Lifers (13 page)

“That’s really nice of you, Mom, but I don’t think he has any money at all.”

“If you can get something for $50, I’ll take the money from the hardship fund. That’s what it’s there for. Just make sure you get a receipt.”

I think we were both surprised when I pulled her into a tight hug. We didn’t have a touchy-feely relationship, but I thought this definitely warranted a show of affection.

“Thanks, Mom. You just keep on surprising me—I like it.”

“Oh you too, honey. I’m so proud of the compassionate young woman you’ve become.”

“Yeah, don’t overdo it, Mom.”

She laughed and stood up straight. “Don’t wait up!” she called over her shoulder.

I was wide awake after that, so I decided to ignore what Jordan had said and go pick him up. Then we could drive straight to the junkyard and get him some new tires. I hoped.

And I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to get four truck tires in the Princess, so we might have to make two trips. Better get started.

I admit that I had an excited bubbly feeling in my stomach at the thought of having a whole day to spend with Jordan. I wanted to help him, for sure, but there was more to it than that. And not just the fact that the guy was seriously hot. I wanted to
know
him, and I wanted him to have the chance to be the person he was meant to be, not just the shadow of a man he was right now.

And hell, if I had to stay in this small town another four or five months, I may as well do someone a good turn if I could. Jeez, I was turning into my mother. Was that like some kind of curse? We all end up turning into our parents no matter how much we fight it?

I took my time in the shower and pulled out my favorite jean shorts for my non-date with Jordan. I wasn’t hungry, but I was desperate for coffee so I made a full pot, drank two cups and filled a thermos with the rest to give to Jordan.

I was a bit apprehensive driving to his house, especially after last night’s little scene with his mom, but I struck lucky. I spotted him jogging down the road, his backpack thumping against him with every stride. I took a moment to appreciate the smooth glide of his gait despite the thick scab on his left knee, and took pleasure in watching the muscles lengthening and contracting in his strong thighs.

He looked surprised and slightly worried when he saw me. That was okay, it was his default setting—one I was determined to try and change.

“Hey, cowboy! Did ya forget your damn coffee?” I yelled out of the window, waving the thermos at him.

He cracked a smile and leaned against the car, one arm on the roof.

“Thanks! I could definitely use it. Are you headin’ out for the day?”

“Sure am. Hop in.”

“That’s okay. I can make my way on over to your momma’s place—you don’t have to give me a ride.”

“Get in, doofus, we’re going shopping.”

He was half in the seat when he honed in on the word ‘shopping’.

“Um, pardon me, but what did you say?”

“You heard—shopping! There’s nothing wrong with your hearing, cowboy.”

He clipped his seatbelt into place and watched me as I put the car in drive.

“Why are we shoppin’, Torrey?”

I liked the way my name sounded when he said it.

“Waaal,” I said, drawing out the word the way I’d heard him pronounce it, “my mom is one of those Christian types who likes to do good deeds…”

“I’ve noticed,” he said, his voice toneless.

“Yeah, and she’s decided that I can be her sidekick, like…”

“SpongeBob and Patrick Star?”

“Oh, boy! You watched waaaay too many cartoons in prison. No, I was thinking something cooler like Batman and Robin.”

“You think Robin is cool?”

“Fair point. Well, maybe not the Burt Ward version…”

“Not any of them.”

“Okay, well Catwoman then.”

“Catwoman was Batman’s arch enemy.”

“I know, but the outfit was cool.”

“I thought it was hot,” he said, raising one eyebrow.

I liked the way he looked when he did that.

“Yeah, but that’s not the point…” I reminded him.

“So there is a point?” he smiled.

I loved seeing his smile, too.

“There was when I started, I’m not so sure now; I keep getting interrupted by a giant know-it-all.”

“Sorry.”

“Apology accepted.”

“So, where we goin’ again?”

“I told you: shopping.”

“Shoppin’ for what?”

“You’ll see.”

He huffed, looking irritated.
Yay! At least he didn’t look anxious or scared—progress!

I patted his leg.

“Just sit back and enjoy the ride.”

“Can you go back to the bit where you were sayin’ your momma liked to do good deeds?”

“I don’t know, are you going to interrupt me again?”

“Nope.”

“Promise?”

“Yep.”

“Hmm…”

“Hmm?”

“No, I’ve changed my mind.”

He ground his teeth with frustration and shot me a dirty look.

I couldn’t help laughing out loud and watched from the corner of my eye as he cracked another smile. If he kept this up, smiling would become a habit.

It took nearly 30 minutes to drive the nine miles to the junkyard, mostly because I took a wrong turn out of town. Then I realized I was getting near Jordan’s ten-mile limit, and had to turn around and start from the beginning, turning the whole trip into a 35-mile drive.

Jordan didn’t seem to mind. We chatted about random stuff—films he’d liked as a kid, a few that he’d seen while in prison.

I should probably have asked him the way to the junkyard, seeing as he’d lived here since he was born, but I wanted to surprise him.

When I turned into the dusty lot, he was definitely surprised.

“We’re at the junkyard,” he said, flatly.

“Yes, Captain Obvious. We’re looking for truck tires,” I explained, climbing out of the car.

A look of disappointment crossed his face.

Darn. Maybe I should have told him earlier where we were going.

It was a pretty depressing place. Wounded cars and trucks littered the whole area, the aluminum and steel glittering under a layer of fine, brown dust. The dead had been heaped into pyres of crushed metal, waiting to be taken away and recycled—the
Soylent Green
of the auto world.

A mountain of rubber tires stood out darkly at the rear of the lot. It was a grim reminder of where cars came to die. I swear my Firebird quivered in terror.

“Um, good surprise?” I asked tentatively, risking a glance at Jordan’s blank expression.

He frowned slightly and shook his head.

“Torrey, this is real nice of you, but I don’t have money for new tires. I told you this.”

“True, but you weren’t thinking of God’s bounty.”

“You’re gonna have to explain that.”

“Mom gave me fifty bucks to get you some new tires. And before you argue, it didn’t come out of her own pocket, so don’t start bitching about it.”

He crossed his arms, a move that made his biceps look lickable, I mean, likeable—whatever—and he leaned back in his seat.

“You mean the money came from the community hardship fund, don’t you.”

“Aw, you guessed,” I said, pretending to look disappointed.

“I cain’t accept it,” he snapped.

“Sure you can.”

“Folks around here won’t…”

“Folks around here won’t know. And guess what, even if they did know, it’s not their call. That money is Mom’s to dispense as she sees fit. Besides, don’t you find it an interesting paradox that it was people from the community who slashed your tires, but that the same community will pay to replace them? Some might call that serendipity.”

“Or ironic.”

“Both work,” I agreed, happy that he understood.

“I don’t know…” he began, biting his lip.

I want to do that
.
Jeez, my inner monologue is a horny harlot.

“I
do
know, so get out of the darn car and help me find what we’re looking for, Auto Boy.”

He scowled but unclipped his seatbelt. “You sure have a lot of nicknames for me.”

“I know. I’m creative like that. You should hear the ones I’ve got for my new step-mom.”

“I didn’t know you had one?”

“You don’t know everything about me,” I said, raising an eyebrow.

Before he could reply, we were approached by an enormously hairy guy, the size of a WWE wrestler. I was very glad that Jordan was with me, because this guy was seriously scary.

“Well, well,” he bit out, in a deep baritone voice. “If it ain’t the notorious Jordan Kane.”

Ooh, hadn’t counted on that. I hope things aren’t about to get violent.

“How you doin’, Hulk?” Jordan asked, quietly.

Oh wow! Winding up a 400 pound monster is not my idea of smart
.

“Better than you, boy, that’s for sure.” Then the monster-man held out a meaty fist. “Good to see you, kid.”

They shook hands in some complicated man-moves and slapped each other on the back. Jordan coughed slightly and I wouldn’t have been surprised to see his spine sticking out through a lung.

Then the Hulk turned to me. “And who’s the purty lady, you dawg!”

“Give me a break,” Jordan muttered, looking and sounding embarrassed. “This is Torrey Delaney. She was nice enough to give me a ride.”

“Was she now?”

“Hi!” I said brightly, proud that my hand didn’t tremble as I held it out.

The Hulk took my fingers gingerly and gave my hand a gentle shake, as if afraid I’d disintegrate if he held on any tighter. His eyes flicked up and down me then turned back to Jordan.

“So, what are you doin’ over this-aways, kid?”

“Need me some tires for Mikey’s truck, Hulk.”

Oh, so ‘Hulk’ is his name, not an insult. And Jordan has been ragging on
me
about nicknames.

“Yeah? How many you need?”

“Four.”

Hulk looked surprised. “What the hell you do?”

Jordan didn’t reply, suddenly finding the dirt at his feet utterly fascinating, so I stepped in with the answer. “Some asshat slashed them.”

Hulk looked back to Jordan who was still staring at the dusty ground.

“Think I might have what you need, kid,” Hulk said. “Grab ahold of that tire iron and follow me.”

Hulk led the way and I trailed at the back.

“Hey!” I hissed at Jordan. “How well do you know this guy?”

“Pretty well, why?”

“Just wondering. I didn’t want to end up in his car crusher.”

Jordan grinned at me. He had nice teeth.

“Nah, you’re safe. Hulk is a pussycat.” Then his smile faded. “Me and Mikey learned all we knew about cars from him.”

Hulk led us past a small mountain of mangled metal, to the truck area of the junkyard, where the maimed and three-wheeled had limped to a halt, the spare parts huddling together for comfort.

“Help yourself,” he said, waving his arm at the plastic and aluminum carcasses.

He started to walk back to the office.

“Um, Mr. Hulk?” I said, a little nervously. “We only have fifty dollars…”

Hulk looked amused. “There’s no charge.”

“Oh, really?”

“Nope.”

And he turned away again.

“In that case…?”

He looked over his shoulder, his expression patient.

“What is it now, girl?”

I don’t like being called ‘girl’ but right now I need his help—plus I don’t know if he turns green and doubles in size if he gets mad.

“I was wondering if you had any spare car paint. Jordan’s truck kind of got redecorated, too.”

“That right?”

His eyes flicked across to Jordan who shrugged.

“I’ll see what I can find. This a-way.”

I trotted behind Hulk and he led me to a shed behind his office. It was a cornucopia of metal paints. Cans of all colors and all sizes were scattered around. Some had dried to powder, but there were enough that were still usable.

“Wow! This is great! Thanks, Hulk.”

He nodded then frowned at me.

“You ain’t from around here.”

It was a statement, not a question.

“No, I’m just passing through.”

“He don’t need no woman trouble.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Not all women are trouble.”

“Sez you.”

“And your point is?”

“Jordan’s not a bad kid.”

“I agree. In fact I’m sort of surprised to find anyone other than me and my mom who’ll actually talk to him.”

Hulk studied me steadily. “You’re that preacher lady’s girl, ain’t you?”

“Yep, that’s me. Guilty as charged.”

“Huh. So, Jordan is your charity case—that right?”

I stared back coldly. “There’s nothing wrong with charity. But as far as I’m concerned, I’m just helping out a friend. What’s your excuse?”

He barked out a loud laugh that made me jump. “Well, ain’t you a lil’ firecracker! I’m glad to see Jordan done got hisself a good ‘un.”

Then he ambled back into the office, still chuckling.

I was left alone with the paint stash, feeling a little confused.

By the time I’d sorted out which ones Jordan was most likely to want, I was very dusty and sweaty. I collected the thermos of coffee from my car and went to find him.

He was even sweatier and dirtier. I guess wrestling four truck tires would do that to a man. He’d abandoned his t-shirt and was standing in just his sneakers and those baggy cut-offs. They ought to come with a health warning, because I was sure I was going to stroke out watching him hitch them up at regular intervals.

“Hey, cowboy! You forgot your damn coffee again!” I yelled.

He turned and gave me a big smile then walked over and flopped down next to me in the shade of the building.

“Did you find what you needed?” I asked, passing him the cup of coffee.

“Yeah, four good tires.”

“Excellent. The question is, do you think we’ll be able to get them all in the Princess?”

“We should be able to get three in the trunk.”

“Oh, goodie, because so many trucks run on three wheels.”

“Yeah, who knew?”

I slapped his arm and he leaned away, dodging as I swung again.

“You play rough!” he said.

I raised one eyebrow and watched with vindictive pleasure as his cheeks pinked up again.