by Jeannie Watt
“One of the perks of being steadily employed.”
“I wouldn’t know about that.”
He looked up from the gears, which were impacted with dried grease and dirt. “Have you ever been steadily employed?”
She shrugged. “Not that I recall.”
“So just freelancing and temp jobs.”
“I haven’t gone hungry yet.”
“Amazing.”
“I like to be able to move on when I need to.” The comment hung in the air and for a moment they stared at each other, Callie silently daring him to go ahead and say something snide about her moving on, and Nate wondering if he should.
“Must be nice,” he said instead, taking the high road, since lately he’d been spending too much time on the low.
“No complaints,” Callie replied hollowly. She fixed her gaze on the bikes, but he didn’t think she was seeing them.
Oh, well. He went back to the gears. He’d have to take the assembly apart and clean one component at a time.
“Speaking of temporary jobs, I substitute taught today,” she said conversationally.
“No kidding?” He’d had no idea she’d been considering something like that. “What class did you sub for?”
“Sophomore English.” She gave the front tire of the road bike a lazy spin, then turned back to him. “I’d say of all the jobs I’ve had, subbing is one of my least favorites. I’ve never had to watch my back like this before. Kids are scary.”
“What else have you done?” Nate asked, reaching for the tool kit, remembering how she’d evaded this question the last time he’d asked.
“A little of everything.”
She was good at evasion. “Do you need the bike soon?” Nathan asked. “I’m going to have to order a new derailleur.”
“Whenever you have time.”
He got to his feet—pretty smoothly, he thought, considering the trouble he sometimes had when his damaged muscles seized up. He crossed to his big tool kit.
“What’d you do to your leg?” Callie asked from behind him.
Nathan hoped his spine didn’t stiffen visibly. “What do you mean?” he asked casually, opening the lid and plunging a hand inside.
“You were moving stiffly when I saw you at the fire, and you’re still stiff.”
“Just a muscle problem.”
“You know, I found a product that really helps….” When he turned, her voice trailed off, telling him that he was failing in his bid to appear casual and unconcerned. “But I guess you have your own ways to treat muscle injuries.”
“Yeah. I’ve had some experience. Look, Cal,” he said, tapping the wrench lightly in his palm. “I’m probably going to have to put your bike aside for tonight. I have some work to edit and I won’t be able to do much until I get the parts.” And I want you out of here in case you can still read me as well as I can read you. He didn’t want her asking about his leg. He didn’t want to deal with her finding out.
“Well, then, I guess I’ll be going.”
“Guess so.”
Callie smiled with false brightness, then started walking down the driveway. Nathan watched her go, thinking that once upon a time he might have offered her a ride.
CHAPTER SEVEN
NATHAN’S PHONE RANG at midnight, waking him up from a sound sleep. He answered without checking the number.
“Well, you missed out.” Suzanne sounded ticked.
“I kind of thought I might have,” he agreed, rolling over on his back in bed and dropping an arm over his eyes.
“Because you didn’t send in an application packet?”
“Yeah. That’s pretty much why.”
Suzanne sighed. “Aren’t you even tempted to get back into the game?”
Nathan’s mouth twitched. “I’m in the game.”
“You’re in the minors. Will you at least come up to the city to visit for a few days sometime?”
“Like when the paper doesn’t need to be edited?”
“Like when you take a vacation.” There was a pause before she said suspiciously, “You’ve been there over a year. You do take a vacation, don’t you?”
Nathan let his silence answer. “Damn it, Nathan. You are nuts.”
“Let me know if something else opens up.”
“When haven’t I?” Suzanne asked with a sniff. “For all the good it does. A lot of wasted time and effort—”
“So how are you doing?” Nathan cut into her rant before she warmed up.
“Fair to middling,” Suzanne responded in a normal tone. “I take a vacation every now and then, you see….” And the rant was on again.
Nathan hung up a few minutes later, smiling in spite of himself and having promised to consider the vacation idea.
Truth be told, he wouldn’t mind getting away. He was busy here in Wesley, and near family, but…he was restless. His dad would tell him he was a damned fool for questioning a near-perfect situation, but Nathan couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe he wanted more than the same old stressful thing, day in and day out.
At one time he’d wanted a more adventurous life, less certainty in his days—right up until the world had exploded around him. Did he still want that?
What would he have done if the Wesley job hadn’t opened up while he was recuperating?
CALLIE SPENT THE NEXT two days at the high school, substituting for shop class. She’d almost backed out when she’d discovered the subject, but Mrs. Serrano informed her that shop became a study hall when the instructor was absent. Apparently the teacher, Mr. Carstensen, who’d been there when Callie had attended school, didn’t want the uninitiated supervising kids armed with power tools. Callie appreciated his farsighted approach to substitute teacher safety.
The Neon had made the trip to the high school grudgingly both days, but thankfully, Callie managed to snag a cancellation slot at R&M Auto. She just hoped the car lasted the two more days until the appointment so she didn’t have to hire a tow truck.
Shop class was easier to manage than the other classes she’d subbed for at the high school—perhaps because of the teacher fear factor. Fear of Mr. C., not herself. She spent the time watching kids pretend to study—although a few actually did appear to be focusing on the words in front of them—and outlining some ideas for her next interview. The doll maker. He was a guy who’d learned to sew in the military, during the Vietnam War, though she didn’t know in what capacity. Now, with the help of the Internet, he was making a living selling the folk dolls he’d once made as a hobby.
Her article about Denise had appeared in last week’s paper, and Callie had yet to catch up with her to find out if she’d been satisfied. Callie had hoped to see her the last day she subbed for shop class, but Denise had been gone by the time she’d dropped the keys off.
Dane had been in the office, though, and walked Callie to her car, where he asked if she wanted to stop at the café for a malted. She’d laughed, but turned him down.
“I’ll have you know,” he said with a glint of humor in his blue eyes, “I don’t give up easily. I’m a competitor.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Callie said drily as she yanked the Neon’s door open.
“See you next time you’re here, which will probably be when? Tomorrow?” Dane propped a foot against her tire.
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
“Then I guess,” he said with a charming smile, as he stepped away from the car, “I’ll see you soon.”
Callie pulled out of the lot a few seconds later, not exactly certain how she felt about the Great Dane. But it was nice to have a guy treat her well for a change. Too bad it wasn’t the right guy.
“Whose piece of crap bike is this?” Seth edged around the bike as if he might catch a disease from it.
“Callie’s,” Nathan said from where he was working on his own bike.
Seth squinted at him from across the garage. “Why do you have Callie’s bike? You two hooking up again?”
“Hardly.”
&nb
sp; “Hey, no one would blame you for taking a shot,” Seth said, frowning as he ran a finger over the tattered rubber on the bar extenders. “I mean, yeah, she burned you, but you know the score now, so you can—” he shrugged “—score.”
“Maybe I don’t want to score.”
“Then I feel very, very bad for you.”
Nathan opened the door to the kitchen and Seth followed him inside, going straight to the fridge for a beer. He was there to discuss their father’s last doctor’s visit, as soon as Garrett arrived.
Seth popped the top and drank deeply before wiping the foam off his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked as if he wanted to give advice on scoring, but fortunately, Garrett showed up then, tapping on the side door before coming into the kitchen. Being the older, more mature brother, he actually nodded at the fridge and asked, “May I?” before opening it.
“Help yourself,” Nathan said as his brother emerged with two bottles, one of which he pressed into Nate’s hands.
Fortified by Stella Artois, the brothers settled at the kitchen table for the John Marcenek powwow.
“I’ll be surprised if he goes back to the doctor willingly,” Seth said. “I had a bitch of a time getting him there, because he hadn’t been taking his medication and he was shifty about it.” He took a pull from the bottle. “I’m glad my turn’s over.”
Nathan muttered a curse. “Maybe we’ll have to start double teaming.”
“Maybe,” Seth agreed. “Anyway, he’s not been taking his meds because they make him tired. And the one he really needs leads to constipation. The old man isn’t putting up with that shit—no pun intended—so he quit taking them. His blood pressure is through the roof. I think the doc shamed him into going back on the meds, but short of handing him the pills and doing a finger sweep after he takes them, I don’t know what we can do.”
“Well, that is good news,” Garrett said, setting his beer aside. “Where’s the Scotch?” He pushed his chair back.
“Don’t you have shift tonight?” Nathan asked as Garrett opened the cupboard above the fridge.
“I traded.” He pulled out the Laphroaig.
“No,” Nathan said. “That’s for me. Go for the cheap stuff.”
Garrett reluctantly put the bottle back and pulled out the Speyburn.
“Better,” Nathan said, turning back to Seth, who was watching Garrett.
“You’re the one who went for the free rent,” Seth said. “With privilege comes responsibility.”
“Bite me.” Garrett set the bottle down along with three shot glasses. He’d jumped at the chance to live in the house next door that had been a rental unit while the brothers were growing up. John had rented the house cheap to anyone who passed muster—and agreed to watch the boys while he was on night shift. After Seth had graduated high school, John had stopped renting the second house, tired of the repair work that was part of being a landlord, and when Garrett had come back to town after police academy, he’d happily moved into it.
Now he wasn’t so happy.
“I can’t handle Dad single-handedly.”
“We’re not asking you to do that. We’re asking you to see that he takes his meds every day.”
“Fine.” He looked up at Nathan. “Whose crappy bike is that in the garage?”
“Callie’s.”
“You aren’t—”
“None of your freaking business. All right?”
“He’s not,” Seth said, as he turned his shot glass upside down. Like their father, he was a beer man through and through.
Nathan muttered a curse. “Okay, here’s the deal. Garrett, you make sure he’s still on his meds. I’m going to drop by and explain that if he doesn’t do as the doctor asks, then there’s no way he’s passing next year’s physical and he’s off the fire crew.”
No one argued with him. Nathan was always the guy who handled the rough stuff with his dad, because he was the one who was used to being yelled at.
“What does Seth do?” Garrett asked after taking a slow sip from the shot glass.
“Seth stops by daily to cheer him up.”
“Cool.” Seth lifted his beer.
“And to make him lose thirty pounds.”
Seth sneered. “Oh, yeah. I can do that.”
“Make him walk with you. Maybe we can buy him a bike.”
“With a jumbo reinforced frame,” Seth said morosely.
“Whatever it takes.”
CALLIE RECEIVED HER FIRST substitute request from the elementary school, and discovered that sixth graders weren’t as intimidating as sophomores, but they were more exhausting. In an odd way, though, they seemed more mature than the sophomores. Maybe it was because they were still kids for the most part, acting their age instead of trying to act like they were Callie’s peers.
The sixth-grade teacher, Mr. Jones, had left copious notes. Callie knew what time to start a lesson, what time to finish it. And if she hadn’t had notes, she would have had Sienna, the Helper Girl. Helper Girl was fine in the beginning, but by the end of the day she was beginning to grate on Callie’s last nerve. Callie sucked it up, though. She had a feeling that any kid who acted like this had issues elsewhere in her life. Who was Callie to add to them?
After school she had dismissal duty, which involved standing on the play field and encouraging the kids to go home. Sienna was there by her side.
“What grades are the Hobart kids in?” Callie asked, spotting her little neighbors playing on the swing.
“Lucas is in fourth and Lily is in fifth. They’re weird,” Sienna added conversationally.
Do you mean weird like hanging with a teacher after school instead of going home?
“We’re all a little strange,” Callie said drily, making Sienna laugh.
“You’re not. You’re nice.”
Not according to the people at Grace’s memorial service.
“Oh,” Sienna said excitedly. “There’s my mom!” A shiny pickup pulled up behind the school. “Bye, Miss McCarran! I hope you come back!”
“Bye, Sienna. Thanks for the help today.”
The girl spun around to wave, then ran to the truck. The woman driving looked sane and happy to see her daughter. Okay, maybe it was hard to tell who had issues and who didn’t. Maybe Sienna had been born helpful and needy.
The Hobart kids had disappeared while Callie was waving to Sienna, and the rest of the students were beginning to drift off the playground, meeting parents or walking home. Callie glanced at her watch. Five more minutes to freedom.
A long five minutes. It was blazing hot standing out on the play field, but eventually Callie got into the oven that went by the name of Neon, and the little car coughed its way to the repair shop. She had a brief consultation with the mechanic, who promised to call as soon as he had a diagnosis, then she declined his offer of a ride and walked home. Quite possibly one or two of her sub checks would be going toward the repair of a car she didn’t even own. That was foolish, but she would be even more of a fool to head out across the Nevada desert in a car that sounded like the Neon. When she left town, that was.
The house seemed quiet after spending the day with twenty-four sixth graders. Callie shucked off her school clothes and put on a tank top and khaki shorts. She dropped ice cubes into a glass, filled it with water and headed out to the shade in the backyard rather than turning on the noisy old air-conditioning unit.
She could hear the Hobart kids playing in the lot on the other side of the cedar fence. They didn’t have many toys scattered in their yard, but they did seem to get a lot of mileage out of the baseball.
Callie had yet to see an adult on the premises other than the very blonde woman she assumed was the mother, although she had to admit that was probably because she only had a view of the side of the house unless she was out on the street. The front lawn and porch were obscured by thick honeysuckle bushes, and the carport was on the opposite side.
Funny, though, that she saw the kids a lot and the adults hardly ever. And i
t still bothered her, especially after she’d once again seen the boy out after dark and the house completely dark. Again she’d knocked and again got no answer.
AFTER FED EX DELIVERED the bike parts to Nate’s office, he took an early out and went home to fix Callie’s bike. He’d worked until ten the previous evening and took files home with him today, so it wasn’t as if Vince Michaels wasn’t getting his money’s worth and the paper wouldn’t come out on time.
It was peaceful tinkering in his garage, with no phones or machines in the background. Plus he was looking forward to getting the bike back to Callie and being done with the obligation.
He loaded it in the back of his small truck and drove over to Callie’s a little after four o’clock. She was walking down the sidewalk from the direction of town when he pulled onto her street. They arrived at Grace’s house at the same time.
“Where’s your car?” he asked as he hefted the bike out of the truck and set it down. It bounced on its tires.
“Still in the shop. You weren’t the only one who had to order parts. The bike looks like new.”
“You subbed today.” She was wearing makeup and her hair was down.
“Yeah.”
“You should have told me,” he said, holding the bike by the seat.
“Oh? Why?” she asked innocently. “Would you have given me a ride?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, walking isn’t that big a deal to me. I just left a half hour early.”
“When’s the car done?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Are you subbing tomorrow?”
“No.”
“All right.”
“Careful, Nate.” He looked up at her. “You sound like you might care.”
He just shook head.
“Did you write me up a bill?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, until you get round to it, how about dinner or something?” She smiled that old Callie smile, which in turn made him want to smile back.
“I don’t think so.”
Her face fell. “I won’t walk out on you.”
