Most Wanted Dad

by Arlene James

  She shrugged again. “I don’t know. It just…stopped.”

  “Just stopped,” he repeated, his voice conveying every ounce of his disdain at such a primitive, useless answer. “Cars don’t just stop. They clank and stop. They grind and stop. They whine and stop. They sputter and stop. They even surge and stop. But they don’t just stop.”

  “Well, this one did,” she said cheerfully. “I was driving along, and the engine just shut off. I got it to the side of the road, which wasn’t easy since the power steering locked, and tried to start it again, but it doesn’t do anything.”

  He gave her a doubtful look and turned around to walk back toward the front of the car. “Does it click when you turn the key?”

  She hopped off the trunk and followed him. “Nope.”

  “Hmm, how about a whir? Does it make a whirring sound when you turn the key?”

  “Uh-uh.”

  “It doesn’t make any sound at all?” he demanded, knowing he was being contrary but unable to stop himself.

  “None,” she said, “nada, zip, zero, no sound at all.”

  He lifted a skeptical eyebrow, opened the driver’s door, got in and turned the key. It did nothing, made no sound beyond the workings of the mechanism as the ignition switch moved from one position to another. He fiddled with the radio knob and the light controls, trying to elicit some response…and failing. He got out of the car and walked around to the raised hood. He tapped battery cables and blew dust out of the distributor cap. He fiddled with the spark plug wires and inspected fuse boxes. In the end he could only glare at the offending engine and mutter, “Must be an electrical problem.”

  Amy sidled up beside him. “Can you fix it?”

  “No.”

  She sighed. “Well, guess we’ll have to have it towed.”

  We. He wanted to tell her to take we and stuff it, but he said, “Who do you want to call?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Who do you think I should call?”

  He sidestepped that. “Maybe you’d better let your brother-in-law handle it. I’ll call him.” He turned toward the truck, but she stopped him with a word.

  “Can’t.”

  He turned back, his athletic shoes scraping in the roadside gravel. “What do you mean, ‘can’t’?”

  “Out of town,” she informed him. “Idaho, I think Joan said.”

  Evans bowed his head. He didn’t want to deal with this. He really didn’t want to deal with this. He pulled his sunshades from his pocket and put them on. “Isn’t there someone else I could call?”

  She chewed her lip. “Well, I think Stuart’s still in town, but I doubt he would know who to use around here for car repair.”

  “Stuart?” he scoffed, words exploding from his mouth as jealousy exploded in his chest. “That pretty boy couldn’t fix a hairbrush, let alone a car! He wouldn’t dirty his fingernails! He…He…”

  She was laughing, had been laughing almost from the beginning. “Might mess up his manicure?” she supplied helpfully, giggling. “I know, it’s awful, isn’t it? I don’t know how Becky stands it, except, well, they’re two of a kind.”

  Evans had the strange feeling that he’d missed something somewhere. It was as if he’d been transferred supernaturally into a different conversation. “T-two…?” He swallowed convulsively. “Who…who’s Becky?”

  Amy smiled, brightly, brilliantly. “Why, Becky is Stuart’s wife, of course.”

  “Wife,” he repeated numbly.

  “Umm. Well, they’ve been married for years. They were married just a few months before Mark and I. Mark always said that was what told him it was time to settle down, when Stuart tied the knot.”

  It seemed as if Evans was getting too much oxygen. His head was swimming, but it was not an unpleasant feeling. He tried to concentrate. “Stu—Mark and Stuart…They were friends?”

  “Best friends,” Amy confirmed, smiling still. “That’s why Stuart feels obligated to look in on me whenever he’s in town, you know.”

  Evans stared at her, confused now and not at all certain he wanted that confusion cleared up. “I’ll…I’ll call a tow truck,” he muttered, turning blindly toward his own vehicle. He called a fellow whose name he remembered from the city’s rotation list, was referred to someone else and finally found a driver who could come immediately. He got out of the truck and walked back toward Amy, who stood digging a toe in the dirt, arms folded, head bent. “Where do you want it taken?” he asked the top of her head, noticing the vibrant glossiness of the sun-streaked hair there.

  She looked up abruptly, bright blue eyes smiling at him. “Oh, I don’t know. The dealership, I imagine.”

  He nodded. “Good choice. This electrical stuff requires a real expert.”

  “I see. It’s going to be expensive then, huh?”

  “Yeah, I suppose so.”

  She sighed. “Well, maybe I ought to think about getting a new one then. I mean, if I’m going to have to come up with a bundle, I might as well put it down on a new car, right?”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “I don’t know about that. Have you priced a new car lately?”

  “Gone through the roof, have they?”

  He snorted. “I gave less for my first house than I gave for that truck there.”

  Amy bit her lip. “That bad, huh?”

  “I don’t know what your financial situation is, but unless you have a lot of cash handy, I’d say you might be better advised to shop for a good used car.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Isn’t that kind of tricky, though? What if you get a lemon? I always wonder why somebody would get rid of a really good car, you know?”

  “Lots of reasons,” Evans argued. “Besides, if you know what you’re looking for and you’re patient, you can find a really good buy.”

  “But I don’t know what I’m looking for,” Amy countered, pinning him with that sharp blue gaze, “and I find that I’m getting less and less patient all the time.” She said that last as if it related to him somehow, which made no sense at all.

  He wrinkled his brow, trying to think through it, but it was so much easier to ponder the pros and cons of buying a used car versus buying a new one. He cleared his throat. “Well, just get someone who knows what he’s doing to help you out.”

  “Okay,” she said brightly. “How about you?”

  If only he had known how like a frightened rabbit he suddenly appeared, eyes wide with that trapped-in-the-headlights look, one nervous foot scrabbling for purchase. He even hopped back before he came to himself. “I…y-you…a relative is better for that sort of thing. Ask Shaw when he gets back.”

  She looked as if he’d slapped her. Bright patches of color suddenly burned high upon her cheeks, and a brilliant sheen coated her vibrant eyes. She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut again and turned on her heel. She was some distance away before he realized that she was going, just like that, leaving. For a moment, he could only gape, stunned beyond even thinking, but then it descended on him, the senselessness of such a reaction, unless…

  “Amy! Amy, wait!”

  She didn’t so much as falter, her angry strides eating up a surprising amount of space. He went after her, running to catch up, aware that he was making a spectacle of himself on a busy street, worrying that he was making a mistake.

  “Amy! Amy!”

  She rounded on him as abruptly as she’d turned away. “I don’t want to hear any of your excuses, Evans!” she snapped. “I’ve finally gotten the message, okay? We are just neighbors. That is all we will ever be.” Her glittering eyes strayed away from him, and then she turned again and began to walk briskly, her arms swinging at her sides.

  He was torn between following and turning back to see what had sent her off again. In the end, he did both, glancing back over his shoulder just as he stepped off after her, but then he stopped. The tow truck had arrived and the puzzled driver was climbing down from the cab, scratching his head at two abandoned vehicles. Evans growled in frustration. “Amy!”
he shouted. “Your car!”

  But Amy kept walking, her purposeful stride taking her farther and farther away. Evans started after her again, but then stopped and looked back. The tow truck driver was getting back into his cab. Blast! He threw a longing look in Amy’s direction, hearing her say again that they were just neighbors. He latched on to that last word. Neighbors. Yes, of course. Her house was just next door to his. He knew where to find her. Meanwhile, she was without transportation and somebody had to do something about that. Somebody had to take responsibility. He was good at responsibility, and he was a good neighbor. She’d remember that if he gave her a chance. He was sure of it. Almost with relief, he trotted back toward the vehicles, his hand raised over his head and waving.

  “He’s hurt, Amy. You won’t talk to him, and he can’t understand why.”

  He’s hurt, Amy thought bitterly. Well, what about me?

  She’d done everything she could think of to revive the man’s interest, and she didn’t understand why it was necessary to begin with. He’d kissed her before, before when she had been fat and drowning in self-pity and just plain not ready for it! Now, now that she was ready, now that she looked and felt better than ever before in her life, now that she was reaching out to him, he let her know in no uncertain terms that they were just neighbors and nothing more, never anything more. They weren’t even running buddies anymore! She couldn’t think what she had done that had so turned around his feelings.

  Or had she read him all wrong from the beginning? Maybe that kiss had meant nothing to him, less than nothing, apparently. Maybe he liked the needy sort, the helpless kind of female that she had once been—except that she’d never really been that, no matter what he thought. She’d been morose and bitter and uncaring but never helpless. Whatever she’d been before, whatever she was now, it was by choice. It seemed to her that she had a right to feel bitter, to disappointment, to hurt. Those emotions even had a familiarity about them, a comfortableness. They brought with them the old urge to lock the door and shutter the windows and hibernate away from the world, nursing her wounds, keeping the pain alive. Aw, beans.

  Sighing, she pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to formulate the right words and the right attitude to save them all further embarrassment and pain. After several moments, she dropped her hand and sent Mattie a wan smile. “I can’t imagine what that man’s thinking,” she said shakily. “I haven’t felt worth a darn lately, that’s all.”

  Mattie’s expression of reluctant confrontation became one of concern. She stepped forward and reached out a hand to feel Amy’s forehead. Amy neatly sidestepped her, chuckling thinly. “It’s not that kind of thing,” she said. “It’s…er, female.”

  “Ah.” Mattie dropped her hand, nodding knowingly. Then she narrowed her eyes. “But that doesn’t explain why you just walked away the other day.”

  “Oh, that!” Amy said, forcing a sound that might have been laughter. “I—I was just upset about the car, that’s all. I needed some time alone to think about what to do, a-and I’ve found that exercise helps me think, so I—I just thought, why not walk home?”

  Mattie seemed to find this reasonable. She pulled her feet up into Amy’s armchair and settled in for a long, cozy chat. “So, what have you decided?”

  “D-decided?” Amy echoed uncertainly.

  “About the car. I don’t care what Dad says, I’d go for a new car—that is, if you can afford it.”

  “Oh.” Amy shook her head. “I haven’t…um, that is, I’ve decided to wait until Griff gets home and ask him for his opinion.”

  “I guess that makes sense,” Mattie said, sounding a little disappointed. “Are you going to trade in your old car?”

  Amy tempered her impatience. “I don’t know. Why?”

  Mattie shrugged. “Well, I thought, you know, if you weren’t going to trade it in, maybe I could, like, buy it from you.”

  Amy couldn’t help smiling. “Oh, like, buy it, huh?”

  Mattie grimaced. “If we could talk Dad into it, that is.”

  “If,” Amy reiterated.

  Mattie sighed. “Last time we talked about it, he said that if I agreed to a year of college, he’d buy me a car. I haven’t agreed…yet.”

  Amy’s smile broadened. “But you are thinking about it.”

  “Yeah. I have to. He’s been so reasonable lately, you know?”

  “Glad to hear it,” Amy told her, genuinely pleased and slightly amused at Mattie’s predicament. Imagine having a reasonable parent!

  Mattie bounced up out of the chair. “Well, I’ve gotta go.” She wiggled her eyebrows, sparkling at Amy. “Got a date.”

  “Oh? Bailey Novak again?”

  Mattie wrinkled her nose. “Bailey’s a little too, well, intense, you know?”

  “Meaning that you’re not ready to be in love just yet?” Amy asked gently.

  “Oh, I’m ready,” Mattie said, her tone very matter-of-fact.

  “Just not with Bailey,” Amy surmised.

  Mattie nodded. “Why is it that a perfectly nice guy who you like a lot just won’t do?”

  “I don’t know,” Amy said, shaking her head. “What makes us fall in love with some people and not with others is one of the great mysteries, I guess.”

  “Well, it’s awful when you can’t fall for the right one,” Mattie announced.

  “It’s worse when you can’t help falling for the wrong one,” Amy said softly.

  Mattie cocked her head as if in thought, murmuring, “Yeah, I guess so.”

  Amy decided the conversation had gone far enough. She got up and escorted Mattie to the door. “Have fun on your date,” she said, “and don’t worry about falling in love. It’ll happen when it happens.”

  Mattie pecked her on the cheek. “You know, I’ve missed my mom something awful,” she confessed warmly, “but not nearly so much since I met you.”

  Amy caught her breath, tears building at the backs of her eyes. “What a sweet thing to say, but I’m just your friend, Mattie. Your mom should hold a special place in your heart.”

  “She does,” Mattie insisted, “but so do you, a special place for a special friend.” She kissed Amy once more, very gently, and then went out the door. She was on the bottom step before she called gaily over her shoulder, “I’ll tell Dad he can come on over!”

  The door was closed before the words fully registered. Amy yanked it open again and ran out onto the porch, crying, “Oh, Mattie, no! Not yet!”

  Mattie was halfway across the yard, but she stopped and came back, peering at Amy through the deepening gloom of twilight. Amy felt like a worm under a magnifying glass and squirmed accordingly. “I—I’m just not…up to…a lot of company.”

  Mattie bowed her head, her hands going to her hips. “He misses you, Amy,” she said softly, looking up. “He needs you.”

  Amy wrapped her arms around her middle. “No, he doesn’t. He’s made that perfectly clear.”

  “He’s said the same thing about you, you know.”

  Amy laughed, not bothering to hide her bitterness. “What nonsense!”

  “Is it?” Mattie asked incisively. “Seems to me that you were holding off the whole world with both hands when we first came here.”

  “Maybe I was,” Amy admitted, “then. But not anymore.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “Then Dad can come over whenever he wants, yes?”

  Amy bit her lip. “Mattie, please try to understand. It’s not the same thing as with you and me. It’s…” She broke off, aware of the cunning look glowing in Mattie’s eyes. Amy took a deep breath, knowing she was trapped, and forced as much lightness into her tone as she could manage. “Oh, why not? We…we’re neighbors, after all. Neighbors ought to be able to come and go…pretty much as they please.”

  Mattie smiled. “I’ll tell him.”

  “F-fine.”

  Mattie trilled a little wave and started off jauntily for home, leaving Amy to gulp down her panic as well as she co
uld.

  During the next few minutes, she thought about going out for a run or climbing into the tub or calling to ask her sister to come over, anything to derail a possible visit with Evans Kincaid. But trying to avoid Evans would just put the lie to everything she’d said to Mattie, and he would know then. He would know how desperate she was to fall out of love with him.

  Chapter Ten

  Evans didn’t go over that evening. He was afraid to appear too eager, too desperate. And he didn’t know what to say to her, how to approach her. His first impulse was to sit Amy down and tell her bluntly that she was hurting him, that he loved her, that he needed her. But what if she turned away? What if she walked away? What if she pushed away? How could he face such a possibility? It was easier to be turned away at the door, to have his phone calls cut off by feeble excuses and deadening clicks.

  He’d had her car towed to the dealership. He’d instructed the dealer to call him with an estimate, had okayed the work and paid the bill, and then he’d arranged to have the car delivered to her as soon as the work was completed—and she’d greeted every word of that news with hems and haws and quick goodbyes. When she’d babbled something about paying him back the money he’d spent, he’d been the one to ring off abruptly. Just the suggestion that it was not his responsibility, his right, to pay for her car repairs hurt. He remembered the old VW Andie had driven when they’d met, all the hours he’d spent working on it, all the money he’d spent, money he didn’t have to spare. Not once had she said anything but a heartfelt thank you, and every one of those had been accompanied by a warm hug and a kiss that would turn his thoughts to soft beds and wedding rings. With Amy he got Thank-you-very-much-I’ll-send-you-a-check—click. Why on earth would any man in his right mind fall in love with that? Nevertheless, it wasn’t Andie about whom he dreamed these nights, which only served to prove how perverse the heart was. Or something like that.