Headlights, Dipsticks, & My Ex's Brother

by Heather Novak

  “He was going to be my brother and now he’s going to be my daddy. It’s weird. Do I have to call him Daddy? I already have one.”

  I choked on air. This was possibly the most awkward conversation I’d ever had. I pursed my lips. How did I answer this? Why yes, it IS weird. “What do you want to call him?”

  She shrugged. “Will? Stepdad Will? Mr. Will?”

  Stepdad Will? Geez. “You’re a big girl and get to decide what to call him. Next time you’re hanging out alone, you can ask him what he thinks. You can decide together.” She nodded seriously, like a woman in her thirties instead of a little girl. “You know, Mom and your dad still love you even though they’re not together.”

  She nodded. “I know. Daddy says that. He says Mommy’s a man-eater, but she won’t eat me because I’m a little girl. I asked him if that made her a zombie, but he just turned red and didn’t answer.”

  I opened my mouth to respond and found that I couldn’t. I had zero responses. What the hell did you say to that? My cell phone started ringing and I had never been more thankful for an interruption in my life. I leaned forward to nab it from the coffee table. “Edie,” I answered.

  “I know you got roped into babysitting,” Chieka rushed out, “but I need Doctor Edie.”

  I looked over at Tina. “You up for hanging out at the shop?”

  She sat up and nodded with a gap-toothed grin. “Yeah!”

  “Give me five and we’ll be there.” Looking at Tina’s pink dress, I pursed my lips. “Okay, ten.” After hanging up, I jumped off the couch and started upstairs. I had to have something too small that she could change into. “Come on, pip-squeak! Let’s get you out of that dress.”

  Fifteen minutes later, I had added a hole in a belt and made a T-shirt into a dress for Tina. Her pink frilly concoction was safely hanging in my closet. She held my hand and skipped down the path to the shop, rattling on about Sergeant Cornflakes.

  “When I’m a vet, do you think I could have a pet rooster, too? How did you get yours? Does he have a wife? Or maybe a husband? Daddy told me sometimes men fall in love with other men. Do roosters fall in love with other roosters? Do roosters taste the same as chickens?”

  I was simultaneously mentally high-fiving her dad, Gabriel, for being open about homosexual love, while also regretting how much sugar I’d given her before this errand. I did this to myself, didn’t I? I was the one who put the chocolate chips in the pancakes. Next time it would be fresh fruit and oatmeal.

  She kept up her questions until we reached bay one, barely breathing in between bursts. Thankfully she didn’t seem to expect me to answer because I had no idea if roosters could fall in love with other roosters. I was going to have to Google that later.

  As soon as Chieka saw us, she rushed over. Tina’s eyes widened as she followed her progress. “Wow, you’re pretty,” she said. “Daddy says only pretty girls can work at Sissy’s shop.”

  I mentally retracted my high five for Gabriel. I didn’t hire based on looks. I hired based on talent, skill, and willingness to learn.

  Chieka crouched in front of Tina with a smile that could light the way in a snowstorm. “Hi Clementine, my name is Chieka.”

  Tina stuck out her hand and the older woman shook it. “It’s nice to meet you, Chieka. Your name is weird like mine. We should be friends.” She said it with such seriousness, Chieka and I both started laughing.

  “My name is Japanese,” she explained. “Which is why it seems weird.”

  Tina nodded sagely. “My name is a fruit. That’s why it IS weird.”

  I loved this kid. When I finally recovered enough to take a deep breath, I raised my eyebrows and looked at my employee, a silent gesture for her to tell me what was up. If I opened my mouth again, I was going to lose it.

  “Ellen Lencroft is in town visiting her grandkids. She’s been having trouble with her car since she left Colorado and stopped at two mechanics. No one has a clue.”

  I looked around the waiting room and found the older woman sitting there with a worn novel in her hand. Ellen was in her mid-sixties but looked like she could be forty. Her tawny complexion was nearly flawless. Only the gray peppered throughout her hair gave her age away.

  When she saw me walking toward her, she put her book down and smiled. “Edith Becker, you are a sight for sore eyes!” She stood and opened her arms.

  I bent down and kissed her cheek. “Ellen, it’s been years! How’s Mateo? How’s the family?”

  She smiled and nodded. “We’re as good as it gets! Health is hanging on, maybe not the hearing so much but it just means I don’t hear Mateo snore.” She touched her ear. “Probably why I’m losing my hearing anyway!” We laughed as she looked down at Tina. “Who is this precious girl?”

  “Ellen, you remember Clementine? My half sister.”

  Ellen looked between us in apparent shock. “No way. I haven’t been away that long! There’s no way she’s the little girl you carried in your backpack when she broke her leg because you both wanted ice cream.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “She’s too big for my backpack now.” Tina’s smile grew huge and she bumped into me, her normal shy move. “Every time I see her, she’s grown half a foot!” Of course, I barely saw her thanks to my mother and her ridiculous custody agreement. At least we had Skype.

  Ellen, Tina, and I sat down as Ellen showed me pictures of her kids, grandkids, and her new dog, Prince. I could feel Chieka hovering nearby, awaiting orders, but this was important. If Ellen wanted impersonal service, she could go somewhere else. I had known Ellen all my life and loved hearing about her family.

  “Tell me about your car,” I finally asked. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Chieka step closer.

  Ellen pointed to the diesel pickup truck in bay one. “We bought this off of one of Mateo’s pickleball buddies after we upgraded our camping trailer, and you know my little gas truck just couldn’t keep up. Anyway, it started shuddering on our way here!”

  “Describe the shuddering to me. Did you notice any patterns?” Ellen described her drive, the truck’s symptoms, and her visits to the last two shops.

  Chieka approached to give me a rundown. “There’re no codes and I couldn’t replicate it. I can’t find a vacuum leak. I changed the spark plugs. Oil change, synthetic, a thousand miles ago. Looks pretty clean. She said she had the fuel pump replaced at shop number two and is afraid she needs a transmission.”

  I tapped the front of my forehead, my mind running different scenarios. “She said the worst part of her trip was Colorado...I think we’re too flat. I wonder if it’s a misfire...”

  Chieka clapped once in excitement. “I’ll grab the laptop and oscilloscope.”

  I turned back to Ellen. “Let me run some tests. I have a theory. If you want to order anything from Ray’s, let Tamicka in the office know. They’ll deliver.” I turned to Tina. “You wanna go color with my friend Tamicka?”

  Ellen tutted me. “We were going to go find Sergeant Cornflakes and see how his day is going.” She chuckled, standing up and reaching for Tina’s hand.

  Ellen had babysat me when I was a kid, so I was confident in her ability to watch Tina. Without having to worry about my sister underfoot, I got to work hooking the machine to the truck’s engine and grounding it to the battery. Once the laptop was up and running and the bay door was opened, we started the truck and studied the computer, and waited.

  And waited.

  And...waited.

  The thing about intermittent engine backfires was that they were intermittent. In any other aspect of my life, this would make me crazy. But in my gut, I knew I was right. It was just a matter of time...

  “There!” I said. “There’s the misfire. Just dropped completely.”

  “Number four injector,” Chieka concluded, looking over my shoulder. “I’m on it.” We high-fived.

  “Rosa!” I called, and my youngest employee poked her head out of the employee lounge. “Got time for a detail and wash today?”

  She
nodded. “On it!”

  Adding on complimentary services was never a good way to make money, but Ellen was an important part of my childhood. She got the works.

  Ellen, Tina, and I walked up to Ray’s to get the food and went back to the shop to eat in the employee’s lounge. In this room, you could tell the shop was run by a bunch of women. A real wood table with non-folding chairs, white cabinets, a light-blue subway tile backsplash, and fingerprint-free stainless-steel appliances made it feel like home. The microwave and dishwasher were starting to show their age, but I’d replaced the fridge only two months ago.

  When I finished eating, I rotated out with Chieka and double-checked everything on Ellen’s truck. In the meantime, Rosa had made it shine. “Ellen!” I called, walking over to the waiting room. “We’re finished.”

  She listened while I explained what the problem was and how we’d fixed it. I answered all of her questions, then directed her toward Tamicka in the office for payment. “I added in the car wash and detailing on the house. Don’t you dare tell her to charge you for them.”

  She swatted playfully at me. “You’re not going to be able to pay the light bill if you keep doing stuff like that.”

  I shrugged. “I’ve got candles.”

  After a goodbye that was a bit more emotional than I expected—I really needed to take her and Mateo out to lunch before they headed back West—I looked over at Tina. “You ready to go back to the house?”

  She shook her head. “Can you show me some car things?”

  I blinked, surprised. “Uh...sure! Let’s grab you a step stool!” It should have occurred to me to set an alarm or to put someone on alert to watch out for my mother, but sometimes I did stupid things. Especially when my Camaro was involved.

  Chapter Twelve

  Edie’s Tip #7: While you may know where you’re going, the rest of us don’t. Use your turn signal. Or I will silently judge you.

  “See how this is different than the new car we looked at?” I asked Tina, who was sitting in the driver’s seat, pretending to drive.

  Tamicka knocked loudly before rushing into the Camaro bay. The look on her face was a warning. I glanced at the clock on my workbench. Shit. Three fifteen.

  “What the hell are you doing with my daughter?” our mother screeched.

  I helped Tina out of the car and turned her to face me. “Thanks for spending the day with me! You were the best helper.” I kissed her cheek and used the movement to wipe some grease off her face with my thumb.

  “I have been knocking on your door for fifteen minutes and you’re not answering your cell phone! I cannot believe that you would be this irresponsible. Bringing a child—a child—to this shop is dangerous!”

  I straightened and hardened my face. “Are you serious? You let me hang out here with Grandpa from the moment I could hold myself upright!”

  “Yes, and look how you turned out.” She stomped forward in high heels that were so shiny, I could see my face in them, and snatched Tina’s hand from mine. “Come on, Clementine.” She gasped. “Where is your dress?!”

  “I hate that dress,” Tina mumbled. “It doesn’t have pockets.”

  My mom put her hand to her chest and pointed a talon at me. “You did this. You put these thoughts in her head.” She stepped forward, tugging Tina with her. “Just because you grew up to be like Fiona, Franky, whatever the hell her name is now, does not mean you get to shove your poor fashion choices down my child’s throat!”

  Oh, now Tina was my mother’s child when it was convenient for her argument. Cute. “Okay, there’s so much to unpack here. First of all, Franky is a transgender man. His pronouns are he/his/him. Stop calling him Fiona and using female pronouns. Second of all, regardless of their lifestyle, people are allowed to dress outside of stereotypical gender roles. Third, I’m wearing jeans and a tank top. This isn’t Victorian England. I can show my shoulders.”

  “No wonder William loves me better.”

  Punch to the gut. I was surprised I didn’t double over. Not because I cared about who Will loved more than me—I hoped he loved the woman he was going to marry more than me because what we’d had wasn’t enough. It hurt because it was my mother saying it. The woman who was supposed to love me and charge into battle for me, not against me.

  I swallowed hard, refusing to cry. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. “I’ll go get Tina’s dress.” I walked right past my mother, pausing only to squeeze my sister’s hand, and raced up the pathway to the house.

  Mom had stripped Tina the moment she got through my front door and was scrubbing her in my powder room. “You smell terrible,” Mom complained. When she was done making sure her baby was clean, she grabbed the dress from my hands and shoved it on a wincing Tina. Mom clapped her hands twice. “There, that’s better.”

  “Mom—” I started.

  She held up her claw—I mean hand—to silence me. “No. Clementine is the last chance I have to raise a proper woman who isn’t an embarrassment.” She grabbed Tina’s hand and started to the front door. “My friend Amy is going to call you about my bridal shower. Make sure you answer.”

  Then she slammed the door her father had built without looking back.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Edie’s Tip #21: I, too, like to negotiate how long I can keep the gas light on before I fill up. However, this probably isn’t the best life choice...

  I’m not ashamed to admit that I cried when my mom left. I cried because I wanted the mom I saw on television shows, the one who had family dinners and supported her children. I cried because I kept reacting to what she said. I cried because I hated the daughter I’d become. I cried because she called me an embarrassment.

  For the first time, I saw the silver lining in leaving this shop and this house behind. I could leave my mom, Will, and all this drama. It meant being away from Kristy, Jami, and my shop girls, but we could still get together. Luke could have his money; I could have a life without the dragon.

  I ran to the alcove in the hall where Grandma kept her old house phone, pens, and pads of paper. The phone had been long disconnected, but I still kept it exactly the same. Grabbing a pencil and pad, I started to write down what I would need to replace before I sold the house. The front door—that would come with me.

  The stained-glass sconces in the hallway that Grandma had purchased in Italy on their twenty-fifth-anniversary trip. The dining room chandelier that was my great-grandma’s and had survived the journey from Poland. The staircase banister my grandpa’s brother helped install right before he was killed on tour in Vietnam.

  As I went through every room in the house, my heart grew heavier and heavier with each step. These walls contained generations of love, heartbreak, and memories. How could I leave this all behind? Even if it meant leaving my mother.

  Sitting on the edge of my bed, I covered my face in my hands, wishing I could talk to my grandpa right now. He’d know what to do. He’d hand me one of his perfect chocolate chip cookies—which I had never been able to replicate—and tell me everything was going to be alright.

  I pushed my fingers back through my hair and my gaze landed on my bookshelf. Amid the colorful paperbacks and knickknacks was a framed photo of my grandparents with Luke’s parents as they cut the ribbon the day the shop opened. I slid off the bed and walked over to it, picking it up.

  Luke’s dad, Mario, was the only one in the photo still alive, but his memories had been locked away after a series of strokes. Still, the need to see someone who’d known my grandpa as well as I had was overwhelming. After rushing through a shower, I braided my hair, threw on fresh jeans, and headed to my garage to pull out the one vehicle that could make me feel better—my motorcycle. Henry had done a custom paint job on her a few years back, and she glittered purple and orange in the afternoon sun.

  With my matching purple helmet in place, I revved the engine and took off. Mario was at a memory care facility thirty miles away. It was one of the fancy ones that had its own city within the grounds
. I knew how much Will paid a month, but he didn’t even flinch. It was one of the few decent things about him.

  The drive was just what I needed. The speed, the wind, and the sunshine restored me. By the time I pulled up to the facility, I was feeling more like the Edie I wanted to be. After signing in and being issued a visitor’s badge, I made my way to Mario’s room.

  His door had a license plate hanging from a ribbon with his name on it, but nothing else. No pictures, drawings, or Fourth of July decorations. I briefly thought about the photo on my bookshelf and wondered if I should bring a copy over. I’d have to ask his nurse.

  I hesitated before knocking, not sure if it was even still appropriate for me to see him. But I didn’t break up with him, I broke up with his son. If he didn’t want to see me, I’m sure he’d tell me.

  Squaring my shoulders, I knocked three times. A garbled “Hello?” came through the thin door, and I turned the knob and stepped inside.

  The room was a small studio apartment, maybe five hundred square feet. A small kitchen was to my left with a tiny table and two chairs. The wheelchair accessible bathroom was to my right, which had two access doors—from the front hall and from the bedroom. Everything was beige and gray, and I instantly longed for the bright colors that their family home had boasted.

  “Hi, Mario,” I said cautiously, approaching the thin man in a wheelchair near the couch. He was watching golf and struggled to pull his focus away. “Remember me?” I asked as his milky gray eyes washed over me.

  He lifted his hand and motioned me to come toward him. He gripped my hand in both of his and held it. “Dottie, I was wondering when you were going to come see me,” he said. “I haven’t seen you or Edward in forever!”