I shielded my eyes from the setting sun as it dipped below the horizon, sending a shimmer of rainbow-colored light across the calm ocean surface toward the beach. The picturesque setting belonged on a sappy greeting card and was lost on me. My heart was cold, and all of my sentimental emotions were under lock and key where they belonged.
A familiar sign up the road read Fast Eddie’s in worn red paint on a splintered board. It swayed in the wind, rusty hinges creaking. Tufts of tall grass had taken charge around the tires of a weathered tractor sitting near the gravel drive. If I had to guess, it hadn’t run in over a year and was being used as a glorified planter box or a poor attempt at a business card.
“Hello?” I asked as I walked toward the property with my suitcase in tow.
From what I remembered of the rumors, Fast Eddie was in his late thirties and a workaholic. I’d never met him, but I was once told he had a horrible laugh punctuated with a piggish snort. His sense of humor was known to be even worse, but the man knew his way around a vehicle. Fortunately, I didn’t need a stand-up comedian.
The metal gate at the entrance was partially open, propped in place with a rock. Knee-high blades of grass and a few cattails had grown around that too. Unless it was a kid’s toy, the smallest car wouldn’t fit through the gap. I had a bad feeling about Fast Eddie’s in the current day and age. My hunch was soon confirmed.
“Hello there!” a croaky voice shouted from the porch. The figure waved at me in an overhead gesture.
It was clear I’d entered a time machine. The guy wasn’t in his thirties; he was ancient. A two hundred-year-old man hobbled down a rickety ramp with a homemade cane whittled from warped driftwood. Each of his movements was shaky and calculated as he jabbed at the ground twice with his walking stick before moving each foot a few inches in front of the other. It was painful watching him repeat the same actions over and over again, making his way down the gravel driveway. My fingers were crossed he didn’t fall and bust a hip.
“Is your son or grandson around? I need a mechanic.” I hiked my thumb over my shoulder as I walked toward him. If I didn’t, I was afraid it’d take him nearly a month to get to where I stood. “My car broke down back that way about a quarter mile.”
The wrinkles on his face deepened as he looked bewildered. “My kid?”
“Yeah. Fast Eddie. He owned this place not too long ago.” I glanced up at the sign. “This is still a mechanic shop, right?”
“Oh, well if you’re lookin’ for Fast Eddie, you’re starin’ right at him, ma’am.” He jutted his thumbs under the straps of his faded overalls and gave them a firm tug. “Edward Miller. Steele Falls’ finest mechanic.”
I had a feeling he was Steele Falls’ only mechanic.
“You’re,” I visually assessed him from head to toe, trying to hide my distaste, “Fast Eddie?”
“Darn tootin’!” He smiled, revealing few teeth in his mouth. “Well, the previous owner was my son. He’s Eddie Jr., but he took off to discover himself in Bermuda. Said the pace of this town was too slow for him. So, I took over.”
I held back my eye roll. Passing the torch to the elder was a bass ackward concept to me. Then again, I was back in Steele Falls, the last place I thought I’d ever step foot.
He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket with quaking hands to blow his nose, which sounded like a dying goose. It was clear nothing about Eddie was swift. My cell service was still non-existent when I glanced from the corner of my eye, so AAA was out of the question. Hell, trying to contact Cash wasn’t an option either, not that I wanted to anything to do with that douche canoe. Desperation set in though. I was stuck with prehistoric Eddie, and I could do nothing but hope he didn’t keel over while we talked.
“What about Dave Bower? He owns the little auto body shop on the corner of Main and Olive.”
“Owned. Past tense. Closed up,” he looked thoughtful as he rubbed the white stubble on his chin, “about six months ago when he had the second heart attack. Right about the time I moved here.”
Theory confirmed: moved here to die.
“And I’m guessing you’re the only outfit in town now?”
Eddie’s head bobbed comically with a silly grin on his face. Part of me wondered if he had all of his marbles and whether he should be trusted to operate any vehicle.
I sighed at the inconvenience. “Is the nearest dealership still over in Ocean Shores?”
“That’s right.” He nodded. “But they’re closed this late on Saturdays.”
“Of course, they are.” I rubbed the back of my neck and mumbled, “This isn’t happening.”
“You in town for the annual pancake breakfast next Thursday?”
“Um. Not exactly.” I left out the fact I remembered the event well. If the biggest celebration a town was known for included flattened carbohydrates and tapped tree sap, peace out, homey.
“Too bad. They’re somethin’ else. Suckers stick to your ribs like glue for a week.” He smacked his lips. “Where you headed? Maybe I can help you out.”
“1468 Poplar,” I replied, glancing at my watch. It was already six-fifteen.
“The Meyers property?”
“Meyers. Mayor. Whatever.” I shrugged. “That’s the one.”
“I heard about what happened to Tom. A shame to lose such a great man.”
“Yeah, well…”
“Tell you what. My assistant mechanic is working down in the shop right now.” Eddie looked at the numbers on his ridiculously large watch. “He should still be here. I’ll have him give you a ride, and I’ll look over your car tonight. Give you an estimate tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” I blurted. The thought of being stranded in Steele Falls at any point without an immediate escape plan left me weirdly claustrophobic. Unfortunately, I was out of options. Eddie was my dusty, old, crotchety knight in rusty armor whether I liked it or not.
Reluctantly, I removed the key from my ring and placed the single piece of metal in the palm of his liver-spotted hand. Convincing myself to let go took multiple tries. It felt as if the door to the prison creaked closed, about to slam in my face.
Eddie whistled loudly and then cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hey! Wesley!”
Two awkward minutes ticked by, and I wondered if the assistant mechanic was as slow, and as old, as Fast Eddie. If things continued at such breakneck speed, I was starting to question if I’d gone there to die too. A figure finally emerged in the distance. I couldn’t see much from afar though. The sun had dipped well-below the horizon, shadows cast over the person approaching. As they got closer, I could make out jeans with smears of grease stains, work boots, a faded graphic tee shirt, and a baseball cap. It didn’t appear he was antique like Eddie.
The mechanic walked up to us, the jingle of keys in his pocket rhythmically slowing while gravel crunched beneath his feet. The man’s hat shielded his face from the angle where I stood. “What’s up, Eddie?”
“This fine, young lady here needs a ride to 1468 Poplar.” Eddie’s attention turned to me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Blue,” I replied.
Wesley adjusted his hat, looked up at me, and his eyes widened. “Holy shit. Blue Brennan?”
It was a distinct voice I recognized from my past. The tone was one I’d know anywhere. Smooth with a hint of southern accent. Seeing his face confirmed his identity, and I wanted to run in the other direction. “Beanbag?”
“It’s Wesley now,” he replied, his cheeks reddening as he hooked his thumbs into his belt loops.
“Say, you two know each other?” Eddie asked.
I let out a slow, deep breath and stilled. “You could say that.”
Eddie fished around in his pocket and pulled out a one dollar bill, reaching out to Beanbag with a quaking hand. “Why don’t you take off early f
or the night? Grab somethin’ to eat.”
“That’s not necessary. And not on your dime, Eddie.” Beanbag’s eyes flicked over to me. “Not worth it. Trust me.”
“Oh, come on! It’s less than an hour before your shift ends, and it’s on your way home. You two can grab a cup of sludge over at The Lean, Mean, Coffee Bean and catch up. My treat.” The dollar remained extended in Eddie’s trembling grip. “Besides, you’ve been working that hunk of rust on the lift through your lunch breaks for the past two weeks. I owe you.”
Although the gesture was oddly sweet, it was clear Fast Eddie had no idea how much a cup of coffee cost, let alone overtime, in the current decade.
I shook my head left and right, formulating a lie. “I can’t. They’re expecting me at the house and—”
“See? She can’t, Eddie. No big deal,” Beanbag cut me off. “It’s cool. I’ll drop her off and head home for the night.”
Declining the ride from Beanbag at that moment would’ve resulted in Fast Eddie wanting an explanation and me dragging luggage across town by foot. Neither a long walk nor story time sounded appealing. I was stuck being gracious and accepting while I strained a smile.
“Well, you two have fun catching up,” Eddie said with a grin as he turned to start the painstaking walk back up to the house. “Wheel of Fortune starts in half an hour. Can’t miss it.”
“What about my car?” I asked.
It was clear he didn’t hear me, a momentary distraction before noticing Beanbag about twenty feet away already.
“Hey! Wait up!” I shifted the suitcase to my other hand and hurried to catch up with my unenthusiastic chauffeur.
He motioned over his shoulder for me to follow him without looking back. “C’mon. I don’t have all night.”
“But I thought you didn’t get off work for another hour?”
If looks could kill, I’d have been dead on the spot.
The wheels on my luggage didn’t cooperate against the tiny rocks when I yanked harder on the handle. Picking it up left me off balance, so I resigned to tugging it along in an off-road manner once again.
Beanbag didn’t offer to help. I didn’t blame him. He opened the driver’s side door to a rusty pickup truck, got in, and slammed it shut. There was no checking in the rearview mirror to see if I was all right. No offer to open the passenger door for me. No asking how my day went. He sat face-forward, waiting. After three tries, I succeeded in lifting my heavy luggage into the bed on my own and climbed in on the passenger side.
Gravel spun out beneath the tires as we immediately took off like a bat out of hell on the lumpy dirt road. The needle on the odometer was broken and didn’t waver, so I was left to guess how fast we were going. Forty-five miles per hour. Maybe fifty. There wasn’t time for me to affix the latch of the seatbelt into the floppy end of the anchor before we’d hit our first significant pothole. With a solid thunk, my head collided with the ceiling. Stars exploded behind my eyes as I squealed.
“My bad. Guess I didn’t see that,” Beanbag said.
My body lurched as he took a sharp corner, my shoulder slamming hard into the door. Instinctively, I flailed for the ‘Oh, shit!’ bar above the passenger window. It must’ve been hanging on by a single screw because the whole thing came off in my hand when I grabbed on tight. My elbow smashed into the lock nub on the door, a burst of numbness and tingling coursing through my funny bone. I rubbed my upper arm, certain a black-and-blue bruise was in my future. “Who taught you how to drive?”
“Whoops,” Beanbag said under his breath, his focus remaining on the road in front of him.
Once we’d hit the main roads, his race-style driving skills mellowed out. Cops were known to ticket drivers in the area for going one mile over the speed limit. Regardless, I was thankful. It gave my heart a chance to crawl down my throat and back into my chest.
The rest of the ride to my mother’s house was quiet except for twangy music playing in the background. Country tunes made my teeth itch, but it was evident Beanbag and I weren’t close enough to where I could ask to flip the dial. He nervously tapped the faded steering wheel and hummed as we sailed through the sleepy town, slowing to a whopping maximum of twenty-five miles per hour. It was no surprise that we drove past The Lean, Mean, Coffee Bean without his foot making way for the brake.
“Sorry to hear about what happened to your dad.” His forced attempt at small talk made the experience worse. “You know, his dying and all.”
“Dead as a doornail. And he was my step-father.” The temperature had spiked inside the cab of the truck with the topic. I rolled down the window and looked out at the ocean.
“Right. I forgot.” He paused. “So, you’re just in town for the funeral? Then, you’re takin’ off again?”
I flinched and shut my eyes. “Something like that.” The frayed edge of the seatbelt gave me something to concentrate on before I gathered enough courage to glance at him.
Not much had changed, like everything else in town. He’d grown up a little over the past two years, his reddish, bushy facial hair filling in. Less lanky. More muscular. More freckles. He looked more like a man and less like a boy. But he was still Beanbag. His face was tan from the summer sun, but his eyes didn’t hide he was more than tired, almost exhausted. His sunglasses did little to mask that. Part of me wanted to ask him how he was doing, but a bigger part of me knew I didn’t have the right. That bridge burned to the ground long ago.
After another few minutes of painstaking silence, we pulled up alongside the house where I grew up. The windshield was cracked on the right, but the kaleidoscope of colors and shapes didn’t alter reality. It still terrified me. A shiver crept up my spine, sending a flurry of goosebumps down my arms. On the left, I saw the rickety porch stairs. The third one up always groaned and bowed when someone stepped on it. I remembered falling down and scraping my knees there. A lot. On the right, a faded rope swing dangled under the willow tree. That was where I spent countless hours pushing both Daveigh and Finn. I could almost hear our laughter if I tried hard enough. Farther on the right was the flat-roofed garage. It was where I’d sneak out of my window late at night. Well, that was until I put my foot down and moved into the mother-in-law cottage out back.
Nothing changes if nothing changes. It was the same manicured hedge. It was the same worn, picket fence. It was the same blue house. It was the same uninviting front door. All of it was the same, except for me.
For a minute, I’d forgotten I wasn’t alone.
Beanbag jammed the gear shift into park, adjusted himself in the seat, and turned toward me. He looked uncomfortable as he opened his mouth three times, closing it again like a fish. Nothing happened. Closing his eyes, he inhaled sharply and thought before speaking, his voice soft. “We need to talk about what happened before you left. If you want—”
Boom. That was my hard limit. “There’s nothing to discuss,” I said quickly as I unbuckled my seatbelt and exited the truck, slamming the door.
“Blue, wait….” he said through the open passenger window. “Don’t do this. Please?”
“Thanks for the ride, Beanbag.”
“Wesley,” he replied. “It’s Wesley.”
“Right.” I brushed him off. “Tell Eddie thanks too.” I hopped up into the bed of the truck and grabbed my suitcase, rolling it over the side and letting it fall onto the lawn. The jury was out on which was worse—hanging out with Beanbag in those few seconds or heading up the porch.
“You really don’t want to hear what I’ve got to say?” He pulled his sunglasses down and looked over the rims. “Are you being serious right now?”
The hot tears were nearly impossible to hold back as I shook my head no. Crying hadn’t occurred in months, and I wasn’t about to start then. The emotions I’d tried to avoid fought me tooth and nail. I couldn’t let them win. Instead, I decided to repres
s it all for the millionth time. “I have to go.”
Part of me regretted my decision to come back more than ever, and I’d only been around for less than an hour. It was another moment where I’d have taken Mrs. Sheetz with her casseroles full of mystery meat and stray cat hair. It all sounded a million times better than what I’d already endured.
As I stared at the porch, that prison door had officially slammed shut with a harsh echo. There was no key and no way out.
“Fine. Have it your way.” Beanbag gritted his teeth and locked eyes with mine before shifting the truck back into drive. “You can let me know when or if you’re ever ready to talk. Since I can see this visit is all about Blue.” His tone was edgy and curt, filling the air quickly with tension. Beanbag was one of the most laidback and even-keeled people I knew. To see that side of him made me realize he still hadn’t forgiven me. I doubted he ever would.
I didn’t warrant his words with a response. Nothing felt adequate.
“Heartless bitch,” he muttered under his breath.
I stood still and accepted every syllable of that two-word blow, letting the sound of each consonant and vowel resonate in my head. Part of me felt badly and wanted to tell him to stop when he gunned the engine. That was the part filled with guilt about the past. It was the part that knew Beanbag was due an explanation. But a bigger part of me, a more self-serving part, wasn’t ready to hear what he needed to say. To be honest, I didn’t know if I’d ever be prepared to have “that” conversation with him. All I could do was stand there with downcast eyes, living up to the shameful name he’d called me.
Blue Page 6
