? Which wasn’t what I was used to feeling. Especially in Rough and Ready, where I was something of a big brain. With Phoebe, though, it was as though every word meant one meaning and all its possible alternate meanings at the same time, where universes of a word collapsed in on themselves and we lived in constant dualities.
“So… you’ll come?”
She smiled. “Of course. Lemme just eat this, get changed… then yeah. I’ll come.”
My victory was complete — Phoebe had forgiven my simple ways. I nodded and left her to her business.
I walked back inside, threw a robe on — how had I forgotten this the first time around — and sat down to eat with my son. I’m not gonna lie, it felt like the breakfast of champions.
We gobbled down the food at breakneck speed, as we were wont to do. Maybe a mother would’ve told Henry to slow down or he’d give himself a stomach ache, but I figured that that was just an old wives’ tale.
Soon, I was helping Henry into a T-shirt and shorts while I myself pulled on a black T-shirt and jeans, plus my ever-present cowboy boots. As Henry made last-minute adjustments to his outfit — he was a fastidious kid — I examined myself in the mirror, slicking back my hair with the palm of a hand.
Was this hot enough for Phoebe? I wondered. A stupid thing to wonder, really, given that I wasn’t trying to bed her. Still… couldn’t a man wanna impress a woman? Did there have to be ulterior motives?
I flexed a bicep self-consciously. Yup, still got it.
“Okay, Henry, let’s go!”
He raced out of his room, veering left and to the front door. One day, maybe, he’d slow down. Right now, it felt like I was constantly sprinting to keep up with him.
Henry tumbled into the driveway, a ball of energy.
“Uppy, uppy!”
I laughed, and with an exaggerated grunt, lifted Henry into the truck. Even the step was too high for his little legs to reach.
He slid into his booster seat restored by me in its usual spot in the middle of the bench, as he did every morning, then looked around.
“Where’s Phoebe?”
“I dunno, good question. Lemme check.”
I walked over to the Airstream, and just as I was about to knock, Phoebe stepped out.
“Hey, Carter, I’m ready.”
She was wearing a light sundress with thin little straps that grazed her pale shoulders. It was lavender, and it clung to her chest but flowed out at her hips. On her feet were the same simple sandals. She looked like a woodland nymph.
“That’s a pretty dress,” I commented, trying to think of the mildest thing I could possibly say about such a dazzling number and the dazzling girl wearing it.
“Thanks.” Her eyes sparkled. “Are we heading out?”
“Yup.”
In the truck, Phoebe and I sandwiched Henry between us like the filling in an Oreo. Jo-Beth offered to ride in the back of the truck.
We drove to the next town over and dropped off Jo-Beth at the library before it opened with arrangements to pick her up that afternoon. As we pulled away, Phoebe waved at her friend and then turned to me with a smile. She smiled at Henry beatifically then rustled his hair.
We’re the perfect little family. I stopped my thoughts in their tracks — we weren’t anything. Phoebe was an outsider. A pretty one, sure, but nothing more. She was passing through. Why did I let my mind play such dangerous tricks on me? Letting a woman slip in under the wire like that, tsk. You let your guard down for a minute and bam! Chaos.
In a moment we were driving down the street, and then onto the small highway that connected the town to the auto shop.
“It’s quiet out here,” Phoebe observed.
“Peaceful.” I’d lived enough to know that quiet and peaceful were two different things, and it was important to mind the gap.
“That’s what I meant.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Henry grab Phoebe’s arm. “You’re nice,” he said.
“Thanks, Henry. I think you’re awesome too.”
The strings of my heart were getting yanked back and forth as though they were controlled by some kind of vicious puppet master. God, it would be way easier to ignore Phoebe if she wasn’t so dang good.
Light filtered through the window, and danced across Henry’s blond hair. The truck cabin was hazy, calm. A perfect early morning family drive.
At last, we pulled into the auto shop. Phoebe’s decimated rustbucket sat out front. The hood was mangled, and the middle was sagging like an old lady’s breasts. I was surprised they’d made it out of Connecticut, let alone all the way to California. I mean, sure, they’d had an accident, but this car had been the worse for wear long before it’d met that pole.
“Yikes,” Phoebe breathed as I brought my truck to a halt. “Not promising, huh?”
“Well, I’ll do what I can to repair the hood, and then you’ll be getting’ those parts in soon enough. Won’t be pretty, I’ll tell ya that much. But it’ll get the job done.”
“It’s supposed to be for Jo-Beth’s cousin.”
At that, I raised a surprised eyebrow. “Somebody is going to drive this thing?”
Phoebe turned to me and bit her lip, saying, “Yeah, he wants it for parts. Is that bad?”
I didn’t have to reply — we both knew the answer.
With a sigh, she threw open her door and lifted Henry out, placing her hands under his armpits and hoisting him onto the ground. Though I couldn’t see around the enormous body of the truck, his little squeal and her subsequent laugh suggested to me that he’d done his trademark move — throwing his arms around your legs in a show of warmth and delight. It’s very affecting, and all around adorable. I have this on good authority from other town folk, cuz I know I’m biased.
The three of us walked to the open garage, to the limp mess of a car.
“Oh hi there, little lady,” a voice said.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
For the first time in his life, Big Bob had happened to show up to the shop early. Wasn’t that just convenient?
“This oughta be fun,” I muttered, and headed inside.
CHAPTER 13
Phoebe
I’M NOT A complainer. Seriously, I swear I’m not. When you grow up with two younger siblings, two hard-working parents, and a work ethic of your own, you don’t have the time or leisure to be a complainer.
So please know that I’m not just being a princess when I say, Big Bob was a creep.
Carter introduced us briskly in a tone that suggested he didn’t like Big Bob any more than I did.
The man clasped my hand — his was wet to the touch.
“It’ll be nice having you around,” he said, grinning wide to reveal several yellowed teeth.
Then he winked at me so fast I know Carter missed it. But I didn’t. And that was the whole point, right? To be a subtle perv, just clever enough not to get caught.
I kept my mouth shut, though. This was Carter’s gig, and I wasn’t going to mess it up, especially because it seemed like it may well be one of the only businesses in Rough and Ready. Getting your host fired isn’t much of a way to repay them.
“I’m gonna start working on your car,” Carter told me. “Well, Henry and I are. You can take a seat anywhere.”
Carter and Henry scooted to my vehicle — if you could really call it at that at this point — and Big Bob stayed glued to my side.
“You want a chair?” he asked, with Carter safely out of earshot. “I can get you a chair. It’s called my lap.”
I grimaced, and ignored his awful fucking joke. “I’ll take a regular chair, thanks.”
“Suit yourself.”
He gestured angrily to a basic, no-nonsense chair in the corner of the garage.
“Thanks.”
“You Carter’s girl or something?” he
asked, eyes squinting at me.
“I’m his guest. He’s housing me and my friend while my car gets fixed up.”
Big Bob licked his lips. “You coulda stayed with me. Still can, if you want. I could make all the arrangements with Carter.”
“I’ll pass.”
“You’re a buzzkill, you know that?”
“Uh-huh.”
Jesus, what was this dude’s problem? I’d rejected his gross advances about as nicely as possible. Couldn’t he just leave me alone?
I strode over to my chair, and defiantly plopped down in the seat, crossed my legs so tight you couldn’t get them apart with a crowbar.
Big Bob stood watching me. It took all my effort not to watch him back. That’d give the old man an excuse to make conversation or in his case, make remarks that set my teeth on edge. As a woman, you become practiced in this art — the art of ignoring what’s going on around you in order to, ironically, stay safe. Keep your head down, your eyes fixed on some distant object, and he’ll walk away. Go through life without looking.
Carter and Henry, meanwhile, were at the hood of my car, jacking it up and sliding a moving board beneath.
“Okay, we’re opening her up again!” Carter called out.
“Cool,” I shouted back from the sidelines.
They popped the hood together, Henry’s hand on the switch, Carter guiding it all the way.
“How’s it look?” I asked, my voice reverberating off the high ceilings.
“Looks like I’m gonna have to spruce a few things up,” he replied. “Wanna come learn about your car?”
Well, it’s not like I had much else to do. It was either learn about the car or try to steer clear of Big Bob’s leering presence. As you might have guessed, I chose to learn about the car, my repair inabilities be damned.
I walked over to the car, feeling Big Bob’s eyes on my thighs the whole time. I’d worn the dress for Carter, if we’re being frank, but now I regretted that choice.
“Okay, what’s the damage?”
“Well,” Carter began, before abruptly cutting himself off. “I can show you what’s going on beneath the car, with this hose that’s become disconnected. But you’re gonna have to put on a jumpsuit. I’d feel like a real criminal if I let you ruin that dress.”
I laughed, and he directed me over to a hook where a denim jumpsuit with the name “Carter” embroidered on the left breast pocket hung in apparent disuse.
“Why don’t you have this on?” I called out as I slipped the jumpsuit over my dress.
“Oh, I don’t mind gettin’ a little dirty.”
What a charmer. Jumpsuit firmly zipped, I returned to the car, where Henry was peeking into the hood while Carter was easing himself down onto the rolling board.
“Henry,” he instructed the boy as I neared, “be a good boy and fetch Phoebe a board.”
Henry nodded and ran off.
“He’s pretty obedient for a six year old,” I noted, looking down at Carter from above.
“I’m good at making people behave.”
Okay, that made a lump rise in my throat. For somebody who’d pretty much rejected my advances, he was being awfully loose with his words. I wanted to be mad, but more than anything, I was turned on. I thought back to my two separate masturbation sessions yesterday, and wished I’d squeezed in a third one. Maybe then I’d have more control over my urges.
With Carter below me, I felt a weird power exchange. He was vulnerable beneath me, yes, but by laying down, he’d also knowingly seceded some domination to me, and that in itself was a power move. Ugh, sexual dynamics are complicated. Let me put it more bluntly — I still wanted to bone that stupid, closed off, tight lipped, hot ass motherfucker.
Henry returned in a jiff with the board and set it down on the ground next to his dad.
“Sit,” the kid ordered me, so I sat.
Once again, I found myself laying side by side with Carter. This time, there was no canopy of stars above us. Just the cement ceiling of a shitty garage.
“Do you take all your girls under cars?” I joked.
Bad choice.
He muttered, “You gotta stop asking about my girls, Phoebe, it’s getting obsessive.”
With that he slid beneath the car, and anxious to win back his approval, I followed suit, not even thinking about how scary it is to get under a car. That’s how desperate I was to please. I totally ignored all my usual good instincts about being under heavy, precariously balanced objects.
None of it occurred to me until I was completely under the car and more capable of feeling the full brunt of regret.
The metal parts hung mere inches from my face. Oil dripped onto my jumpsuit. Carter and I were pressed up against one another, our combined shoulder widths nearly taking up the whole underside of the vehicle. It was like being in an MRI machine — the claustrophobia, the indecipherable machinery.
Suddenly, I was terrified.
“Carter—”
He clasped my hand. “I’m right here.”
I squeezed his hand back, and asked, “How’d you know I was scared?”
“Everybody’s scared their first time. I had to get Henry under a car dozens of times before he could do it without holding my hand.”
“So I’m not being a wimp?”
“On the contrary, I’m surprised you stayed under here.”
His voice was soft, muffled by our close quarters. Our hands were intertwined in the tiny gap between our bodies.
“I’m gonna show you some parts, okay?” He squeezed my hand. “Knowing about things makes them less scary.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
He began to point at parts at random. “This here’s your brakes. They’re important. And there’s the battery. Also important.”
“So, basically, everything’s important.”
Carter chuckled. “Yeah, fair enough. That’s the beauty of cars — nothing is there that doesn’t need to be there. It’s all designed for one goal — making you go forward. And stopping. And if you have a nicer car, it’s about making you go forward, and fast.”
“Got it.”
His worldview was so simple, so straightforward. Things served a purpose, or they didn’t. He lived in the black and white, while I lived in the gray. I envied him his ability to delineate. I often felt like I was in a swamp of the in between.
“Okay, I’m gonna roll out, and then I’ll pull you out.” His voice was reassuring. I wondered if it was the one he used to put Henry to bed.
I gave him a thumbs-up in between our locked hands.
He trundled out, using both his hands and feet to maneuver his body forward. It was an impressive feat of grace and coordination, and not for the first time, I wondered what it would be like to have him use that expertise on me.
I supposed I was about to find out, because Carter said, “Cross your arms over your chest,” just before wrapping his hands around my ankles and slowly guiding me out from under the car.
When I emerged, he was hovering over me, his body still bent from leading me out.
“Hey.” It seemed to be the only thing to say with his head so near to my own, his hands having slid up from my ankles to my calves and so close to my knees.
“Howdy.”
Shit, had to think of something else to say. “Um, the car was cool.”
He grinned. “Glad you liked it.”
His hands were still on my calves. Had Carter changed his mind? Had he decided that maybe I was worth trusting, that I was someone he could just be real with? Was he also feeling a connection so strong that it was no longer possible to ignore?
I tilted my head back a little further, exposing my neck to him. Urging him on. Hungry for him, and for the thing between his legs which continued to straddle me, his feet on either side of my arms.
His mouth opened, and I thought perhaps this was it — he would close the distance, move a foot down so that our bodies were touching everywhere, and we’d be making love.
Bu
t of course, as usual, I forgot that we were in a public place — that Henry was somewhere nearby, and so was Big Bob, who, I knew, would kill for a good show. I wanted Carter something awful, but not like this.
I lifted one of the arms that had been folded across my chest, and extended it to Carter. He got the hint, wrapping his fingers around mine and lifting me to my feet in one controlled yank.
“Thanks,” I said, breathless. We were face to face, our chests so close they nearly touched.
“You don’t have to thank me,” he said in a low voice. What was that supposed to mean?
Before I could ask, he took a dirty rag from his pocket, and then held both my hands in the palm of one of his. My body was dwarfed by his.
“What are you doing?”
“Cleaning you up.”
He gently massaged the rag over my hands. Without realizing it, I saw that they’d gotten dirty with stray oil droplets. I must’ve been distracted under the car, too busy thinking about my survival and proximity to Carter. Unfortunately, not in that order.
“There, you’re all set.”
Carter dropped my hands, and made a quick pass at his own.
“Let me help.”
I took the rag from him, and returned the favor. It was a moment of sharing, of intimacy, one that couldn’t be denied. My strokes were firm, taking off layers of congealed grease.
“Thanks.” His voice shook. I stayed quiet, knowing that if I replied, my quavering tone would give me away too.
I slipped the rag into his pocket, and Carter’s eyes went wide.
He stuttered. “I have to, uh — I have to go to the bathroom.”
Without another word, he pivoted on one foot and fled in the opposite direction.
Jesus! Every time we got close, he bolted. Was it me? Or was it just him?
The frustration welled within me, and this time, I didn’t feel the energy to tamp it down.
I let out a long, deep growl of annoyance and turned to kick at the underside of the mangled car.
CHAPTER 14
Carter
THE BATHROOM boasted a tiny ceramic toilet, a matching sink, and a flickering light bulb. In the corner were several mops that hadn’t been used since the eighties and a stack of employee lockers, from when there’d been multiple employees who needed multiple lockers.
