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“The gloves.” He pointed to my bare fingertips.
I slipped the fingerless gloves under my thighs. “I didn’t have a lot of time to buy winter gear, and I’m only here for a couple of days.”
“My mom would kill me if I let you leave here without warm hands.”
He disappeared into the mudroom and returned with a pair of hand knit mittens. “We don’t have a black pair.”
“Thanks.” I patted the red and white striped mittens.
“At least your hat is practical.” I touched my wool hat that wasn’t too different from his. “If I gave you the matching hat, you’d look like Waldo.”
“I don’t think I’m going to blend in here.”
Jack cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. There’s lots of city people here. Especially with the movie.”
My ears perked up, reminding me that I wasn’t in Chance Rapids to sit in a cozy kitchen sipping coffee with a farmhand named Jack. “That’s why I’m here. I’m doing a story on the movie.”
“Oh, you’re a writer?” His tone changed and he slugged back the rest of his coffee. “Well, then we better get you into town.” Jack took my empty mug and rinsed it in the sink. He couldn’t seem to shuffle me out of his mom’s kitchen fast enough. “Come with me.”
I slipped my gloves into my backpack and pulled on the red and white striped wool mitts. Jack strode ahead and I followed him to one of the barns. This one was newer looking than the others and when we stepped inside I realized it wasn’t a barn, but a garage. – filled with cars.
Shiny vintage pickup trucks sat next to classic corvettes. “Wow.” I stopped in the doorway. “I wasn’t expecting this.”
“What were you expecting?” Jack said, his tone now mirroring his father’s – gruff. “A rusty old pickup truck with chicken feathers stuck in the seats?”
Kind of. But I didn’t say that. “These are beautiful.” I took out my phone and snapped a couple of photos. Jack pushed a button and opened the garage door before starting up a classic Bronco painted the color of a pumpkin. The engine growled and even though he seemed inexplicably pissed at me, Jack opened the passenger door for me. I tossed my backpack into the back seat and stepped inside. “It makes sense.” I touched the dials on the dashboard gently with a little reverence. “Your father owns a garage, of course he’s into cars.”
Jack furrowed his brow at me. “Yeah. A real enthusiast.” He grumbled as he put the collectible SUV into first gear and revved the engine before navigating out of the dark garage and into the light of day. I squinted and fished around in my bag for my sunglasses. The pink dawn had turned to a bluebird sky, the sun shining brightly, reflecting off the rolling white fields of snow.
Jack put on a pair of gold rimmed aviators that had been stored above his visor. For some reason I was surprised, for a farm guy the glasses seemed flashy.
When Muriel and I had driven to the farm, it had been dark, but in the daylight I could see glimpses of the side of Chance Rapids that would never make it into a movie. Dilapidated houses with blue tarps covering holes in the roof sat next to grand looking old homes. The downtown that I’d seen the night before was in stark contrast to the wrong side of the tracks section of town. Mobile homes sat crammed together, old sofas and trash pails overflowing with empty beer cans, and cars perched crookedly on blocks that had sunk into the ground over time.
It was the side of small town living that the movies left out. The people who lived in those homes wouldn’t be skipping into the local bakery or flower shop to run into the high school sweetheart who’d come home a billionaire.
Confused as to the hot and cold from Lumber comma Jack, I focused on studying the scenery as we made our way through the downtown which was even more quaint in the daylight. Cute shops, a craft brewery, and a flower shop all sat next to each other. “Is this where they’re filming?” I asked. If I was a director, it’s where I would shoot.
“No, down at the far end, by the real estate office, the Last Chance, and Sugar Peaks Coffee Shop.” There wasn’t any warmth to his voice, and he wasn’t offering up any small-talk, but at least he was responsive.
“The Last Chance?” I squinted behind my glasses trying to see what he was talking about.
“It’s the local seedy bar. It doubles as the only…” he cleared his throat. “Gentleman’s club – on Tuesday’s.”
I couldn’t help but smile. I knew where I’d be spending the evening. That was the angle this story needed. I pointed to the curb that I’d hit. “That’s what wrecked my rental car. I drove right over it. Why are the curbs so big in this town?”
Jack geared the Bronco down and looked at me and then where I was pointing and then back at me. “You drove over that?” The sides of his mouth turned up and I could tell he was masking a smile. “That’s not a curb, it’s a snowbank – and no wonder the car stopped working, that frozen pile of snow would be a challenge even for Cindy.” He patted the dashboard of the Bronco.
“Cindy?”
“Yeah.” The growl was back. We crossed through the one stoplight in town, still flashing yellow, and into the parking lot of the garage. The rental car was visible through the windows in the garage, up on a hoist.
I clicked out of the seatbelt before Jack had come to a complete stop. “Well, thank you for the drive, and thank you for your cabin. I really appreciate it.”
“Good luck with your story.” He didn’t look at me.
“Bye Jack.” I hopped out of the car, thankful that I didn’t have to spend any more time with a man who had gone from charming and sweet, to the town grouch.
As he pulled away, I muttered. “Jack. Ass.” If he could make up names, so could I.
