Roadside Assistance

by Amy Clipston

  Saturday, September 3

  Dear Mom,

  I endured a “girls’ day out” with Darlene and Whitney today. It actually wasn’t as bad as you’d think. Grandma was critical of me, as usual, but Whitney came to my defense. I’m starting to feel like I could be friends with Whitney, and it’s kind of nice. For some reason, I have a good feeling — a better feeling about things. I don’t know if it’s because of Zander or something else. I just think things may get better. I just wish I could find my faith in God again.

  My phone pinged and I opened it to find a return text:

  Hey Em. Glad you got phone. At Dads for wkend. C U Tues.

  Hope you njoy holiday. Chels.

  The holiday! I’d forgotten Monday was Labor Day, and Chelsea went to her father’s house for every holiday weekend.

  I needed another avenue to get my dad off my back about missing the party. I glanced out the window and spotted Zander walking over to the garage. He punched the keypad, and the door lifted.

  Perfect!

  I checked my hair in the mirror and then felt silly for the effort. Why was I worried about my appearance? I knew the answer — I liked Zander. Really liked him. But I wondered if he and I would make a good couple. Yes, we had a lot in common, but our little talk about faith during youth group still bothered me. I couldn’t endure it if he preached to me every time I expressed a doubt.

  I made my way down the stairs and past my dad, who was watching a show featuring a guy building a souped-up motorcycle.

  “Are you and Chelsea going to the movies?” he asked as I passed him.

  “Nope. She’s at her dad’s.” I stopped in the doorway. “I’m going to see Zander in his garage. Does that qualify as a social engagement?”

  “Yes,” he called after me. “I’ll accept that.”

  I shook my head. “Glad you approve,” I deadpanned. “See you later.”

  Zander was perched on a stool and studying a car manual when I entered the garage.

  “So, let me get this straight,” I began. “You work on cars and push a broom all day for a living and then you come home and work on cars for pleasure.”

  Grinning, he closed the manual and placed it on the counter beside him. “Being a fellow motorhead, I figured you of all people would understand that.”

  I leaned against the car and crossed my arms over my shirt. “Yeah, I do actually. I could work on them twenty-four seven, if I was able.” I pointed toward the door. “That keypad you have outside, I see you use it all the time.”

  “I know what you’re going to ask.” He gestured toward the Jeep. “I lost the remote control for the door. I actually managed to lose a total of four, and I’m sick of paying for new ones. So I have to use the keypad. I had each controller on the visor in my Jeep with the convertible top off. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out how I lost them.”

  I tried in vain to stifle a laugh.

  He gestured toward the side door. “I also managed to misplace the key for the side door, so I can’t use that door either.”

  Without warning, I guffawed.

  “It’s okay.” He shrugged. “You can laugh. I did. If you ever need to get in here, I’ll tell you the secret code. Although it’s really not much of a secret. Just hit zero, six, zero, seven, and then enter. Although, sometimes you have to hit enter twice.”

  “Zero six zero seven?” I asked.

  He smiled. “Yeah. My birthday.”

  “June seventh?”

  He nodded. “That’s right.”

  “Cool.” Now I know your birthday.

  “When’s your birthday?” he asked.

  “November twenty-fourth,” I said. “This year it’s Thanksgiving.”

  “Cool,” he said.

  “I guess so.” I shrugged, not wanting to admit how much of a double whammy it would be to experience my first birthday and Thanksgiving without my mom all rolled into the same day. “So why didn’t you go to Kristin’s party?”

  He hopped down from the stool and crossed to the refrigerator. “I had more important things to do. Why aren’t you there?” He returned with two cans of Coke and tossed one to me.

  “I had much more important things to do —specifically, avoid overcrowded parties with people I barely know. I’d planned to go to the movies with Chelsea, but she’s at her dad’s. I forgot she goes to see him every holiday weekend.” I opened the can, which popped and fizzed loudly. “Thanks for the drink.”

  “You’re welcome.” He dragged over a stool and set it in front of me. “Have a seat. So I’m your second choice for the evening. Wait a minute.” He pretended to count off on his fingers. “I’m your third choice since you considered the party and then Chelsea before you came over here.”

  “That’s not necessarily true.” I grinned. “I’d considered staying in my room too.”

  He laughed. “You’re never short on comebacks are you?”

  “Nope. How was your day?” I hopped up onto the stool.

  He took a long drink of soda and then shrugged. “It was the usual. Lots of sweeping, some real car work. Not exciting but good just the same.”

  “How’s the new boss?”

  Zander nodded. “The new boss is good. Your dad knows what he’s doing, and I think the other guys like him too.”

  I held my finger over the edge of the can. “His old employees liked him a whole lot. He ran a good shop.”

  “Can I ask what happened?”

  “Mom’s cancer,” I whispered, studying the Coke logo. “It took everything from us — the business, our money, our house, and most importantly, Mom.”

  “I’m truly sorry,” he said.

  I glanced up and found his eyes full of sympathy, and it was almost overwhelming. “Thank you.”

  “So, how was your day?” he asked, lifting the can again. I snorted. “Not as good as yours.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “No? You got a cell phone, right? That was good.”

  “Yeah. I got Whitney’s hand-me-down.” I sighed. “I feel like a charity case. It makes me crazy. Like I’ll always be less than her, you know?”

  He shook his head and seemed contemplative. “No, I don’t see that at all.”

  “Well, here’s an example.” I set the can on the trunk of the car behind me. “We went to see our grandma — my dad’s mom, who obviously is also Darlene’s mom. Everything with Grandma has always been about Whitney. She even would call my house back home and brag about Whitney.”

  He snorted. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “I’m so not kidding,” I said, gesturing with my hands. “Grandma would call every Sunday night and tell us everything Whitney was doing: her straight As, her cheerleading, her volunteer work with the youth group, on and on. So today we go see Grandma, and it’s the first time I’ve seen her since the funeral. She immediately criticizes my hair.”

  “Your hair?” Zander looked surprised. “What’s wrong with your hair?”

  I pursed my lips. “Everything is wrong with my hair. Darlene asks me all the time if I want her help to straighten it.” “Why would you straighten it?”

  “Beats me. Darlene even dragged me to a salon to have my hair straightened and my makeup and nails done the day of the funeral.” I pulled a strand of curls over my shoulder and held it up for emphasis. “She hates my hair. Today my grandma suggested I borrow Whitney’s shampoo to lessen the frizz.”

  Zander shook his head, staring at my hair. I wished I could read his mind to see if he thought I was insane or just overreacting.

  “There’s nothing wrong with your hair,” he said. “In fact, I like your hair.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah.” He shrugged. “It’s, well, nice.”

  “Nice?” I repeated slowly, wondering what it meant. Did he find my hair as captivating as I found his eyes?

  He laughed. “Does that somehow make me not manly or something? Believe me, I’m a guy. I’m just saying that your hair is part of what makes you … you.
”

  “Wow,” I said, flabbergasted by his words. Had I finally met someone who accepted me for who I was without trying to make me into something I’m not?

  I grasped my can in my hands. “Grandma even asked me if I was going to join cheerleading with Whitney. My dad, of all people, asked me that the night we moved in. They are both off their rockers.”

  He sipped his Coke and then shook his head. “I know what that’s like to try to be something you’re not, and it doesn’t work out. That’s how I messed up my knee.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I was trying so hard to be like my brother in order to win my dad’s approval, and I wound up pushing myself too hard and having knee surgery for the effort.” He glanced down at his leg. “All I ever heard was what a great athlete and student Andrew was. So, to shut my dad up, I went out for football and didn’t even make it through the season. I made some great friends during my time on the team, but Andrew’s life wasn’t for me.”

  He gestured around the garage. “This is where I want to be, not on the football field or in medical school. I finally got tired of fighting with my dad. I talked to Pastor Keith about it, prayed about it, and then I finally told my dad that I have to be me. He was angry for a while, but the arguments finally stopped.”

  “That helped you?” I asked.

  He looked surprised at my response. “Absolutely. Hey, have you thought more about what I said during youth group? I mean, you’re talking to God now, right?”

  I studied my soda can. “Yeah, sure. Of course I am.” I was too embarrassed to admit the trouble I’d had praying, or that God wasn’t exactly talking to me either. I was also hoping Zander would drop the subject.

  “You don’t have to lie to me,” he said softly.

  Looking up I found his curious eyes watching me. Was he reading my thoughts? “I’m not lying,” I insisted, my cheeks heating. My eyes were drawn to the cross around his neck. His faith was intimidating and intriguing all at once. Like it had been for my mom, it seemed so easy for him. I wished I could harness it and make some of it my own, but I didn’t know how. All I knew was faith had to come from your heart, and mine was only filled with doubt.

  “Are you going to church tomorrow?” he asked.

  “I guess.” I shrugged.

  “Church might make you feel better about things.” He placed the can on the workbench beside him. “I’ve found that whenever I’m really down, I’ll read my Bible or pray, and it lifts me up.”

  He sounded just like Whitney. I studied his eyes, trying to picture him curled up on the sofa with the Bible in his lap. Somehow, I could see it. I could almost imagine him nodding in agreement with the verses and smiling as he turned the page.

  But that was Zander, not me. I hadn’t been able to crack open a Bible since last year, and I couldn’t see myself doing it now. I wouldn’t even know what chapter to read.

  Zander was a better person than I ever would be. If he knew the extent of the doubt that was in my heart, he would never want to spend time with me. For sure he’d call me a heretic or an atheist and send me on my way.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, pushing up from the stool and standing. “You look worried about something.”

  “Not at all.” I popped up from my stool, determined to take the focus away from my anxiety. I needed to change the subject quickly. I really liked him and didn’t want to see this issue come between us.

  “Are we going to stand around all day talking or are we going to get this Dodge running?” I walked around to the front of the car and surveyed the engine. “Do you want my help or not?”

  He grinned. “I love it when a woman takes charge.” He gestured toward the toolboxes behind me. “Have at it.”

  I started fishing through the drawers in a toolbox behind me. “Watch and learn.”

  He laughed. “Yes, ma’am.”

  chapter eleven

  The following morning, I slipped into the seat next to Logan at the end of the church pew. My father, Darlene, and Chuck were on the other side of Logan, and Whitney was in the back on the other side of the church with her friends. Cupping my hand to my mouth, I yawned. Zander and I had worked on his car until after midnight.

  By the time I’d left to go home last night, we had the engine completely torn apart, but it would take quite a bit of time to rebuild it. The subject of God and faith didn’t come up while we worked on the car. Instead, we’d talked about less intimidating stuff — transmissions, music, movies, books, and school. It was a fun and easy discussion. I’d felt so at ease with him, as if I could say anything — except admit that I wasn’t sure I believed in God anymore. That was the one thing about Zander that kept me from completely opening up to him. I was sure he didn’t understand my doubts and would just keep giving me more advice that felt like empty platitudes. Thankfully, the key to steering clear of the topic of religion was to keep a wrench in Zander’s hands. I could handle that.

  But I was paying for our time in the garage. This morning I’d had to drag myself out of bed and into the shower after Darlene knocked on my door. I considered feigning a headache and going back to sleep, but, truthfully, I’d come to church for one reason — to see Zander again.

  How sacrilegious was that?

  Pushing thoughts of Zander away, I busied myself with reviewing the bulletin for the service. I was studying it when I felt eyes staring at me. Glancing up, I found Zander smiling down at me. He wore a green collared shirt and tan Dockers.

  “Hi,” I said, pushing a lock of hair behind my ear. I absently smoothed the skirt of the blue sundress Whitney had insisted I borrow from her.

  “Is this seat taken?” he asked, gesturing toward the vacant spot next to me.

  “No.” I pushed over, closer to Logan. “Sit.”

  “Thanks.” He slipped in beside me, his leg brushing mine. He leaned over me and greeted Logan, my dad, and Whitney’s parents, all delighted to see him join us. “How are you?” he asked, turning back to me.

  “Tired,” I admitted with a smile.

  He chuckled. “You’re a master mechanic.”

  “You’re just saying that because you want me to rebuild the engine,” I teased.

  “Yeah, you’re right. You’re better at this stuff than I am.”

  I waved the thought off. “Please. I’m sure you’ve been doing it longer than I have.”

  “I think I was a little older when my grandfather put a wrench in my hand.” He flipped through the bulletin.

  It suddenly occurred to me that I’d never asked him who’d taught him about cars. If his father was pushing him to go to medical school, than it couldn’t have been Dr. Stewart. There’d had to have been someone else, but Zander had never shared that information. “Your grandfather taught you?” I asked.

  He looked up at me and nodded.

  I opened my mouth to ask him more about his grandfather, but Pastor Keith began the service by welcoming everyone.

  Throughout the service, I was very aware of Zander beside me. The aroma of his musky cologne filled my senses, and his leg and arm brushed against me a couple of times. While I tried to concentrate on the pastor’s words, my eyes would steal occasional glances of Zander, and he would smile, looking genuinely happy to be sharing church with me, and it made me feel guilty. I hoped he didn’t get a false impression.

  When the service was over, we filed out of the sanctuary and followed the crowd to Fellowship Hall for coffee hour. I stood between my dad and Zander and ate chocolate chip cookies while they discussed how nice the service had been and then chatted about work.

  “Would it be okay if we went to J2A together and then I’ll give Emily a lift home?” Zander asked my dad between bites of an oatmeal raisin cookie. He quickly explained to my dad what J2A was.

  I raised an eyebrow and studied Zander. Did he really think I wanted to go?

  I gave a sigh of defeat. Who was I kidding? Of course I would succumb to another hour at church if it meant being with Zander. />
  “Sure.” My dad shrugged. “Does that sound okay to you?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Sounds fine.”

  Zander and I sat at the back of the classroom, the same room where the movie had been shown. I spotted Whitney up front with her friends, and when she saw me, she waved. I waved back and then scanned the room, recognizing some of the faces from youth group Thursday evening. Jenna, the youth director, came in from the hallway and smiled at me.

  “Good morning, everyone,” Jenna said, stepping to the front of the room. “It’s good to see you all here.” She looked at me. “I’m excited to see new faces here. Welcome, Emily.”

  I nodded, and when all eyes turned to me I slumped a little in my seat.

  “Today we’ll continue our Bible verse discussion. We’ll pick a verse and discuss what it means to us.” Jenna held up a basket filled with slips of paper. “Who would like to pick today?”

  “Emily should pick,” Whitney announced, smiling at me.

  Thanks a lot, cuz. I shook my head. “That’s okay. Someone else can.”

  Jenna looked pleased. “No, I think it’s a great idea.” She made her way back to me and placed the basket on my table. “Go ahead. Pick a verse and read it aloud.”

  I hesitated.

  “It’s okay,” Zander said softly. “I’ll read it if you’d like me to.”

  “I can do it,” I said, sitting up straight. Far be it from me to be a helpless female. I snatched a slip of paper from the basket.

  Jenna moved to the front of the room and sat on a table. “Read it when you’re ready.”

  My eyes scanned the paper, and my heart thumped. The paper read Deuteronomy 31:6: Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.

  How could I ever read this out loud?

  “Sure you don’t want me to read it?” Zander asked.

  I was really tired of him reading my mind. How was it that this guy could detect my every insecurity?

  “No, thanks,” I snapped with a bit more force than I’d planned. “Really, I can do it.” I cleared my throat and read the verse, trying in vain to fight the quaver in my voice.