by Zoe Adams
Calvin snuck up to her room when she did not appear at their lunchtime table. He saw the flowers and card signed R.S.
He raised his eyes at the girl who never mentioned anyone outside of her family. He placed his meaty palm on her wrist. Her heavy, thick eyelashes fluttered open and revealed red and crusty pain.
“Mmm.” The soft, feminine emission could have heated the blood of any man, but she pushed him away. “I’m all right. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She rolled over and ignored the steady breathing until it exited her room. For a few minutes thoughts of Richard pulled her from the mourning. But it didn’t matter. Indiana was still under eighteen. The pity and sadness of another long year filled her hollow bones.
This was her one sick day of the year, and she reveled in it. Indiana let herself cry and be selfish. She didn’t do anything but feel bad. She needed to bleed the venom of sadness away long enough to last a year, and maybe even a lifetime.
Or maybe just take the sadness away for a week. In all actuality, the feeling of loss never really went away. It could be dulled down by mind-numbing textbooks or stressful equations, but the here and now never diminished its grim shadow on her.
Flowers arrived the entire day. Indiana appreciated Richard’s gesture and his well-placed sentiments of her father.
He also sent a present. It looked like a shoebox, but didn’t feel or sound like one. Indiana had been wondering all year if he would remember her birthday. Before having ownership and authority of the boxes contents, she wanted to feel gifted from Richard Sand.
She refused to open it. Instead she got into her car and drove into the night. She didn’t care where she turned or which direction was north.
When the sun started to come up, Indiana parked the car. She picked up the box and studied it for a long moment. She’d been saving it for last.
After a few minutes of looking at the box, she set it down beside her. It meant so much to her she would’ve buckled it in with the seatbelt. She pulled a pocketknife from her purse and flicked it open. She cut carefully into the heavy cardboard box. A velvet jewelry box rested inside and she hesitated again. Indiana had known it would be something like that.
The box looked plain without a business name or logo anywhere visible. Whatever was inside would be custom and Indiana couldn’t wait any longer.
She finally clicked the box open. A startled gasp shook her whole body. At first glance it looked like a normal class ring. But it was far from ordinary.
A tiny note was tied to the ring with mechanics wire.
Indy,
Congratulations on the early graduation. You deserve a class ring.
R.S.
She cried at the view of something unique, classic, and totally her. No numbers or dates were on the white gold band. She slipped it on her finger. It felt chunky and feminine at the same time. A large white rock glistened in the soldered gold.
After moving it back and forth in the light, Indiana realized it was an opal. Somehow the soft rock looked dainty when put to bed in so much gold.
The band was flat and etched in checkers when it turned up to the edges. Two different molds held it together. One design was a round tire containing a five-pointed star, and the other side had a double-sided motor, with two equal halves that looked like a boxy heart.
She tried the ring on. It fit a fisted index finger great. Somehow Richard always picked up on the little necessities Indiana didn’t even know she was missing, and she choked up.
Oh, that time were my friend. Indiana’s despondent thought bounced off the windshield, and then emptiness, once again, escorted the incessant driver.
Indiana knew exactly which directions would lead to her favorite places, but had lost count of the names amidst the dwindling population signs. Scanning the very wide horizon, she raced her shadow and then checked it against the other direction. There was nothing for miles and the end of the road glimmered nowhere. She shuddered when a few minutes passed and the lollipop shape of a water tower still loomed before her.
Indiana’s stomach growled. The car was hungry too, so she vowed to take the next exit. When she traveled, it was lightly, but the piles collecting on the floorboards and backseat were a good sign to take some time off.
Eventually, a single gas station town appeared, but it gave no reassurances in the stillness of noontime. Shady verandas hid a few people who could easily be the same age as the cobblestone streets. Ornate facades, faded signs, and boarded up storefronts did their best to delay her departure.
Indiana stopped at a gas station. The building was a curving beacon from a bygone era. It seemed newer than the other town attractions. Its lines were faded from black and red, to gray and pink. Pieces of neon struggled to streak.
The spinning tally of gas kept up with the guzzling pump. A dotted windshield was cleaned for another round of splattered adhesions. Indiana lifted the heavy and scooped hood of the car until it held itself up. She pulled a dipstick and checked levels. She huffed.
Indiana looked up and down Main Street and wondered what sort of people called this quiet town home.
She should settle up and pay for the gas. Indiana entered the service station. The interior pleasantly surprised her with its tourist attraction aura. A mural showed different eras and seasons.
Different modes of travel had tamed it. The faded mural wall progressed from wood wheels and wagon-covered trains, to shiny steel rims of steam powered trains. Then there were outdated classic cars with wide fins at the back and bubbly hoods in the front. The timeline continued into a projected future where flying cars would be in every space home. High fins on the trunks of visionary cars flew off the road in orderly fashion.
Indiana quit appreciating the display of history and misrepresented dreams. She turned on her heels and looked around. The whole place was still kind of shiny, with the love of failing eyes that missed large gaps of dust.
A veteran of time had heard the jingling bell over the door. He made slow progress to the front of the store.
“That map is from before they put in the interstate.” He approached her and she stepped away conscientiously.
“I see that.” Indiana had wanted to sound thoughtful, but instead it came out sort of brash.
She looked at the old man carefully. He was wearing an old, faded blue collar shirt. A yellowing patch had his name stitched in black.
Indiana addressed him carefully. “Hey, Walt, do you sell oil here?”
“Yes, but not very often.” He laughed at his joke.
His gnarled hand pointed to a whole other wing of the store that sat waiting in darkness. “Let me get the lights.”
Indiana waited until the store was properly lit. She tried to keep her excitement down to a dull roar at the disintegrating boxes of original parts. She looked at the beaming proprietor.
“Is everything in here for sale?” She surveyed the room that was like stepping back in time.
“Of course it is,” Walt said around a few yellow teeth.
“Wow, I have never seen such a shiny old headlight.” Indiana set down the box and picked up another. “Or an original spark plug still in the box.”
Sincerity came easy when talking about things she loved. She had trouble making friends, and lacked companionship. She could easily admit it was all her fault. Few people were aware of her deep experience with cars. But it was hard to hide her knowledge of horsepower and unfulfilled desires.
Indiana restrained herself by buying one of every part, whether she needed it or not.
“Well, I suppose this should be enough to keep me busy for a while. I need to rent a garage.” Indiana looked up at the proprietor hopefully.
“The mechanic is two blocks down.” He waved in a specific direction.
“Oh that’s all right. I don’t let anyone touch my car.” Indiana almost laughed when she received the praise of a startled eye and upturned lip.
“A woman wearing pearls while changing out spark plugs?” He looked dubiously at her sle
nder body.
Indiana rolled her eyes like it was the worst handicap when she replaced her wallet in her pocket. “Yeah, my pearl necklace really slows me down.”
When he quit laughing he said, “Use my shop, it’s in the back.”
She shook her head. “I can rent it.”
“No, I only use it twice a year, go ahead,” Walt said enthusiastically.
“Really?” Usually the offer of anything free was a subpar adventure and she looked at him through narrow eyes. “Well, I guess I can look at it.”
Indiana was much less nervous by the time she saw the shop, and she almost hugged him. Instead she paced off the distance to the rolling door.
“Cool. First I need to eat something, and then I will be in here all night.” She looked up, concerned. “That all right?”
The old man laughed his response.
“Any good restaurants?” she asked him.
“Sure are.”
Indiana left with the sound advice of a man who should have retired sixty years ago.
She drove the five blocks to a cafe. Inside the front doors, Indiana stopped skeptically. The restaurant was a sea of grey-haired heads, and they smoothed themselves over for the mystic, dark beauty who waited for a table.
“Just one please.” Indiana tried to keep her voice low and friendly, while keeping an inconspicuous attitude.
A waitress with thin auburn colored hair and thickly colored-in eyebrows pointed across the room. “You can wait for a table, or there is room to sit at the counter.”
Indiana looked at the bar. Only one chair stuck out in the busy corner aisle.
“That sounds great, thanks.” Indiana put on a happy smile.
She bravely walked across the room to the worn seat with stainless steel rims. She sat down lightly and studied the man beside her. He was pushing retirement, and seemed quite young in the setting.
“Good day,” he said, and turned away politely.
Indiana heard the chatter calm as the room took a bite of food.
“Hi.” Indiana was starving and couldn’t wait for the menu, so she employed the obviously bored gentlemen. “What’s good here?”
“To eat? Today is the prime rib, and it’s delicious. See the crowd?” He pointed over her shoulder at a specials board.
Indiana read the sign then looked down at his very clean plate. She smiled and thanked him.
The friendly waitress arrived with a faded piece of plastic signage.
Indiana held the menu but didn’t look at it when she ordered. “Prime rib and ice water, please.”
“You got it, honey.” The experienced server gave her prevalent address before giving the next in line a slip of paper. “Here you go, hon.”
“Esther, you are always rushing people out the door. I would like dessert, please—peach pie and coffee.” The man beside Indiana gave an impatient shrug to the waitress. He straightened in anticipation and broadly shrugged at the skittish beauty. “Would you like some pie? It’s the best in the county.”
“Sounds good.” Indiana gave him a wide smile.
“Make that two, one for the young lady with mysterious eyes,” the man yelled across the counter.
“You got it, Mr. Severson.” Esther winked at the little companion. “And I’ll just bring yours after your meal.”
“It’s all right. I don’t mind eating dessert first.” Indiana sat forward and folded her hands.
“Well, all right, she likes dessert first.” Esther said it out loud to everyone at the counter and gave another big waitress wink. Laughter seemed to help her prepare twin plates of oven fresh pie.
Indiana was very aware of being a young outsider and traveler. So far this was a very open town in the midst of countless open miles. Everyone here knew everyone and she wasn’t sure if she wanted people to know who she was yet. It wasn’t like she was famous, but everyone loved her father and the accolades and condolences were sometimes a little too much.
She ducked down and looked at the menu. The tattered piece of information schooled her on local fares. She studied the pictures and descriptions on why their particulars were the best.
The pie and a steaming cup of coffee were set down before her. Indiana set the menu to the side carefully.
“Thanks,” Indiana said kindly.
She took a bite of pie and chewed slowly. Indiana nodded her head and swallowed. Picking up her coffee cup, she took a quick sip. She set her cup down and smiled at the man beside her.
“You’re right. This pie’s the best. What else is good around here?” Indiana openly queried the businessman.
“I only know banking and food, my dear.” He stuck out his hand. “My name is Mike Severson the Third.”
“Indiana Bernstein.” She shook his hand lightly.
“It’s a pleasure to meet a bright young lady. So what exactly are you looking for?” Mike got to the point quickly.
Indiana smiled and led him on with her eyes.
He looked thoughtfully at the girl somewhere in the young demographic.
“Is that your Chevelle out there?” he asked.
Indiana was painfully aware of drawing attention. Being a minor could put her in anyone’s hands. She was throwing her guards up and inching toward the door.
“No offense, I’m just a big car guy.” He sat back with a knowing look on his face. “You look just like your father.”
Mike Severson had waited until she finished filling her stomach so at least she couldn’t choke on her food, or spill the hot drink. He had been courteous indeed, when what she had been running from was realized within two hours of landing in the middle of nowhere.
“Funny, when I sit by my mother I am almost her twin, but when I’m alone people see my father.” The depths of the offhanded statement had him studying her unendingly. “Yes, my father was King Bern-Out-Stein. I’m not the only one who misses him.”
Mike nodded. “You are very wise for a young lady. So what are you doing here?”
“Driving.” Indiana clammed up immediately at the betrayal of too much information.
The businessman checked his watch. “All right, well, have a good one.”
Mike pushed off from the lunch counter and left.
Indiana’s coffee cup was finally drained. Too many bills were laid beside an almost full meal, and her departure was full speed ahead.
Indiana walked to her car. Sitting behind the steering wheel, she debated driving toward the gas station or speeding the other way. She realized she used her feelings and not her brain. Indiana laughed at herself and wondered if her hormones were starting to show up.
She would be in trouble if she let her feelings govern her actions. She reminded herself to keep things in check, and put her car into reverse.
Indiana drove back to the gas station. Once inside the old garage, she confirmed being in the right place. The smells of oil, gas, rubber, and metal instantly comforted her. She fell under the spell of horsepower.
The hood of the car popped up with a heavy click. She lifted it and immediately lost track of time.
Indiana worked late into the night and early morning. Her eyes were almost closed when she began the cleaning steps that would eventually leave pink skin and white fingernails.
The expert of time knew that quick sleep resulted in the freshest and least sore wake up. Sleeping in the backseat of the car was not optimal, but at least she didn’t have to set an alarm.
A few hours later, the garage door opened. Bright sunlight was an unwelcome reprieve. Indiana groaned softly and stretched her arm.
The rolling door finally stopped and slow feet shuffled into the garage. The exhausted girl sat up. Walt looked even older in the early morning. He carried a jug of water and a can of ground beans. The relic of a man began making coffee.
“You really did work all night. I can’t believe it.” Brown coffee spilled negligently on the beverage platform; not because his hand shook, or basket misjudgment, but because he was staring at the classic lines o
f the heavy car that still looked new. “Never would have guessed it.”
Indiana climbed into the front seat and opened the door of the car. She put her feet on the concrete floor but remained seated half in and half out of the car.
She knew soon her blood would thicken and give support to her drooping head. It seemed like every muscle had tightened into an abnormal state.
When she stood up, her body weaved uncomfortably. Indiana thought she was used to waking up this tired, but the strain on her body instead of just her brain was a new obstacle.
She was sure of one thing. Coffee was mandatory. Her breakfast elixir knew no restraints, and brought on more comments to her unorthodox style.
“That is a lot of sugar.” Walt shook his head and clucked his tongue. “Kids these days.”
Indiana’s snort was a silent release of air. “I need sugar just as bad as the caffeine.”
“So, are you going out to the speedway?” Walt set the trap.
“What? Speedway?” Indiana said from far away.
“I swear it’s true.” He held up his arms. “I’ll show you if you want.”
“Okay,” Indiana agreed, “I’m ready for some fresh air.”
Indiana stepped out of the garage. If she were a man she would have whistled at the car in front of her. Instead she smiled at the old man beside her. “Wow, Walt, nice hot rod.”
They circled the shined up chrome and black car. Walt pointed out significant changes he had made.
Indiana nodded excitedly. “It has been a while since I have seen a car like this. Most people keep them in their garages.”
“Well, I do too, most of the time.” Walt put his hands in his pockets. “I just felt like driving it today.”
He opened the passenger door. “Would you like to go for a ride?”
Indiana looked longingly at it for a moment. She never fully felt safe.
“No.” Indy shook her head. “I think I should just follow you.”
Walt shrugged and shut the door softly. “Suit yourself. It is only a twenty minute drive to the racetrack.”
They rolled through town slowly. Two black shadows drove across the desolate land. The predecessor was a short boxy car spinning clean white tires courteously in the slow moving dust. It was from the era of plush, luxurious interiors, and solid, heavy steel exteriors.
