Roadside Assistance

by Amy Clipston

  I leaned against the counter on the other side of the island from Zander. “So that means you can order Zander around on Saturdays?”

  Zander laughed. “Yup. You’ll run the show on Saturdays. Jack likes to take Saturdays off.”

  “You’d better watch out,” I said, pointing the pear at him. “Dad runs a tight ship.”

  Zander held his hands up. “You know you can count on me. After all, I’m Mr. Mopar.”

  I laughed and bit into the pear. He was adorable, and I was doomed. I was developing a crush on the guy. Not good at all.

  “Where’s Whitney?” my dad asked, swiping an apple from the bowl.

  “She has some cheerleading thing,” I said. “She’ll be home around suppertime.”

  “Did Chelsea bring you home?” Dad asked.

  I shook my head. “She has some theater meeting.”

  “She acts?” Zander asked, tilting his head in question.

  “I’d wondered the same thing. She does costumes, makeup, and hair.” I grabbed a paper towel and wiped my mouth. “She’s like head of the costume team or committee or whatever, and she’s really talented. Did you know she makes her clothes? They’re awesome.”

  “Wow.” Zander looked impressed.

  I suddenly noticed it was really easy to talk to him. He was interested in what I had to say, and he really listened to me. I felt comfortable with him — like I could really be myself. And it felt good.

  “So you took the bus?” Zander asked.

  I nodded, taking another bite of the pear.

  “There’s no reason to take the bus,” Zander said. “I drive to the same destination. There’s plenty of room in my Jeep, and it’s a more pleasant ride.”

  I shrugged. “It’s no big deal. I ignore the freshmen and spitballs.”

  “Freshmen and spitballs?” my dad asked, his eyebrows arched.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I told Dad and then looked at Zander. “The bus is okay. I don’t mind. It builds character.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Zander lifted the can of Coke toward his mouth. “We’re neighbors. We can ride together.”

  I hesitated. Deep down I wanted to ride with him, but there was a problem: If I drove home with him, then the crush would turn into something much deeper, and I was afraid of having to nurse another broken heart.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Zander shook his soda can, indicating that it was empty. I snatched it from him and tossed it into the recycling bin under the sink.

  “Thanks for the drink,” Zander said. “I better head back home.”

  “Would you like to join us for supper?” my dad said. “I’m going to make tacos to celebrate my new job.”

  “Thanks, but my mom’s making steak tonight.” Zander started for the door. “I’ll take a rain check, though.”

  “You’d rather have steak than tacos, huh?” My dad chuckled. “I’m offended.”

  “Sorry, but my mom’s steak is out of this world.” Zander gripped the doorknob. “Thanks again.”

  “No, thank you,” Dad said. “You’re a real lifesaver. You helped fix my truck and got me a job. I owe you.”

  “Don’t be silly. That’s what neighbors are for.” Zander pushed the door open. “See you Saturday, Brad.” He looked at me. “See you at school.” Then he slipped through the door.

  “Thanks again,” my dad called after him, a grin wide on his face.

  “I’ll be right back.” Without thinking it through, I tossed the pear core into the trash and rushed through the door, hitting the deck just as Zander started down the path toward the gate. “Wait,” I called, leaning on the railing.

  He turned around, his expression curious. “What’s up?”

  “I didn’t get to thank you,” I said. “What you did today, you know, helping my dad get the job — “ I stammered, searching for the right words. “That was a huge deal. He’s smiling more than I’ve seen him smile in a really long time. What I want to say is thank you. I really appreciate it.”

  He nodded. “You’re welcome.”

  “See you in school,” I said.

  He grinned, revealing his dimple. “Absolutely. Have a good one.”

  I slipped back through the door and sat across from my dad at the table. “I’m really happy for you,” I said.

  “Thanks.” He reached over and touched my hands. “Things are going to look up for us. It’ll take some time, but we’ll get there.”

  I gnawed my bottom lip as a plan formed in my head. “What if I got a job there too, Dad? I could work a few hours each day and sock all of the money away to pay for groceries or something when we move out. What do you think? Would that help us?”

  “That’s sweet, but you need to worry about school and leave working and paying bills to me.” He gave me a condescending smile as if I were the cutest little girl on the planet, and it irritated me.

  I glowered. “I can handle it, Dad. I used to work for you, remember?”

  He shook his head. “That was different.”

  “How was it different?”

  He frowned, and I knew what was coming. He was going to bring Mom into it, and it ticked me off even more.

  “Your mom was still here, and we didn’t have the pressures we have now.” His voice was soft, as if mentioning her really hurt his heart. “Mom kept it together. She made sure your homework was done and you were getting enough sleep. I can’t keep it all together like she did.”

  “I can handle it, Dad.” I tapped my finger on the table for emphasis. “I’m stronger than you think. I can balance work and school. I don’t get straight As like Whitney, but I get by. I could work one night during the week and then on Saturdays like Zander does and make enough money to help us find a place, Dad.”

  Dad wrapped his apple core in a napkin. “Emily, it’s my job to support us, not yours.”

  “Why can’t I help? I’m almost seventeen. I’m not a kid anymore.”

  He pushed his chair back and crossed the kitchen. “It’s your job to go to school. You need to get good grades so you can get a scholarship to a great college. You know there’s no money for you to go to college otherwise. Your mom and I blew through all of our savings when she got sick.” Turning away from me, he threw out the core and then began searching through the cabinets and drawers, pulling out pots and utensils as he looked.

  “That’s not an answer.” I leaned over the island, trying to make eye contact and challenge him, but he continued his search for cooking supplies. “I want to help us, Dad. I’m old enough to hold down a job. I’ll still get Bs.”

  “This conversation is over, Emily Claire,” my dad snapped.

  “Drop it.”

  “Why?” I smacked my hand on the counter. “Don’t you want to have your own house and your own garage again? Don’t you want to be able to open the drawer to your toolbox? Or even find a simple frying pan without having to open every single cabinet around here?” I jammed my finger into my chest. “I do! I want my own house with my own bathroom. I want to be able to go out to the garage and tinker at night so I can lose myself in a project and finally clear my head.”

  He blew out a frustrated sigh, and I knew I’d hit a nerve. “Don’t you remember what I told you about how lucky we are to be here? Chuck and Darlene are doing more than I could ever expect. You need to just get rid of that chip on your shoulder and suck it up until we can move out. It’s going to be awhile, a long while, so just make the best of it.”

  I shook my head, anger and hurt surging through me. “I don’t have a chip on my shoulder. I’m simply trying to help.” I opened the cabinet next to him and pulled out the frying pan, slamming it onto the counter.

  “You can help by doing the best you can in school and keeping a good attitude.” He pulled a package of chopped meat from the refrigerator and dumped it into the pan. He turned on the flame and soon the meat started to sizzle. Fetching a bag of tomatoes and lettuce from the drawer, he dropped them onto the c
ounter with a deep sigh. “Here. Grab a bowl and knife and start chopping. Darlene should be home soon, and I told her we’d take care of everything. She’s done so much for us already. It’s time we started giving back.”

  I bit back the words on the tip of my tongue and followed orders. As I chopped, I stewed on the accusations he’d thrown at me. I didn’t have a bad attitude or a chip on my shoulder. I just wanted life to be back to normal. I wanted Dad and me to have our own place. I didn’t want to be a part of the Richards family, living under the shadow of their success, happiness, all-around perfection … and wholeness.

  When I sat down to supper with my dad, Logan, Uncle Chuck, and Aunt Darlene, the sting from my dad’s words were still raw in my heart. I kept my eyes focused on my tacos, thankful when my dad chatted on about his new job, followed by Darlene’s cross-examination of Logan’s day.

  I was finishing up my second taco when Whitney burst through the door and flopped down into the seat next to me. She bowed her head in prayer and then spread her napkin across her lap.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she said, filling a taco shell with meat and cheese. “We had a captain’s meeting after practice and it went a little long.”

  “How was your day, dear?” Darlene asked.

  “Good.” Whitney took a bite of taco and, as was becoming her routine, moaned and exclaimed, “Yum! Great job, Mom.”

  “Actually, your uncle made them.” Darlene patted my dad’s shoulder.

  “It’s a celebration,” Dad said. “I got a job today.”

  “Really!” Whitney beamed and I wondered why the news made her so excited. Maybe cheerleading takes over your brain. “Where?”

  “Cameronville Auto and Body,” my dad said. “I’m the new assistant manager.”

  “That’s where Zander works,” Whitney said, wiping her mouth. “You’ll like the manager. He’s nice.”

  I placed my taco on my plate and stared at her. Why did she know so much about Zander’s job?

  “When do you start?” Whitney asked.

  “Tomorrow.” My dad smiled with pride.

  If I weren’t so angry with him, I probably would have grinned too. But I still didn’t understand why he brushed off my offer to help support us. He knew I was a good mechanic and I could hold down a job and do well in school. His argument for taking it all on himself didn’t make sense.

  “That’s fabulous,” Whitney said. “I’m so happy for you.”

  “Thank you.” Dad glanced at me and then back at Whitney. “So tell me, Whitney. What goes on during cheerleading practice?”

  For the rest of supper, Whitney jabbered on about cheerleading, and my dad listened, hanging on her every word. He was positively riveted, as if she were explaining how she rebuilt her classic Corvette. I, on the other hand, wanted to be sick watching him pay so much attention to her when he had dismissed me earlier.

  I was silent while my dad and I did the dishes, and then disappeared to my room as soon as I could.

  Sitting on the window seat, I opened my Spanish book and stared at the words, my mind still rolling over my father’s words. After several minutes, I yanked my journal from my bag and began writing.

  Tuesday, August 30

  Dear Mom,

  I’m so upset I can’t concentrate on my homework. I wish I could talk to you in person, and you could help figure out how to work through all this anger and resentment.

  Dad got a job today, thanks to Zander’s recommendation. While I’m thrilled for him and for us, I’m furious he won’t let me get a job there as well. It doesn’t make sense. Back home, I worked twenty hours some weeks, helping out nearly every day after school and on Saturdays.

  Dad always told me that if I didn’t use my mechanical talent, I’d lose it. Why is it different now? I always got good grades — Bs and some As too. Why isn’t that good enough now? Why is Dad treating me differently? Why doesn’t he trust me to do my best at work and school, like I always did?

  Dad has changed so much now that you’re gone. But I guess I’ve changed too. I’m not the same person I was, and I wish I could be. I wish I knew how to reach out to him and tell him how I feel without getting so defensive and resentful.

  You always knew the right thing to say and to do. I wish I could be like you. I wish I had your strength and your faith. I’m lost without you, Mom. I feel like a ship lost at sea without you here to guide me. I miss you.

  The sputter and hiss of the air compressor drew my eyes to the garage next door. I watched Zander work on his car for a few minutes, his cell phone pressed to one ear, and then turned back to my Spanish book, wondering how I was going to make it through this year.

  chapter eight

  Whitney stuck her head into my doorway Thursday evening. “Emily, get dressed. Youth group in fifteen minutes.”

  I glanced up from my history book. “Youth group?”

  “You’ll like it. Trust me.” Whitney jerked her thumb toward the hall. “Let’s go!”

  “No, thanks.” I nodded toward my book bag. “I’ve got a ton of —”

  My dad appeared behind Whitney. “Just get ready, Emily. It’ll be good for you.”

  Whitney’s phone began to sing. “I’ll be downstairs.” She slipped past my dad.

  “Good for me?” I narrowed my eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  My dad stepped through the doorway. “Look, I know you’re angry with me because I won’t let you get a job, but I’m not going to change my mind about that. I think you need to get more involved in the church, like you were before — “ He paused. “Before we lost Mom. You used to love church and your friends there. I think this group can help you work through some of the things you’re feeling. Maybe then you won’t be so resentful of the changes we’ve had to endure.”

  Frustrated, I studied his expression. “So you think that if I go to youth group with Whitney I’ll get rid of the chip on my shoulder.”

  He paused, seeming to choose his words. “Emily, everything has changed for us. Nothing will be the same ever again. All we can do is trust what God has in store for us.” He glanced at his watch. “I have an appointment with Pastor Keith, so I have to run. You should go.” He hurried out the door.

  I glanced across the room at my reflection in the mirror. I was still clad in the denim shorts and purple tank top I’d worn to school, and my hair was pulled back into a rubber band at the nape of my neck.

  “Emily?” Darlene appeared in the doorway. “Whitney’s waiting for you in her car. You better hurry up.” Her expression became serious, and I got the sneaking suspicion my family had staged an intervention.

  Outside the Honda’s horn honked.

  “Just give it a try, okay?”

  I stood. “Okay.”

  “Good girl.” She patted my shoulder as I moved past her.

  During the ride to the church, Whitney flipped on the radio, and Christian rock blared through the speakers. She turned it down and glanced at me. “I’m glad you’re coming with me tonight.”

  “Really?” I asked.

  “Yeah.” She laughed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I assumed my dad and your mom made you invite me.” I grabbed a handful of hair that had escaped my ponytail and pulled out my rubber band. Forming a new ponytail, I wrapped the rubber band around it and hoped it would stay secure.

  She slowed at a light and turned to me. “Actually, it was my idea to invite you.”

  I raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Your idea?”

  “Yeah.” The light changed and she let off the brake. “You’ve been through a lot, and I thought you might like to check out the youth group. I know when I’m sad, being at church helps me.” She shot me a sideways glance. “I’m not saying that anything I experience could be close to what you’ve faced after losing your mom. I just meant that it might help you sort through some of your feelings and all. Youth group helps me connect with God.”

  “Oh.” I studied her while her words soaked through me. Did she
really care about my feelings?

  The Honda steered into the church lot, and Whitney parked next to my dad’s Suburban. On our way to the youth room, we passed Pastor Keith’s office, and I wondered how Dad’s appointment was going. Was he talking about Mom or discussing his “issues” with me and my trouble fitting in? I shuddered at the idea of my dad revealing all of our private business.

  I followed Whitney into a large classroom lined with tables. The walls were decorated with Bible verses and also familiar Bible scenes that looked liked they’d been drawn by children.

  A crowd of teenagers sat at the tables while Jenna stood in front of the room by a television and DVD player on a rolling cart. The smell of popcorn permeated the air as two girls I recognized from the service entered the room with huge bowls that were filled to the brim. Two boys followed with cans of soda.

  “Whitney and Emily,” Jenna announced. “We’re so glad you came. Whitney, why don’t you introduce Emily before we start the movie?”

  Whitney grabbed my arm and yanked me to the front of room. “Hey, everyone,” she said. “This is my cousin Emily Curtis, who just moved here from up north. She’s a junior like me, and I’m so glad she’s here.”

  “Hi,” I said, feeling like a moron as I waved to the sea of unfamiliar faces.

  “Welcome, Emily,” Jenna said, touching my arm. “Tonight we’re going to watch a movie called Pay It Forward and then we’re going to discuss how it relates to our faith. You may have a seat anywhere.”

  “Thanks.” I weaved through the row of tables and found a seat in the back row near the door.

  Whitney stood up front talking to a girl I didn’t recognize. The bowls of popcorn made their way down the rows, and kids took handfuls and placed them on paper towels.

  When a bowl got to the row in front of me, a pretty girl turned around and smiled. “Hi. I’m Mindy. Would you like some popcorn?”

  “Yes, please,” I said, taking the bowl. “Thanks.”

  A boy came around and handed me a can of soda. As I pulled the tab, I looked around the room. Other than the typical welcome wagon greetings, the kids here seemed a lot like the ones at my old church. Okay, maybe a little wealthier. As long as I could stay in the back, I might survive the night.