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Matt glances down at the funnel and adjusts the angle into the tank so the fuel flows steadily.
“That’s a bit unusual. Was it making any strange sounds?”
“Nope.”
He seems preoccupied watching the gas, like the sight of me tearing up over a car makes him uncomfortable. Feeling the need to fill the space between us, I start chattering like a squirrel on crack, oversharing in an effort to explain things and deflect from my yo-yoing emotions.
“It did do something strange in traffic yesterday. I was caught in a line of cars at a stop sign, and every time I inched forward, it would start to shudder.”
Matt shakes the tank to get the last of the fuel out but doesn’t say anything.
“You know, like little mini earthquakes. Then the engine kind of got louder like it does when you step on the gas, but I wasn’t touching it other than to move forward in traffic.”
His lips are pursed, and there’re adorable little wrinkles around his eyes from concentrating. “Alright. See if it’ll restart now and if the light is still on.”
I unlock the wayward vehicle and easily slide into the driver’s seat because it’s about a foot lower than Matt’s truck. With a sigh of relief, I sling my heavy purse into the passenger seat.
As I put the key in the ignition, I whisper another little prayer. “Please start. Please start. Please start.”
My shaking fingers turn the key, and the engine comes back to life. Birds fly off the fence line at the loud burst of noise, and I have the sudden urge to laugh hysterically.
Matt comes up to the driver’s side, and I roll down the window. My nerves are vibrating at a lower frequency with the reassuring thrum of the engine.
“Sounds alright. What’s your tank reading at?” He leans one arm against the top of the door and peers at my dashboard.
“Half full.”
“Light still on?”
I hadn’t looked yet. I’m too glad my traitorous car decided to wake back up and rejoin the living.
“Nope. It’s off now. Do you think it fixed itself?” I live in the land of hope.
“Maybe.” He flinches and shifts on his feet as if the blatant lie pains him right in the morals. He takes his wallet out of his back pocket and flips it open, digging a business card out and passing it to me through the window. “This is the number for the garage if you have any more trouble or if the light comes back on. Don’t hesitate to stop by and get it read.”
The business card is made from surprisingly thick cardstock and feels heavy in my hand, unlike the ones in the little packet he has tucked into his visor.
“Thank you.” Part of me wants to spring out and hug him, but my natural wariness is returning as my anxiety fights back the adrenaline rush. “I mean it. You saved my butt this morning.”
“Aside from your job.” He pauses, and I study the hand he has resting against the frame of the car. There’s just a faint hint of dirt under his nails. Finally, something about him that’s not perfect. “I’m sorry about that, by the way.”
“It’s probably for the best. I hated working there.”
He nods and gazes at the open field across the road from us. His lips do that pinchy thing they did when he had been disgusted with Mr. Taub earlier. I watch him since he looks like he wants to keep talking, but he finally just nods and steps back from the car.
I turn the card back over in my hand and notice another number written on the back with a local area code. “Is this your personal number?”
He blushes slightly before answering. “Yeah, although if it’s after hours, the shop phone rings through.” He rubs at the back of his neck and watches me carefully, like he wants to talk again but isn’t sure how to ask whatever is on his mind.
His eyes scan my face and down the trail of hair that’s escaped from the loose bun I’d thrown it in this morning. I watch as he swallows and opens his mouth to speak but then shakes his head and takes another step back.
“Call if you need anything.” He nods to the card in my hand. “Anything at all, alright?”
“I will.” Did someone turn up the heat? I resist the urge to fan myself. Flustered, I miss the fact that Matt’s almost back in his truck.
“Thank you again!” I yell out. He waves and shuts the door. Since I don’t have to go to work anymore, I flip a U-turn on the highway and head north. I assume Matt will head back to his garage now and his actual paying customers, but I can’t resist the urge to check in my rear-view mirror to see if he’s still there. Sure enough, the truck is still on the side of the road, although as I watch, he signals and pulls back into traffic.
The free balloon feeling swells higher when I realize I have nothing to do today. I should probably get laundry washed and cook something for a change instead of relying on drive-throughs and take-out to save a little more money. Even though the Standfords gave me a huge break on their normal rental price, I still insisted on paying them something extra for the rest of the usual season. I felt guilty that they canceled some of their registrations to clear up the space for me.
After sitting in the sun for a solid hour, my car feels like the inside of a greenhouse, so I roll the windows down, crank the radio up, and sing along to whatever song comes on for the rest of my drive. I yank the band out of my hair so it falls freely, blowing in the wind, and try to push the dark thoughts from my mind that cars don’t just fix themselves.
Matt’s unconvinced face doesn’t help my resolve, either.
