by A. F. Henley
Randy kicked at the solid ground below his feet. He watched the spot where the sun was advancing over the lawn, and timed how long it took to burn the frost away. Mostly he waited to hear the sound of Vaughn's truck start up, and when it did, the realization that he had ended up running for assistance, and that Vaughn and Lyle had been the only ones around who'd been able to help him out, made Randy want to start beating his forehead against the frame of the car door. God, he hated proving indignant people right.
When Vaughn arrived, after driving the few hundred feet between their properties, he looked tired and annoyed, as though he wished he was anywhere else doing anything but this. His coveralls were worn and grease-spattered. His flannel jacket looked like it had seen battle and barely managed to come out on the other side. Yet none of those things, not even the collective assembly of them, made Vaughn look one ounce less attractive. The attraction that kindled in Randy's blood dissipated quickly, however, when Vaughn lifted his eyes and glared directly at Randy. Without breaking eye contact, Vaughn set the toolbox beside the grill of Randy's truck and walked towards the driver's door to pop the hood.
Randy forced his legs to move, to meet Vaughn at the open engine, and did his best to make sense of Vaughn's tight lips and frown. He could almost hear his father's voice: Make your mouth move, Randy. Speech is not new to you, for heaven's sake.
"So, listen..." Randy swallowed around the lump in his throat. "I'm sorry Lyle called you over. He insisted. But I don't want to be any trouble. I can call someone. I'm fine here, I swear."
His words were dismissed as if he'd never spoken them. They didn't change Vaughn's expression, and they didn't stop Vaughn from leaning over the engine and tinkering with what, had Randy been forced to guess at it, could very well have been the flux capacitor.
Randy tried again. "Really, I know you're busy and I don't want to be a bother."
Vaughn's only acknowledgement was a grunt, which wasn't even one one-hundredth of an inch closer to an actual reply in Randy's opinion. And it didn't stop Vaughn's investigation of Randy's engine.
That shouldn't have fueled Randy's rage, but it did. He reached for Vaughn's wrist, yanked Vaughn's hand out of the engine, and when Vaughn turned to growl at him, Randy growled right back. "Seriously, for fuck's sake! I'm talking to you and you can't even respond. I get that you don't like me. I get that I'm a pain in your ass, for whatever reasons you believe that I am. Honestly, I don't know what your problem is, but I didn't ask for your help, Lyle did. I won't stand here and let you to treat me like I'm a pebble in your shoe. Not in my own damn driveway. Take your attitude and your tools, and go home. I don't need this shit. Not from you, not from anyone."
Vaughn disengaged Randy's grip with a slow twist of his arm, and lifted an eyebrow.
Randy narrowed his eyes, assuming his best you-might-be-tough-but-that-doesn't-change-jack expression, but Vaughn's voice was still cold and unaffected when Vaughn spoke. "What was it doing?"
"What was... wait, what?"
"The truck," Vaughn said, once again inflecting a tone one would use with a slow child. "Explain the issue."
Issue? Randy's entire face tightened and his fists along with it. I'll give you a goddamn issue.
Instead of screaming, Randy set his jaw and leveled his voice. "Listen, Vaughn. Never you mind what my issue is. I understand that you have concerns about becoming an issue magnet, so let me just set your mind at ease right now. My problems are not going to become yours. You want to be an introverted troll, you go right ahead. You didn't ask to be my neighbor, I get that, and you obviously don't want to be my friend. I'm fine with that, too. I grew up in the city so I have no problem living beside someone that wants to remain a stranger. I'm an expert at it, in fact. As I said, your son thought it would be a good idea to come ask for your help, not me. Trust me, it's the last thing I would have done. I don't know why you're mad at me, but to be completely honest, I don't really give a fuck. That is, in fact, your issue and it is not mine. Go home."
Vaughn pulled himself upright, slowly turned towards Randy, and then propped his ass against the grill of Randy's truck. He folded his arms over his chest, flattened his lips into a grim, thin line, and drew his forehead into a frown.
Randy had no clue if Vaughn was mocking him or mirroring him subconsciously.
"All right, counselor, let's get one thing straight." Vaughn's voice was low, even, and unaffected. "I am not mad at you. I am not emotionally affected by you or your presence in Wolf at all."
Randy flinched as if he'd been slapped.
"However," Vaughn continued, "it seems that something larger than both of us has decided that I'm the only one around at the moment who has enough brains to talk some sense into that head of yours. As much as I hate the idea, this leaves me in the unfortunate position of having to play the part of Daddy Dearest." He held up one hand when Randy made as if to speak. "No. Quit the bitching and the moaning and do some thinking for a change, will you?"
He ignored Randy's sputter of indignation. "Now. Do tell, Mr. I Don't Give a Fuck, what were your plans when you got in your truck this morning?"
A hot rush of self-righteous anger had Randy gritting his teeth so hard his jaw hurt. "None of your goddamn bus—"
Vaughn's eyebrow rose to comical heights and he sucked air through his teeth. "Answer the damn question."
"I don't understand the relevance of my destination to the failure of the truck—" A flash inside Vaughn's eyes woke up all kinds of self-preservation instincts in Randy's blood. "Fine," Randy hissed. "I was going out to Dayton. Maybe Sheridan. I still don't see how that's any—"
"So," Vaughn drawled, turning back to the engine as if he'd already made his point and intended to keep on keeping on as if Randy's instructions to go home were invalid. "What you're telling me is that you were planning on driving a minimum of forty-five minutes, each way, in an untested vehicle, and you didn't even have a decent coat in the truck, let alone a pair of boots?"
Randy stared at Vaughn's back, doing his best to resist the urge to push Vaughn into the engine and close the hood.
Vaughn shot a quick glance over his shoulder as if gauging the reaction he was stirring up. "Also, counselor, would you care to tell me what's been done to get this truck ready for winter?"
Vaughn's tone was condescending enough to make Randy wish he could grow knives from his knuckles à la Wolverine. Yet even as he imagined himself slashing the expression off Vaughn's face, Randy choked on his words. "Y-you know what? You just know what the hell what? I'm not doing this with you, Mr. O'Connell, okay? I'm just not. As much as I appreciate the efforts of you keeping a big ol' eye out for my trees and trundling over with your overbearing-father chat when my truck breaks down, I am, in fact, a big boy. I actually can look out for myself quite nicely. Furthermore, if you feel the need to bestow a title on me, then Mr. Connor will work just fine. I was a lawyer. I'm not anymore. So let it go."
The half-smile Vaughn gave as reply didn't do anything to soothe Randy.
Randy tapped the frame of the truck in quick, sharp jabs though whether it was to draw Vaughn's attention or just release aggression, he wasn't sure. "Secondly, I don't know how or who brought you up, but I was taught that you don't make judgments about people without cause. Are you seriously trying to tell me that you're annoyed with me because of my jacket or my shoe selection? Who the hell do you think you are?"
Vaughn straightened so quickly that Randy stepped back. The wrench in Vaughn's hand became a pointer, and the look in his eyes could have frozen water into ice. "Listen up, you little mouthpiece. Do you have any idea how quickly something can go wrong out here? What if your truck decided to break down halfway to Dayton instead of here in the driveway? It could have been hours before someone drove past you. Were you planning on sitting in the cab and shivering for two damn hours? How about four? Wait, actually, let me guess—you're such a big damn boy that you'd probably assume you could just get out and find your own help, wouldn't you? Maybe
wander back to the last gas station you passed, hm? How far do you figure you'd have made it in canvas sneakers and clothes so thin that the wind'll rip right though them? In a jacket and a T-shirt barely made for spring, let alone—"
"No, you shut up!" Randy's voice bounced and echoed over the property, as if it had split into six different people and had run for the hills. "I have a very good father already, thank you so much. I don't need another one."
"You sure about that?" Vaughn didn't lower the wrench, pointing as he strode to the driver's side of the truck. "Because they don't look like snow tires to me."
The wrench was lifted to the window. "I don't see blankets in that cab, and I'll bet you there isn't a single match stick in that glove compartment. Should I check?" He walked two steps to bring himself level with the bed of the truck. "No bags of sand, no weight."
Then he walked back toward the engine, and jabbed the wrench at it so hard that Randy cringed on its behalf. "And that is what happens to your engine when it does not have the proper mix of coolant."
Randy stilled. He frowned. "Coolant? Why the hell would I want the truck to stay cool? It's freezing out here."
Vaughn's face softened with what had to be disbelief. "Because coolant is what keeps your damn radiator from freezing up."
Randy huffed and clucked his tongue. "I believe that would be antifreeze."
"Antifreeze is coolant!"
As much as Randy hated himself for thinking it at that moment, he couldn't help it. Frustration looked damn cute on a man Vaughn's size. He smiled. "To cool is not the same as to not freeze."
"It works the same damn way—"
"But if you knew the point was to not freeze, wouldn't it have made more sense to say antifreeze?"
"The point is—"
Randy lifted a finger and shook it. "The point is, if you think I'm such a moron, then it would have made more sense to just say antifreeze in the first place."
Vaughn lifted his hand to his forehead and pinched his temples with both thumb and pinkie. "Do you always argue like this?"
Randy smiled. "I used to be a lawyer, remember?"
"You must have been fabulous," Vaughn said, his tone dry and un-amused.
"Yes," Randy replied, lifting his chin. "I was."
He held Vaughn's gaze, but his eyes gave up before Vaughn's did. After all, Vaughn had made sense and was too close to right to argue with. Maybe he wouldn't have frozen that day if the truck had decided to give up on him, but he could easily see himself pulling the same stupid move in another month without even thinking twice about it. "So what are you telling me?" Randy asked. "Did I kill it?"
"No." Vaughn turned back to the engine, and began to squeeze hoses. "The worst you'll probably have is a split hose. When the pressure builds up, those things tend to let go before there's any real damage. I might have to work with it a bit, but I'm sure I can get it to loosen up."
"No freaking doubt." Randy hadn't meant to put the inflection in his voice, but it came out sounding like a cheap pickup line just the same. It was hardly his fault, Randy would tell himself later. He hadn't been the one putting sexual connotations in engine talk. Hose, indeed. Pressure building, sure. Loosening up, right. That had to be intentional. He also wasn't the one hanging over the engine with his ass in the air.
Vaughn's neck twisted so quickly that Randy was sure he was going to hear something pop. It was the surprise on Vaughn's face that had Randy grinning, though. Was that a blush?
Once rewarded, Randy couldn't stop himself from going for gold. "Let me guess, I suppose you're going to offer to top it up with some 'special fluid', too?"
With cheeks bright, head constantly shaking, and an almost incoherent mumble, Vaughn pulled away from the engine and bee-lined it to his own truck. The only lucid words Randy could identify were "garage" and "needing to check." It took Vaughn all of four seconds to get in his vehicle and rumble out of the driveway.
Randy nodded, oddly proud at the forced retreat. In the matter of two sentences, he'd managed to reduce Vaughn from a cranky old man to an abashed teenager. Excellent.
He turned back to the house with a smile on his face. He had a list to write for when and if he did get to town. It would start: snow tires, sand bags, spare blankets...
*~*~*
"That, sir, and I don't care what fancy name you're using for it, was some very fine chow." Randy's father pushed his plate away and leaned back in the kitchen chair with a satisfied grin. It was a smile that made Randy feel like a proud four-year-old handing over a freshly painted picture all over again. Randy had no doubt that it always would.
Randy waved his father down when he began to rise. "No, no, sit. Visit. The world's not going to end if you don't put the plates in the sink right this second. Not in my house, anyway."
"Yes." Both their heads swiveled towards Randy's mother. She rested her fork on the side of her plate, and then dropped both hands into her lap. "Let's talk for a bit, instead. It's been so long since we've seen you, Randy."
Randy's eyelids drooped along with his shoulders. Idle chitchat with his mother inevitably led to words that were best left unspoken. Worse, his mother never gave up an argument until she had won it, and she had that look in her eye that said an argument was most definitely in the works. There'd been a time in his life when Randy had been proud of the fact that he'd managed to not only live with this ability of hers, but had honed it into a viable career for himself, as well. It was, however, a skill he no longer had any use for, and his days of arguing until he was blue in the face were over—but for the rare moments when he was face-to-face with his new neighbor, and Randy was doing everything in his power to forgive and forget about those. Though whether it was Vaughn he needed to forgive or himself, Randy hadn't quite figured out yet.
Instead of waiting for his mother to continue, his father leaned forward and tried to take over the conversation. "So, do you love it here or what?"
Complete dishonesty was impossible with his father. It was better to bend the truth as opposed to telling an outright lie. The bending Dad might miss; the lying he could smell from a mile away. "It's... okay. It's different. But I'm getting used to it."
From the corner of his eye, Randy caught the satisfied smirk that cropped up on his mother's face, and he hurried to add, "Don't get me wrong, I do love it. I love the house, and the quiet, and you should see the animals that come through this place. I just have to adjust to the people. They're different from what I used to."
His mother took a long, deep breath, and both Randy and his father glanced at each other before looking her way. "Well you know, Randy, we're all still the same back home. You can always come back." She tilted her head and stared at Randy with what he liked to think of as her mind-melting glare. "Where you belong."
Randy nodded and offered her a quick smile. "I appreciate that, Mom. I really do. But I think I'm going to tough it out here for a while yet." He hoped the statement would be enough to pacify her. He should have known better. He almost groaned out loud when she slipped her glasses off her face and set them on the table.
"You know, Randy..." She steepled her fingers together and rested them under her chin.
From his peripheral vision, Randy saw his father flash a warning look.
"Mary..."
She ignored the warning. "Avery stopped by my office the other day."
The walls began to shake. The chairs they sat on screeched and trembled as the floor tried to toss them aside. Small ornaments and dishes fell to the tile, smashing into bits. Lighting swayed, and plaster crumbled off the walls to land in great puffs of dust. His father turned to scream at him, "Get under cover! We've been hit!"
Randy shook his head and told his imagination to knock it off. Nothing bigger than a fruit fly was moving in the air around them. He struggled to keep a grip on both composure and reality, and took a second to brush non-existent lint off his shirt. "Oh?"
"He was asking about you."
Oh, was he now? Randy thought,
picturing himself jumping out of the chair and screaming the words at the top of his voice. Was he really?
Once again Randy reined in his internal role-play, and offered his mother a smile. What he wanted to say, after he'd worked up the requisite level of sarcasm, was: And can I assume, Mom, that you told him to go fuck himself? That you said your son had been through enough with his infidelity already, and if he didn't leave the premises you'd have him escorted out by Security? That's what you said, right, Ma?
What he managed to say was another, "Oh?"
"Apparently he'd stopped by the firm and they told him that you had left town. He was so concerned that he rushed right over to see me."
Randy closed his eyes to hide the eye-roll that he couldn't have stopped if he'd tried. That had no doubt been a good boost for Avery's ego. A little story to share with the new boyfriends, a laugh they could have at his expense—distraught ex destroys his own career, home, and sanity after being dumped by partner. Never was completely there, if you know what I mean... Avery taps his temple... Sweet enough guy and all, but a person like me needs more than sweet, am I right?
"I see."
"He and Michael have called it quits, you know."
Randy frowned, masking disgust with confusion. "He and who?"
"Don't be a smartass, Randy. You know who I'm talking about. The young man from the gym that he was seeing after the two of you broke up."
Rather than keep trying to avoid his mother's gaze, Randy stood and started clearing the table, despite his earlier insistence of waiting. But try as he might to distract himself in an attempt to hold his tongue, the words still came. "Correction, Mom, the jerk from the gym that Avery was seeing while we were engaged. And while we were breaking up. Or, to clarify the statement further, one of the jerks that Avery was seeing while we were engaged. Whether or not Avery continued to see Michael, the other guy, or the other guy before or after that one, I have no clue." He set the stack of plates in the sink hard enough that the bottom one made a desperate squawk that sounded far too close to china cracking irreparably. He turned and gave his mother a smile. "Nor do I care."
