Roadside Assistance (13 page)

I absently wondered if that was who I’d seen him talking to on the phone when I was looking out the window the other day.

“How about you?” he asked. “What are you called when you’re in trouble? Not that you get in trouble.”

I chuckled. “Oh, I tick my dad off plenty. Just the other night he said, ‘Emily Claire Curtis, you need to lose the chip on your shoulder and be happy that we’re here instead of out on the street.’ “ I shook my head. “He just doesn’t get how hard this move was for me.”

“Emily Claire,” he repeated. “That’s nice.”

“Thanks.” I studied the altar again. “Claire was my mom,” I whispered, my voice suddenly thick.

“I’m sorry about your mom,” he said, touching my arm for a nanosecond. “Whitney told me.”

“Thank you.” I cleared my throat and rested my chin on my knee.

“And from what I’ve seen, you don’t have a chip on your shoulder. I can’t even imagine how hard this move was for you.”

He was silent for a moment, and I searched for something to say. Although the silence was comfortable, I felt like I should say something to him to keep the conversation going.

“There’s something you never did answer that day we fixed the timing on your dad’s truck,” he began.

“What’s that?” I turned toward him.

“What kind of car did you fix when your dad went out of town?”

“Nova.” I held my breath, hoping he didn’t ask for more details. The car belonged to Tyler.

“A Nova?” His eyes lit up. “What year?”

“Seventy.” I crisscrossed my legs. “And my dad makes way too much of it. I just did the brakes.”

“Yourself?”

I nodded. “Yeah. My dad went out of town on business, and my friend Tyler had something going on that weekend. So I did all of the brakes to keep myself busy. It was no big deal.” That wasn’t entirely true. It had been a huge, time-consuming job, but not one I was proud of completing. Looking back, I felt like a fool for all I’d done for Tyler. I’d spent two days and a full paycheck fighting to fix those brakes as a surprise for him. In the end, all I wound up with was an empty bank account and a broken heart.

“Wow.” He shook his head. “That’s amazing.”

I shrugged. “It was just brakes.” I studied my hem again, hoping Zander wasn’t going to be intimidated by me or write me off as a tomboy because I’d fixed a car by myself. Working on cars was a great stress reliever for me, and the only time I could really feel like myself, but not many people understood that.

“So why Chevys?”

“What do you mean?” I met his questioning gaze. “It was my friend Tyler’s car. He was having trouble with the brakes, so I took care of it as a favor for him.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. I mean, why do you prefer Chevys?”

“I guess you could blame that on my dad. He raced Chevys before I was born.”

“Really.” He leaned his arm on the back of the bench and rested his chin on his palm. “Did he race full-time?”

“No.” I pulled my knees up to my chest. “He did it parttime on weekends, and he dreamt of moving up to a real league. But then I was born and he had to get a real job, or so he says. He got a loan and opened his shop. And the rest is history, I guess.”

“That’s cool.” He ran his finger along the back of the bench. “It’s a shame that you only like to work on Chevys. I sure could use some help with the Dodge.”

My eyebrows shot to my hairline in surprise. “You want
my
help?” I pointed to my chest.

“Of course I do.” He gave a little laugh. “You’re like a mechanical genius, and the rebuild is a little more difficult than I’d imagined. I’m starting to wonder if my dad was right about how I’ve wasted my money on this car.”

“Don’t say that.” I looked at him, incredulous. “A restoration is never a waste of money. It’s an investment — or so we’d like to believe, right?”

“Right.” His eyes studied mine. “Why are you surprised that I’d want your help?”

I hugged my knees closer to my chest. I considered dodging the question, but the truth serum won out again. “Not every guy likes the idea of a girl working on cars. Some find it, well … intimidating.” My cheeks heated at the honesty of my comment.

He shook his head with disbelief. “That would be ridiculous.” Then he smiled. “Besides, if you helped me with my car, you’d be out of your room, which would make your family happy, right?”

I laughed. “Yeah, it would get them off my back.”

“Cool.” He nodded. “So it’s a deal. You help me with my car, and I get your family off your back.”

“Okay.” I pushed an errant curl back from my face.

“I have another burning question for you.” His expression was serious.

“Oh?”

“What was really bothering you at church last week? I know it wasn’t an eyelash.”

I blew out a sigh and turned back toward the altar. “Wow. You don’t miss a thing, do you, Zander?”

“You don’t have to answer,” he said. “It’s none of my business.”

“It’s okay.” I studied my flip-flops. “It was the last hymn. It got to me.”

“ ‘Beautiful Savior,’ “ he said.

“Yeah.” My voice quavered and I cleared my throat. “It was my mom’s favorite,” I whispered, my eyes filling with tears. “It was the first time I’d been back to church since she …” My voice trailed off.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was soft and tender. “You don’t have to discuss it.”

“It’s okay. I appreciate that you asked.” I wiped my eyes. The look on his face caught me off guard, so I studied my hem again. “We sang it at her service, so it was difficult to hear it again. Brought back some stuff I was trying to put behind me.”

“My grandfather used to always say that if God brings you to it, he’ll bring you through it.”

I bit back a frown.
Here we go.

He gave me a little smile. “From your expression, I gather you’re not buying it, huh?”

“Well …” I hesitated. But for some reason, I couldn’t be dishonest with Zander, and I found it unnerving — almost as unnerving as his obvious faith in God. “I’m sorry,” I began, shaking my head, “but I’m not buying it. Not at all.”

He shifted his weight and I could feel the atmosphere change. “While I’m not one for clichés, I’ve found that this one is actually true. I’ve been through some rough patches, and even when I felt like God had abandoned me, he was there all along and got me through it.”

Then he was lucky.

I fingered my cross and stared at the large stained-glass cross hanging above the altar. “You really believe in God.” “And you don’t?”

“I’m not sure anymore.” I turned to him. “Not since I lost her.”

“But you wear a cross.” He nodded toward my collarbone. “It belonged to my mother. She said it gave her hope when she was sick.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And it doesn’t give you any.” It was a statement more than a question.

I shook my head. “No. I’d hoped it would, but it hasn’t happened yet.”

His expression brightened, as if I’d admitted a secret faith. “But you’re not giving up.”

I shrugged. “I don’t know why I wear it. I guess it’s in memory of her.”

He paused for a moment. Then he opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the sanctuary doors opening with a whoosh.

“There you are,” Whitney snapped, hands on hips and impatient. “I was looking all over for you.”

“We’ve been in here talking,” I said, wondering when she became my mother. Was she filling in since Darlene was at home?

“We were tired of being shushed during the movie,” Zander chimed in.

Whitney frowned. “You could’ve told me that you were blowing off the movie. It would be helpful if you had a cell phone, Emily. Then you could just, like, text me when you change your plans.”

“You don’t have a cell phone?” Zander asked, his eyebrows arching toward his hairline in surprise.

“Please, not you too,” I grumbled, standing. “No, I don’t have one.”

“Interesting.” He stood and faced Whitney. “Is the movie over?”

“Yeah,” she huffed. “It’s been over for, like, fifteen minutes.” She scowled at me. “I was going to leave, but I wanted to be sure you got home. I called the house and your dad was home, but he hadn’t seen you. Everyone was worried.”

I stared at her. Was she serious? Was she really angry with me for not checking in with her? It was bad enough having Darlene on me about my attire, but being babysat by Whitney would probably send me over the edge. I opened my mouth to snap at her, but Zander interrupted me.

“It’s my fault,” he said with a smile, placing a hand on my shoulder. “I needed her advice on my Dodge, so I kidnapped her to pick her brain.”

“Oh.” Whitney looked between us. “Well, we better go, Emily. I still have homework to finish.”

“If it’s all right, I’ll give her a ride home.” Zander’s hand dropped from my shoulder. He yanked keys from his pocket, and they jingled at the motion. “We still have some car talk to finish up.”

I looked between them, feeling like a little kid.

“Of course it’s up to you,” he said quickly, looking at me. “You can ride with Whitney if you’d rather.”

“Oh, well, if you need my help with your car, then I’ll ride with you,” I said, glancing back at Whitney, who was still scowling.

“Fine.” She turned. “Would’ve been nice to have known that twenty minutes ago,” she grumbled, starting down the hall.

“Why is she so uptight?” I asked.

He snorted. “I guess she was really worried.”

I shook my head. “I felt like her child rather than her cousin.”

He held the door open and motioned for me to walk through.

I fell into step with him as we headed toward his Jeep. “Thanks for saving me from a ride home listening to her complain about my behavior.”

He wrenched the passenger door open. I hopped in and examined the interior. I didn’t know a ton about Chrysler, but the Jeep looked to be a late nineties model, complete with a tan vinyl interior. The truck was clean and well kept, and he had replaced the stock stereo with an impressive CD changer. It was obvious that Zander loved his vehicles.

He smiled. “You may not thank me once we get on the road.”

“What do you mean?” I inwardly groaned, hoping he wasn’t going to start in on my lack of faith again.

“I really am going to pick your brain.” Once buckled in, he started the Jeep. “I do need help with the car.”

I blew out a sigh of relief. Cars were easy to discuss; relationships and God were much more difficult. I think that’s why I loved cars so much. They were effortless and didn’t expect anything in return, except maybe some gas, a good paint job, and a periodic tune-up.

By the time Zander parked in front of his garage, we had a
plan of attack for his troublesome Dodge, and he was all smiles, obviously pleased with my suggestions. The brief tension we’d had in the sanctuary seemed to be gone as well.

“I guess I’ll see you at school tomorrow,” he said as we stood in the driveway.

“I’ll be there,” I said. “Thanks for the ride.”

“No, thank you for the help with the car.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” I said with a laugh. “I don’t know if it’ll work.”

“I bet it will.” He grinned. “Good night, Chevy Girl.” “Night, Mr. Mopar.” I smiled as I walked up the path to the deck.

I was still smiling when my dad stuck his head in my room a little while later.

“How was youth group?” he asked, stepping through the doorway.

“Good,” I said, setting my Spanish book down on the window seat. “How was your appointment?”

“Good.” He lowered himself onto the edge of my bed.

“Can you be more specific?” I asked, twirling my pen in my hand.

He rubbed his chin, and I knew he was censoring his thoughts, which irritated me. But I didn’t want to push him too hard and have a repeat of our argument the other night.

“Pastor Keith and I talked about things, and it seemed helpful.”

“Huh.” I frowned at his evasive response. “Things.”

“Yup.” He nodded toward the window. “I saw you got a ride from Zander.”

“Yeah. He and I talked about
things.”
I gave him a wry smile.

“Touché,” he said with a grin. “Did he finally ask for your help with his car?”

I nodded.

“I figured he would. It would be good for you to help him. I know you miss tinkering in the shop.” “Well, if you let me work for you —”

He held his hand up, shushing me. “Let’s not argue tonight, Emmy. It’s been a long day.” He started for the door. “Don’t stay up too late. You have school tomorrow.”

“Yes, Daddy,” I said. “Good night.”

“Night.” He slipped through the door and then stuck his head back in. “Oh, I forgot to tell you who called me today.”

“Who?” I asked, assuming it was someone from home, like my dad’s best friend, Ross.

“Your grandmother.”

I groaned. I knew what he was going to say next. He’d want to go visit with her and endure endless discussions of Whitney’s perfection in person. He had to be kidding me. I knew she would call eventually. I’d simply been hoping to avoid Grandma until the holidays.

“Now, now, Emily,” he said, going into his father mode. “She’s your only living grandparent.”

I scowled. “Your point?”

“She’s offended we haven’t visited her yet. I told her I have to work Saturday, but she suggested you, Whitney, and Darlene come visit.”

I feigned a cough. “You know, I think I’m coming down with something. It’s probably best I not infect her or the other people in her assisted living facility.”

“Emily Claire,” he began, sounding stern. “It would be nice if you went to see her. She’s dying to see you.”

“Yeah, right.” When his frown deepened, I sighed and waved off his expression. “Fine. Whatever.”

“I told her you’ll stop by as soon as you can with Whitney and Darlene, and I’ll get over there as my work schedule permits.” He tapped the doorframe. “Get some rest.”

“I’ll need it,” I said after he’d disappeared. I was engrossed in my Spanish homework when a knock sounded on the doorframe.

“Hey,” Whitney said. “Can I come in?”

“Sure.” I closed my book, wondering if I was going to get another lecture on how thoughtless I was to run off without permission. “What’s up?”

She stepped through the door clad in pink pajamas. “Sorry for being snippy earlier. I really overreacted, huh? I was just surprised when I came back to the room and you were gone. I’d thought you’d flaked out and gone home with your dad.”