As if things couldn't get any worse I had a reverend looking at me—barefoot, barelegged, and wearing Matt's shirt. The shame of it all made my cheeks burn.
"I think I'll wait in the car," he said under his breath.
Adele moved past him and before I could even say anything, she enveloped me in a kind, big-sisterly hug.
"Oh, Flick, cherie, what happened?" she cooed. It was the very question I'd been asking myself over and over.
"H-he's not here," I wailed. My cheeks were wet with tears. "I-I don't know where he went. He left before I woke up and he hasn't come back."
"Well he wasn't at the family brunch this morning either. When you two disappeared last night and didn't show up there this morning, we all sort of assumed you were doing other...things..."
Her attempt at diplomacy and the innuendo only made me cry harder.
Adele pulled a tissue from her bag, handed it to me, and waited in sympathetic silence as I struggled to regain control. I felt ragged inside.
"I m-must have done something wrong," I stuttered as I wiped my damp cheeks.
Adele reached down and put her hands on my shoulders. Her smile was so sweet and gentle that it made my throat constrict. It had been so long since I'd had a friend that I didn't know how to accept her kindness.
"You've done nothing wrong," she insisted gently. "We each make our own choices. You are not to take the blame for someone else's actions. Now, we brought your truck. Why don't you go home and get cleaned up? It'll make you feel better. Matt has to emerge at some point and when he does, you two can talk. I'm sure there's a very good reason for his behavior."
I desperately wanted to believe Adele that there was a reasonable explanation; like he'd been abducted by aliens or perhaps his car had suddenly burst in to flames. But a more logical part of me feared that Matt had woken up this morning and looked at me with nothing but regret. Now he was being a coward about it and couldn't face me.
Adele held up the silver clutch I'd taken to the wedding. "You left it in Nate's car. Your keys were inside." After another compassionate smile she said, "Go home cherie."
I took the purse from her. My keys were cool, the edges sharp as I curled my fingers around them. The stab of pain was a welcome jolt.
Adele gave me another hug. "If you need anything, any time, you can call either me or Nate."
I nodded, feeling numb as she led me out into the afternoon sunshine. She and Nate watched as I climbed into my truck and started it. They even went so far as to follow me to be sure I was okay on the five-minute drive home.
I was vaguely aware of only being half-dressed and barefoot. Not that I cared. I couldn't have ever put the dress and shoes from the day before back on; they'd become permanent reminders of my stupidity.
I drifted up the walkway and to the front door of the house without noticing how I'd gotten there. Inside, the hall was dark and cool. I ached all over and all I wanted was a hot shower and my bed. Well, there was one thing I wanted more, but he'd up and abandoned me.
I was oblivious to everything other than my own misery, which is why running into my Dad was such a shock. He stood in the middle of the darkened living room with his cane in one hand and an empty glass in the other. So much for his latest bout of sobriety. He looked just as surprised to see me as I was to see him. His grey eyes danced over my outfit—or rather my lack of one.
"Just gettin' in?"
My entire body tensed at the sound of his voice. I let out a weary sigh. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Well that's too bad, 'cause I do."
When he studied me with his cold, distant eyes, I felt like I was more of a stranger to him than his own daughter.
"Ya sleep with him?"
He answered my silence with a slow, disapproving shake of his greying head.
"I never pegged ya for that sort o'girl, Flick. Thought I raised ya better n' that."
The aching loneliness of waking up in Matt's bed to find I'd been abandoned, came crashing down at me. And now I was the one being judged? I'd had enough for one day.
"Raised me? You didn't raise me! You stuck a wrench in my hand and sent me to play on the garage floor, that's not 'raising'. Now is not the time to start playing the part of the upset parent!" I yelled, suddenly furious beyond reason. "Not after twenty-one years of ignoring me."
Dad actually looked taken-aback, but he retained his composure.
"Taught ya everything I knew," he countered in a quieter tone than before.
"You taught me everything you knew about cars," I retorted. "How the hell was that supposed to prepare me for life? For this?"
Dad's hand shook. The ice in the bottom of the empty shot glass clinked about as he set it down.
"Did he hurt ya?"
I wrapped my arms around my waist and squeezed hard, hoping to bring a little feeling back into my body.
"No, Dad. He didn't hurt me."
Not physically, anyway.
"Ya should talk to him." It was a tone of voice I don't think I'd ever heard from him and it surprised me. I softened a little towards my dad then. Here was a man who'd not only been left with his grief when his wife died twenty years ago, but who'd been left alone with a little girl. What did an auto mechanic know about raising a girl?
"Problems don't get solved by runnin' from them, Flick."
Anger churned in my empty stomach. My gaze flitted down to the empty rye glass on the table. His hypocrisy rankled my shattered nerves.
"So it's better to just drown them then?"
He looked shocked at first but it gave way to the simmering anger I was much more used to.
"That's different," he snarled.
I planted my hands on my hips and scoffed.
"It's not different and you know it!" There was no way I was going to let him lecture me on facing my problems, not when he reeked of rye whiskey at one-thirty on a Sunday afternoon. This time there was no way I was going to stop until I said everything I wanted to say. "You really don't expect me to take a word of this conversation seriously when you sit around this house all day long and pour booze down your throat rather than deal with your problems!"
"I've watched you hide away in here for more than a year! I bring you food, I bring you drinks, I clean up after you, and I never question you. I never complain. I pay the bills, I take care of the garage—I do everything. Everything. And you don't even notice, you don't even give a damn!"
I looked up into my father's face, expecting him to yell back at me but he remained silent while his hand trembled on the cane's handle. The injury had aged him so much. The lines around his lips and eyes had deepened and the booze and cigarettes had left their mark.
"You've never noticed," I accused. "You've never cared."
His expression flickered then, just a little, and I thought he'd deny it.
His silence cut deeper than any words he could have said.
"You never asked me if I wanted to run the business! You just assumed that I would. And you have no idea what I've gone through this past year and a half, how much I've struggled. You just sit here in the dark with a drink in your hand and figure that I'll take care of everything. Well, what if I don't want to take care of everything? Of you?"
"For once, I wanted someone to want to take care of me." My voice broke as I struggled not to cry but failed. "I'm sorry if I made the mistake in thinking that maybe I'd finally found someone who did, but I will not have you lecture me on how to fix it."
I scrubbed away my tears then before Dad said anything, before the yelling began, I did the very thing he'd urged me not to do. I ran from my problems, all the way upstairs to my cool, quiet bedroom.
Chapter Seven
I moped the entire Sunday afternoon and all night. When I wasn't awake, my scant sleep was peppered with dreams of Matt. I couldn't forget the taste of his kisses or the slow slide of his hands against my body no matter how hard I tried. He was like a ghost over my shoulder.
The rainy Monday morning dawne
d as grey and dismal as my mood. I dragged myself from bed and ignored the haggard reflection in the mirror. I looked like shit. No surprise there considering I felt like shit too.
Matt's car wasn't at the apartment when I arrived at the garage. Him not being there was just another kick in the teeth. Luckily I was already as hurt as it was possible for me to be. Today was business as usual, whether I felt like it or not.
I put the coffee on and scanned the appointment book. Since I hadn't booked any repairs for the weekend, the next few days were fairly full to compensate. There were more jobs than I could manage on my own. If Matt didn't show up for work I'd be screwed in more ways than one.
With a sad sigh, I rifled through my stock then pulled the parts I needed for the day.
The instant I heard a car pull up outside the garage, my head shot up and a sick feeling of dread churned in my stomach. The dark colored sedan looked nothing like Matt's. Tears of disappointment threatened to spill over but I had to pull it together—the customer had arrived early and I couldn't let them see me cry.
But it wasn't a customer who came ambling into the garage though. It was Dad.
"Mornin'," he said in a throaty voice as he limped across the shop, cane in hand. I was so shocked to see him, I couldn't move, couldn't respond. He was dressed in his typical garage uniform—navy coveralls and steel-toed boots. How had he managed to get them on by himself?
"Coffee on?" he asked.
I nodded.
"Good. I could use one. You?"
Again, I nodded.
"Whatcha got on the books for today?" Dad inquired as he lumbered towards the office and headed for the coffee maker.
"Struts and shocks, three emission tests, an alignment, new brakes, two oil changes, and a muffler replacement," I responded automatically as I trailed behind him.
Dad propped his cane against the row of filing cabinets in the office and reached for two mugs. After he fixed us coffee, he carried the mugs over to the desk and then carefully lowered himself into my chair. I was about to correct him but I realized that technically it was still his chair and I'd just been filling in for him the last fifteen months.
I sat across from him in Matt's spot. Dad pushed a coffee cup towards me. Tentatively I picked it up and sipped at it. He hadn't asked how I liked it, but somehow he got it just right.
"We'll give Tanner the emission tests, the oil changes, and the muffler," Dad said as he skimmed over today's appointments. "You can get through struts and shocks pretty quick and yer better at alignment and brakes than him."
I sat open-mouthed across from my father.
"W-what if he doesn't show up?"
Dad glanced up at the clock. "He's still got ten minutes before he's late."
That wasn't what I meant and Dad knew it, but neither of us said anything else. I was still surprised to see him there. I just couldn't come up with the words to ask him why he was.
A car door slammed shut outside. Our eyes met. I recognized the casual, loping gait right away.
"Be strong," Dad urged with an attempt at a smile. "Be the strong little girl I've always known ya to be."
When Matt stepped into the office, his surprised expression mirrored my own.
"Tom!"
Dad acknowledged the shocked greeting with a curt nod. "Tanner."
Matt's sapphire eyes were wide but he didn't dare look my way. "W-what are you doing here?" he sputtered.
"Still my name on the sign out front," my father pointed out. He shuffled a few papers on the desk. "Got a business to run after all." Dad motioned towards the third chair in the office, the one that hadn't been used in fifteen months by anyone other than customers.
Matt avoided eye contact with me as he sat. I, in turn, kept my gaze trained on Dad too; it was easier than trying to guess what Matt was thinking. I hoped he hadn't assumed that my father was here because I didn't want to be alone with him. But I wondered if that was Dad's intention.
We watched as Dad ran his finger down appointment book, rhyming off the jobs for the day, just like he used to.
"I'm sure other jobs'll come in to fill the rest of the afternoon. Gonna go through the books and get caught up on what I missed."
Neither Matt nor I had anything to say. We were both still stunned by Dad's appearance. I, for one, was so accustomed to having Matt and the garage to myself that it felt alien having someone else involved and taking charge. I doubted that Matt felt the same. After the weekend we'd just had together, he was probably relieved that that he didn't have to be alone with me.
"Well," my father prompted gruffly. "Get to it."
As if on cue, we heard our first customer pull up to the garage's bay doors. Matt and I jumped up in unison and without saying anything to each other —without even looking at each other—we went to work.
It was just as well that we were busy. I threw myself into the work and Matt did too. Neither of us spoke. Occasionally I would look up, believing I'd felt his eyes on me, but he'd be working away, his head bent and his eyes downcast.
I kept reminding myself that at least he'd shown up. And he couldn't ignore me forever, not when I stood a few feet away. Yet my anger built and built as the hours slipped past and Matt remained silent. He was the one who'd done something wrong. He was the one who should apologize. I wasn't going to be the one to broach the subject.
The phone rang, but with Dad in the office I didn't have to worry about it for once. A few minutes later he came limping out into the shop, cane in hand.
"Alternator replacement at three, who wants it?" Dad shouted into the silent room.
"I'll take it," Matt offered without looking up from the car he was working on. His voice sounded flat and lifeless. My heart leapt into my throat out of fear that I'd lost the jovial, carefree Matthew Tanner forever. I could almost convince myself that I would get over what had taken place between us after the wedding, that I could go back to wanting him like I always had even if he didn't want me back, if only there was the hope that he would smile at me, joke with me, tease me.
I glanced up to find Dad watching me. His face was ashen, his knuckles white on the handle of his cane. He swayed then righted himself.
My wrench clattered onto the floor as I shot to his side. I took his elbow, led him back into the office and settled him back into his chair. A faint sheen of sweat clung to his brow.
"You okay?"
In the harsh light of the overhead fluorescents he looked even worse. Dad nodded but when his hands shook, he clutched them on his lap to still the tremors.
"Just gotta work through it, I think," he muttered more to himself than to me, I suspected.
"Do you want me to take you home? Maybe you've overdone it for one day."
He shook his head. "Don't wanna go home. I've spent enough time there lately. Ya need me here. Only get into trouble if I'm there."
I knew then what was bothering Dad, what had made him unwell. It wasn't his back paining him. His body craved a drink.
"You don't have to do this, Dad."
The line of his mouth grew grim. "No Flick, I do. I gotta do it for you." His gaze flickered up to meet mine. "And for me."
The tears sprung up so easily I was shocked. "Maybe I could call the doctor? Take you to the hospital? They could help you get through this."
Dad shook his head, ever stubborn. "Ain't nothin' no doctor could do for me," he muttered. "Just gotta work through it."
It was heart wrenching to see my father struggle like that. His body actually shuddered. "There's got to be something I can do to help," I pleaded, feeling helpless.
"Could use a cup of coffee," Dad suggested. He smiled at me. "That and some patience, Flick. That's all ya can do for me."
I was moved with the sudden urge to hug my father, something I'd never once done in my life. It would have been weird though because Dad didn't exactly invite affection. Instead, I rose to my feet and set about making another pot of coffee for him.
"Better get back to work, punkin
," he said after I'd poured him a cup. "That alignment ain't gonna finish itself."
I gave him a small smile at the old nickname. He hadn't called me 'pumpkin' in years. Our fingers met across the warm porcelain as I passed him his coffee. I straightened and moved back towards the shop. I lingered in the doorway to shoot once last glance at Dad over my shoulder.
"It wasn't the same without you here, Dad."
He wrapped his trembling fingers around the coffee cup and the liquid inside sloshed with the vibration.
Just His Type (Part Four) Page 12
