Still Life in Shadows (6 page)

A
mos arrived at the shop at eight o’clock, sleep still in his eyes. Gideon tossed him an old shirt and a wrinkled pair of work pants he’d found on one of the shelves in the storage room. A kid who had left Goshen, Indiana, had worn them—for all of two days. That boy hadn’t seen any beauty in changing oil or looking at engines. After a short stay in Twin Branches, he’d gone to High Point, where a relative got him a job as a salesclerk in a furniture store.

As Amos changed in the restroom, Gideon dismissed the memory of the young Goshenite. He sat at his desk, staring at paperwork that needed to get done yesterday, then he took a walk to the bays, opening the garage doors since Luke hadn’t done that yet. He breathed in the clean, crisp, autumn air and, by habit, looked to the right. The lilac-colored morning glories that had flourished in August were now only memories, except for one single bloom that had yet to fade. In his last spring in Carlisle, his mother had planted morning glories. His brother, Moriah, had picked one for her when it flowered in July, then wondered why the bloom wilted and didn’t open again the next morning, even
though Mother obliged and placed the flower in a vase of water.

The delicate heart-shaped flower made him think of Mari. Like the vine that threaded through the chain-link fence between the auto shop and Benson’s Laundromat, she seemed to have found a way to creep into his heart. Back inside his office, he sat at his desk, picturing her face, the way she smiled, the tilt of her face when he ordered his lunch.

“How do I look?” Amos was in the doorway, changed and hopefully ready to learn. The stained beige shirt swam around his narrow shoulders, and the black pants dragged on the ground. Gideon nodded his approval. If the boy stayed on and proved to be a good worker, he’d order work clothes to fit him. “Go find Luke,” Gideon said. “I’ll be with you in just a minute.”

As Amos trailed off, Gideon knew that if he was going to focus on training the new kid today, he needed to concentrate on engines and oil changes. That should keep him from spending so much time thinking of Mari.

U
sing the 2007 Jeep Limited that had been dropped off the night before, Gideon explained to Amos the parts of the car under the hood. Then, since the Jeep was in for its annual inspection, Gideon explained how to test the headlights, parking lights, and taillights. He hooked up the car to the diagnostic machine to show Amos how to test emissions.

As Amos stared at him blankly, Luke nudged Gideon. “I think he doesn’t know what fuel injectors are. You need to start slow, like you did with me.”

Slow? He
was
instructing things in his slow voice.
How much more elementary can I get?
Then an idea came to him. “Luke, why don’t you take over?”

Luke and Amos had gotten along well last night when Gideon invited them over for dinner. The two talked like old friends as they ate curried pork chops, scalloped potatoes with a cheddar cheese sauce, and baked apples. Luke asked about several relatives he had in Lancaster to
see if Amos knew them. And when Luke took out his banjo, Amos hollered as though a pig had bitten him. “A banjo! I’ve read about those. Teach me how to play.”

While Gideon cleared the dishes and made a pot of green tea, Luke strummed. Then he handed the instrument to Amos, who held it lovingly, as though it might break, and ran his fingers across the strings. Luke leaned over and showed him how to play three chords. Neither was interested in a cup of hot tea, so Gideon poured one for himself and drank it as he loaded the dishwasher.

He could see the two young men were having fun. They connected. He wondered why he had trouble connecting to people. He scraped a dish with a fork and ran some water over it; the remains of parsley from the potatoes swirled down the drain. He thought about friendships. Ormond had taken him fishing a few times in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park and at Fontana Lake. He never caught anything, but Ormond’s fetch of trout was always numerous.

Henry and his wife had invited Gideon over for meals, and when the trucker Bruce was in town for any length of time, Gideon enjoyed conversing with him. He wasn’t a recluse. Even so, he wondered why he felt so lonely.

G
ideon stood at the open garage door as a flock of geese soared into the shimmering autumn sky. He inhaled the fresh air and let it expand into his lungs. He loved living in North Carolina. What could be finer than the serenity and beauty of the Smokies?

A blue Toyota with a maroon bicycle strapped on the trunk turned into the lot. The bike looked familiar and so did the two inside. The passenger door swung open, and Kiki jumped out. Mari parked the car and emerged from the driver’s seat.

Then it dawned on Gideon. Kiki must be Mari’s daughter.

“I came home from school and had to go to the doctor, Dr. Conner.” Kiki took her bike from the trunk rack and wheeled it inside the garage. “Dr. Conner made me late getting here.”

Mari smiled at Gideon. “She says you are going to let her work here?”

“She says she wants to.”

“I’m sure she does. She likes tools.”

Gideon nodded. “She impressed us all.”

“I have to get back to the tearoom. Tell Kiki to ride her bike straight home when she is done with her work here.”

“I will.” Gideon waved to Mari, then turned to where Kiki had put her bike in his bay. He told her to bring it into the shop, out of the way of cars he and Luke—and perhaps Amos—would be repairing.

“But where will I get tools?” she said. “For the sakes of Pete, Mr. Miller, I need tools so I can work.”

“Gideon,” he said. “If you are going to work here, you need to call me Gideon.”

“Gideon.” She said the name as though it was a foreign word.

“None of this
Mr. Miller
stuff, okay?” When she nodded, he pulled out an Allen wrench, a Phillips screwdriver, and a flat screwdriver from his work chest. He motioned to the inside of the shop—away from the bays—and she pushed her bike along.

Gideon found a spot for her to work near the storage room, out of the way of the others. He had no idea what she was going to do, but assumed she wanted to tinker with her bike. If that occupied her and kept her out of his hair, it suited him fine.

“I got home and had to go to Conner’s.” Kiki sat on the floor in front of her bike. “I wanted to come here right away, but I had to go to Conner’s.”

“That’s okay.” Gideon reassured her it was all right that she had not been able to come immediately after school.

“I need a towel,” she said as he placed the tools beside her.

He entered the storage room and brought out a few shop towels. “Use only one or two of these each day. They cost a lot.”

Kiki cleaned her bike’s spokes with one of the towels. She seemed different, now that he knew she was connected to Mari. It didn’t take a
rocket scientist to realize the two could be related, since they both looked Asian. Mari must be Kiki’s mother.
Mother.
The word wasn’t one he wanted to associate with this woman he found so intriguing. He let his thoughts focus on the child, and why she was so intent on being here.

After a while, he shook his head.
If she wants a place to hang out and it makes her happy, okay,
he thought.
But I’m not paying her to tinker with her own bike. Plus, in a month, Amos goes on our payroll. Speaking of Amos, where is that kid?
“Where’s Amos?” Gideon asked Ormond and Luke.

“Went home.” Luke checked the pressure in the front tire of the car at his bay. Ormond stood beside him, telling some joke about a banjo and a piano.

“Home?” Gideon looked at the round white clock on the wall behind Luke’s head. “It’s 4:37.”

“My watch says 4:36.” Ormond lifted his hand to glance at his Rolex.

Gideon wasn’t in the mood. “What is he doing heading home this early?” The shop didn’t officially close until 5:00.

No one spoke.

Gideon looked at Luke. “Do you know why he went home before closing time?”

“He said he was tired.”

“Tired? Tired? Who said he could leave?”

Luke looked at Ormond, who looked back at Luke.

Gideon closed his eyes and saw a film of red. When his eyes opened, Kiki had joined them.

“He’s not a hard worker,” she said.

Ormond grinned, and Luke nodded.

“Does anyone want to go over to his apartment and tell him to get back here?” When no one offered, Gideon grabbed his jacket from the wall. He would give Amos a piece of his mind.
No.
He steadied his breathing. He’d wait. He’d set a good example for the others as
co-owner. He’d wait till the shop closed. Then he’d meet with Amos and talk the laziness out of that boy. He’d tell this farm boy that one didn’t walk out early from a job unless given permission. How did he expect to learn anything if he couldn’t even work a full day?

G
ideon’s walk to work the next morning was heavily seasoned with questions. His first was, why? Why was he interested in someone that he couldn’t have a relationship with? Why did he feel such a longing to get to know Mari when she’d never be the woman he could marry and grow old with? She was divorced. Growing up, his parents spoke of those who got divorced as evil, removed from God, denied of His blessings. A marriage union was supposed to last forever. Amen. If Mari was Kiki’s mother, then she must be either unwed—another unacceptable situation—or divorced. Either way, how could he ever continue being hopeful about a possible future with her? By the time he got to the auto shop, he felt weary, like he needed a nap.

Seeing Ormond at his usual perch with the newspaper, Gideon approached him, standing in front of his desk, his hands in his pockets.

“Uh … Um …” His voice sounded like a faulty muffler, in bad need of replacement. “What do you think about people who get divorced?”

Ormond read a few more lines from the sports section and then laid the paper down by his coffee mug. “What do I think?”

“Yeah.”

“About divorce?”

Gideon clarified. “About what the Bible says and all that.”

“Are you asking me some biblical interpretation about divorce?”

“I think so.”

“At this early hour? I’m only on my first cup.”

“Yes.” Why couldn’t Ormond just answer the question? He attended Valley Baptist each Sunday; he should know these things.

Ormond smoothed his mustache with his thumb. Pensively, he studied his fingernails as though seeing the dirt in them for the first time. “My sister’s husband beat her with a frying pan.”

Gideon gulped. He’d forgotten that horrific incident that happened just a year after he’d arrived in Twin Branches.

“And yes, filing for divorce and running as far as you can away from a monster like that is the only thing to do.” Through clenched jaw, he added, “And pray he gets time locked up.”

Gideon let out a low sigh. Ormond was an easygoing man, calm and humorous, except for when, as he called it,
fire rumbled under his skin.
Then his soft demeanor turned cold, eerie. Gideon was sorry he’d made Ormond remember the terrifying event of years ago. He knew Ormond’s sister had been in the hospital with broken bones and ribs for a week after that night. Gideon had only been sixteen, but he’d visited her in the hospital with a bouquet of daisies. Daisies and a handmade card were all he could afford.

Ormond took a swallow of coffee. “Some men are monsters. They’ve lost any human resemblance; let themselves be stripped of the light and love bestowed on them by their Creator.”

Gideon’s thoughts rushed to his father. Did that man ever hold any love and light? He was the epitome of beast and monster. The shed, the tree limb, the whack across that lad’s bottom, and then the hard blow against his own backside—these images were not easily dismissed in Gideon’s mind. Every time he saw his scar in the bathroom mirror, he wanted to retaliate with some act of violence. Gideon made his way to his
office and, clutching the edge of his desk, lowered himself to his chair. He breathed in and out, unaware what a toll simple breathing took on him.

A rap on his door caused him to raise his head. There stood Luke. Feebly, Gideon motioned for the young man to enter.

“Customer wants to see you. Something about spark plugs you ordered for him.”

Gideon drew in a breath. “Give me a minute.”

Luke eyed him cautiously and then said, “Do you want me to help him?”

When Gideon didn’t respond, Luke said confidently, “I can do that,” and walked away.

Gideon tried to compose himself. He felt his frustration mount, his veins hot with the thick tar of anger. He would never return to his hometown. He couldn’t, because that would mean he’d have to take the strongest stick he could find, square up to his father, and let his emotions flail. Of course, they’d toss him into jail. They locked up those who beat the tar out of men.

A
t first Gideon thought the damp, foggy weather contributed to the wariness he felt brooding in the chilly air. But as he rounded the corner, the two sheriff’s cars parked diagonally at Another Cup’s parking lot confirmed it was more than just a feeling. Officers didn’t usually come here, not even for tea. Inside the tiny eatery stood Sheriff Kingston and his deputy, Tomlin, their hands on their hips close to their holsters.