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Henry tumbled into the driveway, a ball of energy.
“Uppy, uppy!”
I laughed, and with an exaggerated grunt, lifted Henry into the truck. Even the step was too high for his little legs to reach.
He slid into his booster seat restored by me in its usual spot in the middle of the bench, as he did every morning, then looked around.
“Where’s Phoebe?”
“I dunno, good question. Lemme check.”
I walked over to the Airstream, and just as I was about to knock, Phoebe stepped out.
“Hey, Carter, I’m ready.”
She was wearing a light sundress with thin little straps that grazed her pale shoulders. It was lavender, and it clung to her chest but flowed out at her hips. On her feet were the same simple sandals. She looked like a woodland nymph.
“That’s a pretty dress,” I commented, trying to think of the mildest thing I could possibly say about such a dazzling number and the dazzling girl wearing it.
“Thanks.” Her eyes sparkled. “Are we heading out?”
“Yup.”
In the truck, Phoebe and I sandwiched Henry between us like the filling in an Oreo. Jo-Beth offered to ride in the back of the truck.
We drove to the next town over and dropped off Jo-Beth at the library before it opened with arrangements to pick her up that afternoon. As we pulled away, Phoebe waved at her friend and then turned to me with a smile. She smiled at Henry beatifically then rustled his hair.
We’re the perfect little family. I stopped my thoughts in their tracks — we weren’t anything. Phoebe was an outsider. A pretty one, sure, but nothing more. She was passing through. Why did I let my mind play such dangerous tricks on me? Letting a woman slip in under the wire like that, tsk. You let your guard down for a minute and bam! Chaos.
In a moment we were driving down the street, and then onto the small highway that connected the town to the auto shop.
“It’s quiet out here,” Phoebe observed.
“Peaceful.” I’d lived enough to know that quiet and peaceful were two different things, and it was important to mind the gap.
“That’s what I meant.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Henry grab Phoebe’s arm. “You’re nice,” he said.
“Thanks, Henry. I think you’re awesome too.”
The strings of my heart were getting yanked back and forth as though they were controlled by some kind of vicious puppet master. God, it would be way easier to ignore Phoebe if she wasn’t so dang good.
Light filtered through the window, and danced across Henry’s blond hair. The truck cabin was hazy, calm. A perfect early morning family drive.
At last, we pulled into the auto shop. Phoebe’s decimated rustbucket sat out front. The hood was mangled, and the middle was sagging like an old lady’s breasts. I was surprised they’d made it out of Connecticut, let alone all the way to California. I mean, sure, they’d had an accident, but this car had been the worse for wear long before it’d met that pole.
“Yikes,” Phoebe breathed as I brought my truck to a halt. “Not promising, huh?”
“Well, I’ll do what I can to repair the hood, and then you’ll be getting’ those parts in soon enough. Won’t be pretty, I’ll tell ya that much. But it’ll get the job done.”
“It’s supposed to be for Jo-Beth’s cousin.”
At that, I raised a surprised eyebrow. “Somebody is going to drive this thing?”
Phoebe turned to me and bit her lip, saying, “Yeah, he wants it for parts. Is that bad?”
I didn’t have to reply — we both knew the answer.
With a sigh, she threw open her door and lifted Henry out, placing her hands under his armpits and hoisting him onto the ground. Though I couldn’t see around the enormous body of the truck, his little squeal and her subsequent laugh suggested to me that he’d done his trademark move — throwing his arms around your legs in a show of warmth and delight. It’s very affecting, and all around adorable. I have this on good authority from other town folk, cuz I know I’m biased.
The three of us walked to the open garage, to the limp mess of a car.
“Oh hi there, little lady,” a voice said.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
For the first time in his life, Big Bob had happened to show up to the shop early. Wasn’t that just convenient?
“This oughta be fun,” I muttered, and headed inside.
CHAPTER 13
Phoebe
I’M NOT A complainer. Seriously, I swear I’m not. When you grow up with two younger siblings, two hard-working parents, and a work ethic of your own, you don’t have the time or leisure to be a complainer.
So please know that I’m not just being a princess when I say, Big Bob was a creep.
Carter introduced us briskly in a tone that suggested he didn’t like Big Bob any more than I did.
The man clasped my hand — his was wet to the touch.
