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“I just did, Claire. We really have to go. Do you have everything you need?” he asked, beckoning towards the door.
Picking up my bag from the bed, I considered arguing and demanding that he tell me, but his demeanor showed he would not reveal anything else.
“I’m ready,” I said, fighting back a new stream of tears that had started to wet my eyes.
Brent took the bag from my hand, putting it over his shoulder. With his free hand, he intertwined his fingers with mine. Kissing me softly on the forehead, he whispered, “You’re safe with me, Claire.”
Why did he always do things like that if he didn’t want to be with me? It was one of the things I would request answers to down the road. We did need to leave my aunt’s house. I understood that, but I wouldn’t allow him to evade my questions much longer.
The sun was setting, sinking slowly behind the trees. I hoped we would make it to the garage before it was dark. Stomping through the woods hurriedly, I heard twigs snapping under our feet as they crunched into the ground. Up ahead, I saw the large garage I passed a thousand times, softly lit by a single lamp post in the front. I always assumed it belonged to someone else. The structure was huge and appeared to be a barn from the road. It was built from wide cherry wood planks and was trimmed in red. A large rooster weathervane topped the high pitch of the roof.
We approached the back of the garage slowly. My nerves were switched on as darkness set in and I really wished I had grabbed a flashlight. The woods terrified me in the daylight much less in the dark. A squirrel shot out from the side wall scaring the hell out of me. My heart pumped rapidly and I almost threw myself into Brent’s arms. After everything that happened at the house, I was strung way too tight for rodent encount
ers. Brent chuckled, squeezing my hand reassuringly.
Standing in front of four large garage doors, Brent approached a small box. Opening it, he punched a series of numbers on a keypad and closed the box. The doors opened, whining as they rose. The strong scent of pine entered my nostrils making me feel nauseous.
“What is it with Maggie and pine? It’s so gross,” I said squeamishly, scrunching up my face and rolling my shoulders towards my chest.
Brent laughed at my obvious disgust.
“It acts like a deterrent for those strings at the house. They can’t come to you in public, so pine masks your scent in private helping to keep them away,” he informed me while tugging on a chain that hung from the ceiling. The room lit up.
The sarcasm in my tone was intentional. “Yeah, well, I don’t think it’s working too well.”
“Claire, it’s just a deterrent, like bug spray. You can spray your entire body with the stuff and a mosquito will find the one spot you missed and bite you,” he explained.
Considering his words for a moment, I recalled tossing that silly pine air freshener and Maggie’s response when I did. “I took the air freshener out of Maggie’s car. My missed spot, right?”
“Maggie called me that morning to tell me. When I finally found you in the parking lot, they were about to strike and, well, you know how I handled that,” he smiled, placing his hand on the lower half of my back, guiding me through the doors. My body responded to his touch, sending shivers down my spine.
“Yeah, well, I think I liked it better when I thought you were just clumsy,” I teased, stepping into the dimly lit garage.
He chuckled jovially, “Oh, I was the clumsy one, huh?”
I shrugged, turning my head so he wouldn’t see the scarlet swirls on my pale cheeks.
Remembering what else happened that morning, I contemplated telling him about the man I saw in the road. He broke my concentration, telling me we really needed to get moving. I stored it away, promising to tell him about it later.
Gazing over the giant garage full of vehicles, I saw the walls were covered in license plates, all different states and eras. Two large red toolboxes sat against the back wall next to a large workbench. My heart sagged as I saw the familiar silver truck. I had seen it in old pictures of my grandparents. It was a fifties model Chevy. The chrome detail was immaculate, shining like freshly Windexed glass. The white wall tires were still as bright as snow. Large bubbled metal protruded over each tire without even a small dent. Peeking inside, the interior was spotless. Chrome detailed the dash from the steering wheel to the glove box. The plush leather bench looked as though it had never been sat on.
I choked back tears when I spotted the macramé key chain hanging from the rearview mirror with lettered beads that read #1 Grandpa. A memory of me about three years old, sitting with my mom at Maggie’s kitchen table, fumbling through the beads, haunted me. She was patient and sweet as she helped me find the letters and braid the twine. I wiped the tears, noticing Brent staring at me amorously.
“Your Grandpa loved this truck,” Brent said, aware of my emotional response to seeing it.
“I don’t remember him,” I muttered regretfully.
He didn’t respond and I was grateful. It was too painful.
“We are taking this one,” he announced, pointing to the silver Audi SUV at the end of the row. A huge smile adorned his face. It made me laugh, boys and cars. “It’s a Q7,” he stated, as if I should know what that means.
“This cannot be Maggie’s!” I declared, considering Maggie did not like anything superficial. I was sure she would think this was over the top.
“It’s not, Claire. It belongs to you,” he claimed. “It was going to be your birthday present. It’s a couple of days early but given the circumstances, I think Maggie will be okay with it.”
“What are you talking about, Brent?” I pushed, sure he was mistaken. Maggie was not the spendthrift type. “There is no way Maggie could afford this.” I waved a hand in front of the extravagant SUV.
“There’s so much you don’t know, Claire. But it is yours. Happy Birthday!” he said excitedly, walking to the driver’s side. “It’s top of the line.”
