Chasing His Fox

by Debra Kayn

  As the truck went up, Ollie brought two more cars into the last two bays. Then, his brother took off, making his escape.

  Alone in the garage, he worked at pulling the exhaust system off the Chevy. He'd get as much work done as he could before his dad woke.

  By noon, he was elbow deep in the engine at the second bay when Josh returned, carrying two sacks from McDonald's. He'd bet a day's wage that his brother never thought to buy him a Big Mac.

  A car pulled into the lot. Recognizing Holloway, Nelson kept working. The lowlife was probably looking for his dad. He could only hope that meant his dad would be leaving soon to go to the casino.

  The oil barely drained by the time his dad barked his name. He walked around the end of the car.

  "Where's the cash?" His dad stood at the desk with the flimsy metal safe in his oversized hands.

  He'd deposited the money yesterday. "Only insurance jobs this morning."

  "What about yesterday?" His dad dropped the safe on the top of the desk and lit a cigarette. "Did I not tell you to leave money in the shop?"

  If the cash was kept at the garage, they wouldn't have enough to buy the parts needed to complete the orders.

  Instead of explaining, Nelson stood silently. There was nothing he could do. The money was at the bank.

  He knew that wouldn't stop his dad from going to the bank and making a withdrawal or writing a check to get his chips for the tables at the casino.

  "Son of a bitch," muttered his dad, grabbing his keys off the desk. "I work my ass off to build my business, and my worthless son is set on destroying everything I've put my blood and sweat to build."

  The accusations were well known. He heard them almost daily.

  His dad wouldn't strike out at him with Holloway around waiting to go with him to gamble. Josh sat on a pile of tires, stuffing his face with another Big Mac. Josh was the smartest one out of them all. He'd left early to avoid any work and their father.

  His dad led Holloway to the car. Nelson went back to work. He thought things at the garage would've changed after he'd graduated from high school.

  Reality settled in before he was ready to accept that there was no way out. He couldn't afford to leave Missoula. The first couple of jobs he'd applied to away from the family garage wanted a certificate on record. They wouldn't take his word that he'd been welding, painting, and working on engines since he was strong enough to hold a wrench. They wanted book smart boys recently graduated from their two-year community college.

  He had no time or money to earn the certificate, so he put up with his dad's abuse in exchange for a roof over his head, food in his stomach, and the occasional hundred-dollar bill thrown at him. He took the money and sunk it into the old Harley Davidson because as much as he'd given up the dream of starting over somewhere else, the bike was there for when he'd had enough.

  "I'm going upstairs." Josh jumped down from the stack of tires. "Yell, if a customer comes in."

  "How about you get your ass working on the other two cars so we can get them out of the garage at a decent hour today?" he said.

  Josh scanned the bays. "Nah, you've got it covered."

  "Dickwad," he muttered, turning his back on his brother.

  "If Cameron and Buck show, send them up."

  Nelson gritted his teeth. Josh's friends showing up meant his brother hadn't gone after parts for the garage. He'd went and picked up a bag of pot from his supplier, which Ollie, Cameron, and Buck would help Josh sell later around town—after they got high.

  If he liked people more, he'd probably go into business with them. He could use the extra money. Even the risk of breaking the law never intimidated him. But dealing with shitholes wasn't worth his time.

  "Nelson," called a soft voice.

  The tension in his shoulders eased, and he smiled, hidden under the hood of the vehicle. Because Scarlett entertained him, he pretended not to hear her.

  "Are you here, Nelson?"

  His chest warmed. Everyone else spoke his name as if it was bitter on their tongue, and they couldn't wait to spit it out. Not, Scarlett. She purred his name, drawing it out longer than she should. Longer than he deserved.

  He never understood her desire to spend time with him. She was a kid. He was an asshole.

  "What do you need, fox?" He straightened.

  Covered in grease, he walked over and grabbed a rag off his tool chest. Scarlett hid behind the pole of the lift. Her and Butch had a hate relationship going on. She never walked into the garage for fear of getting attacked.

  "Just seeing what you're doing." She hurried over to his side, hiding in front of him, so Butch wouldn't see her.

  No doubt, she had hidden somewhere on the property until his dad left.

  Scarlett was smart for her age. Probably because she was a Latchkey kid, and left on her own a lot. She used the time alone to pester him and snoop around in the neighborhood.

  "I'm going to eat lunch." He motioned his chin to the wall. "Why don't you get me a couple bags of chips, a bag of cookies, and two bottles of pop."

  She hurried over to the wall, moved the stool, and climbed up on the seat. Reaching overhead, she felt around for the key they kept on top of the vending machine. He only allowed her to get the food when his dad wasn't around.

  Scarlett carried all the items clutched to her chest. He walked with her outside and sat on the curb, his back to his motorcycle.

  He used his keyring to take off the cap on the bottles and handed her a pop. "Don't sit there staring. Eat up."

  It was the same routine they always had when she showed up every day in the summer or when there wasn't any school, and he was in the garage by himself. She was hungry for conversation, and he never minded talking to her.

  "There's a parade next Saturday." She took a drink of pop and pulled her tube sock up her leg with her free hand. "Is Steel Mechanics going to drive a car through town?"

  He shook his head and popped a chocolate cream-filled cookie in his mouth. "I'm not much for parades."

  "But, everyone would see you and want to bring you their cars to have fixed." She swiveled toward him. "You could throw candy to all the kids on the sidewalk."

  "I have enough work to do without adding more." It'd be different if there were four people working full-time, but with everyone taking off, thinking they could run amok, and leaving him to man the shop by himself, it was impossible. "Are you going?"

  "Maybe. If mom lets me ride my bike over to Main Street. Mom has to work, and Hazel moved out."

  Last he'd heard from Scarlett; her sister was only thinking of leaving. "Where did she go?"

  "She moved into an apartment above the laundry place in town with Sheila and Paula." She licked the seasoning off her fingers from the Doritos. "I can't wait until I grow up and can move out."

  "I hear you, fox." He ate the last of his chips and wadded the bag in his hand.

  "You're old enough to live on your own." She brought her knees up to her chest. "When I move out, you can move in with me and be my roommate. We can find a two-bedroom, that way you don't have to sleep on the couch."

  "You think?" He chuckled at her idea.

  "We can stay up late and watch Fantasy Island together." She shivered. "Have you ever seen that TV show? Super freaky."

  "Yeah, I've seen it."

  "I love it but I'd never fly on a little plane and go there."

  "It's not real, fox."

  "Duh." She rolled her eyes. "But if it was, I wouldn't go."

  In eight years, she'd be long gone. Probably off to college somewhere or half in love with the first man who discovered how special she was. She wouldn't want to hang around with the likes of him.

  He'd still be staying above the garage, taking shit from his dad and pissed off at his brothers.

  He finished off the cookies and looked at her. She stared out at the road while licking one of the chips. She'd barely touched her food.

  "I better get back to work." He stood, stretching his legs.
/>   "Can I stay out here?" She squinted against the sun shining in her eyes.

  He looked around. "For a little bit. Make sure you stay out of the way if any cars pull into the parking lot. You're small. They might not see you."

  "Can I sit on your motorcycle?" Her little body stretched, and she wrinkled her nose, preparing for his answer.

  "No wiggling."

  "I won't." She picked up her pop and chips. "I promise."

  "Do you remember what side to climb up on?"

  "Yes." She smiled, holding everything in one hand. "The leaning side."

  He walked back to the garage. As he worked, he kept his eye on her. She looked everywhere, curious about the world around her.

  Soon, her lips started moving. Too far away to hear, he knew she talked to herself. The kid couldn't keep quiet for long. It didn't matter if she was alone in her backyard, riding her bike, in her room with the window open, there was always a one-sided conversation going on.

  She had the sweetest voice he'd ever heard.

  It angered him that the world wasn't perfect for her. There were people who would hurt her. Disappointments that would overwhelm her.

  He wanted better for her because someone with a heartful of sweetness deserved never to be disillusioned with the world around her.

  Chapter 3

  Scarlett

  September 1982

  OIL DRIPPED INTO A pan underneath the car behind Steel Mechanics. Scarlett dipped a piece of grass into the black liquid and used the blade to paint a piece of gravel. Once she finished, she added the rock to the others, lining it up to finish the letter R.

  "What the hell are you doing?" Nelson grabbed her ankle and tugged.

  "Wait." She clawed at the rocks underneath her. "I'm not finished yet."

  "You're done." He popped his head underneath the car. "What if my dad came out and started the car. You'd get run over and be dead. You're small enough, he wouldn't even feel it when the tires squished you."

  "The car doesn't run. It's been sitting here for over a month. Practically all summer." She dipped the grass blade again and dropped it in the pan when Nelson pulled her out from underneath the car, feet first. "Hey!"

  "Go home."

  She rolled to her back and stood, brushing the dirt off her clothes. "Chuck is in the garage."

  Nelson's jaw bulged, and he looked toward the fence, separating the parking lot from her backyard. "Then, play in your own yard."

  "I don't want to."

  "Do it anyway."

  "What's that?" She pointed at the pocket of his flannel shirt. "What's it do?"

  If she could keep him talking, he'd stop arguing with her. She held out her hand. "Can I see it?"

  "It's a tire gauge." He pulled the thing out and gave it to her. "You stick it on the valve stem and see how much air is in the tire."

  She turned, stepped over to the car's tire, and kneeled on the ground. Nelson stuck his arm down in front of her and screwed off a small, black cap. "Stick it on there. Hard."

  "Which end?" she asked.

  He showed her. A soft hissing came from the stem before stopping. A white stick popped out of the end of the tool. She took it from him and tried on her own, managing to make it work after a couple tries.

  "What number is it supposed to be on?" She held it upside down.

  Nelson pointed to the writing on the rubber tire. "Between thirty-five to forty PSI."

  He showed her where that was on the stick. She looked at him. "It doesn't have enough air. Can I give it some?"

  "No." He straightened and looked around. "Go ahead and check the others. Then, you have to leave. My dad will be back at four o'clock."

  "Can I check your motorcycle, too?" She stood. "Please?"

  Nelson sighed. "Whatever. Just stay out of the way of customers coming and going to the garage."

  She hurried to keep up with him. "Where's Butch?"

  "Inside."

  "Tied up?"

  "Yeah."

  "Thanks." She skipped ahead of him.

  Nelson's motorcycle was his most favorite thing in the world. He'd told her every time he worked on the bike, it would be the best one in Missoula by the time he was finished fixing it up.

  He knew motorcycles because he'd started hanging around other guys who rode them. She walked around the tire, looking for the numbers. When she found them, she sat down, and being careful not to tip the bike over, struggled to get the gauge on the stem.

  After a lot of hissing, she managed to make it stop and the tool work. Reading the numbers, she sighed. They had the right amount of air.

  The wind blew the leather braid hanging from the handlebar against her head. She caught the end, feeling the steel ball. Nelson called it a weapon and told her not to tell anyone because it was illegal to have one.

  For a while, she was afraid he'd get arrested like his brothers had a week ago when the police surrounded the garage. She'd overheard her mom and stepdad discussing how all the Steel brothers were bad.

  That wasn't true. Nelson was good. They didn't know him.

  A car pulled into the front parking space. She stayed behind the motorcycle and looked over at the open garage and found Nelson gazing at her and wiping his hands off on one of the dirty rags he carried around when he worked before going toward the customer.

  She pushed the white stick into the tire gauge and watched him shake with the man in the car, then walk around to the other side of the vehicle. Nelson was smart to know how to fix everyone's broken cars.

  Gazing in the garage, she found Butch tied up near the back of the bay. Her lip curled. If she ever owned a dog, she'd buy a small, fluffy one, not a Doberman.

  The short man got back in his car. Nelson continued to stand in front of the garage, watching her. She jumped to her feet and went to him.

  "How're the tires?" he asked.

  "Good." She handed back the gauge. "Can I work for you?"

  "This isn't a place for girls." He frowned. "You're also too young."

  "I'm twelve years old. You told me your dad had you working in the garage when you were ten years old, and that's how you became smart about cars." She brushed the stray hair off her face. "I can sweep."

  "I don't want you here when my dad comes back." He walked into the garage.

  Not following him because Butch stood and watched her, she crossed her arms. "Are you going to move away?"

  "Why are you asking?"

  "Because last week, when the police took Josh and Ollie, you said you wanted to leave Missoula." She couldn't stay quiet. "I don't want you to move."

  He lived above the garage. She'd never been up there, but her mom thought there were bedrooms and a kitchen upstairs.

  "I can't leave without money, and I have to work to get that." He opened the rolling tool chest. "I'll probably be here long after you move out on your own."

  She mulled over what he'd said. In six years, she'd turn eighteen years old and could get her own apartment like her sister. But then her mom would be left alone with Chuck—and her mom wasn't happy.

  "Do you think my mom will divorce Chuck?" she asked.

  "If she's smart, she would."

  Ever since Chuck lost his job after showing up at the mill drunk, he's slept on the couch. It would be nice if he left before school started again and she could spend the day in the house instead of outside.

  "Did your mom divorce your dad?"

  Nelson stopped turning the wrench in his hand and muttered, "She's dead."

  "Oh," she whispered, a lump forming in her throat. "How did she die?"

  "Stomach cancer." Nelson ran his dirty hand down his face. "When I was nine, I think. It's been a long time."

  That must've happened before her mom bought the house behind Steel Mechanics. She glanced at Butch, still watching her. Despite her fear of the dog and despite the rule not to go inside the garage, she ran over and hugged Nelson's waist.

  She didn't know anyone whose mom had died before. It must be the wors
t feeling in the world. Even worse than divorce.

  Nelson only had his brothers and Mr. Steel, who was a butthead.

  "What's that for?" asked Nelson.

  She gave him an extra squeeze, trying to take away his sadness before she let go. "I'm sorry your mom died."

  "Shit happens."

  Shit happens? She licked her lips. She'd never heard someone say that before and practiced it silently, so she'd remember.

  Nelson had no one in his life. His father was mean. His older brothers were in jail. His mom was dead.

  "You better get out of here." Nelson bent over the car and stuck his head near the engine. "It's getting late."

  She walked away without bothering him more, knowing Mr. Steel would be coming back soon. Ambling around the building, she rounded the corner as Mr. Steel roared into the back parking lot in his loud pickup that shot black smoke from a pipe.

  Fanning the air in front of her face at the noxious fumes, she hid behind one of the vehicles that were parked, waiting to be fixed. She lowered herself to the ground and wiggled her body underneath the car, peeking out at Mr. Steel getting out of the truck.

  Mr. Steel tipped back a bottle of beer and drank from it, then tossed it away from him. Glass broke all over the ground. She sneered at him from her hiding place. Even she knew people weren't supposed to drink and drive. Or litter.

  "Nelson," yelled Mr. Steel.

  She folded her arms and planted her chin on the back of her wrist. Poor Nelson.

  "Why in the hell aren't the tires stacked?" Mr. Steel leaned over, stumbled, and caught himself on the rack outside the back door. "Son of a bitch. Useless."

  His mumblings continued, but she couldn't make out the words. Mr. Steel used stupid, dirty words, unlike Nelson, who made up sayings she hadn't heard before.

  Squirming out from under the car, she carefully navigated around the other vehicles and crawled under the fence. Safe in her yard, she sat looking through the space between the boards as Nelson came outside and put the tires on the rack without saying a word to his dad.

  Sadness wrapped around her. She wished there was something she could do to make Nelson happy.

  He rarely smiled.