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“Are you seriously asking me such a gender-biased question?” I ask.
“Well, yes, I suppose that was a stupid question.” He drops his eyes to the engine.” I’ve just never seen a girl work on her own car.”
I nod. “You never watch Nascar?” I pause, thinking about Shawna Robinson, Hailie Deegan, Manami Kobayashi, Gracie Trotter, Danica Patrick. I don’t feel like getting into this discussion with him. With a sigh I go on. “Now you have, so could you tell me who this fellow is you know?”
I look at him for the first time. He has put on a dark blue t-shirt, but he’s wearing the same jeans. I know because there’s a boot high green stain on the pant legs. I enjoyed seeing his sculpted torso, but I’m relieved he’s fully dressed now. It helps me to speak without stuttering.
Perusing Kiley’s guts, he nods. “Yeah, he’s in Lead.”
“Don’t you shop local, at all?”
“What? Sure, it’s just the best people I know for the job happen to be outside of Deadwood.”
“I guess that’s fair. This is a small community.” I relent.
“Most people drive to Rapid City or Spearfish for big purchases. Just depends on what you’re needing.” He leans over the exposed ignition coils. “You thinking it’s these giving you problems?”
“Yeah. Smell ‘em. I think one or two of them are fried.”
“You may be right.” He stands to his full height with an inhale. “Okay, let me see…” He lifts his cell phone from his back pocket and thumbs the screen for a moment. “There, I sent you his contact information.”
“Thanks.” I hesitate. Why is he being so nice after I was such a grouch this morning.
“Sure.” He steps back, crossing his arms over his chest. They barely fit around his engorged pectoral muscles. Did he just do some weight training to puff up before coming over here to talk to me?
He adds, “Listen, about the other night.”
I freeze.
“I was just goofing around with ya.” He continues. “I didn’t mean anything by asking you to sing that song with me. Just like you were kidding when you sang You’re So Vain, right?”
I stare at him. Was he serious? “Uh, sure.”
“I understand people choose songs that have deep meaning for them, like you did with I Will Survive. But I promise, I was just kidding around.”
“Okay.” An edge of anger turns to embarrassment with his keen perception of why I chose I Will Survive for me to sing. Dang, he was right though. I did choose it because it’s my new theme song. I consider what else he said. Does he mean it? Was he just kidding about singing, “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart?”
I wasn’t sure if I felt disappointed or relieved. I really need to get a grip on my heart and mind. I do not need a man in my life. Not right now. Maybe not ever. Jason has wrecked my heart and until I can fix the dents and busted parts, I just can’t let anybody drive it again.
What a stupid car metaphor, but the truth of it was, I needed time to heal before I let myself get involved. Blaze just seemed to walk in and take over, and I just needed him to slow down. Be my neighbor. Maybe be my friend. Nothing beyond that. I lift the envelopes Blaze had handed me. Junk mail, junk mail, then South Dakota Department of Revenue. “Hmm.” I slide my finger under the flap and pull out the folded paper.
“Oh Crap!”
Chapter Five?
My first client in Deadwood, Michelle, is not available for phase two of her declutter until five o’clock this afternoon. I’ve got plenty of time to call a tow truck and take Kiley to Lead. I will call Blaze’s mechanic friend to set up an appointment. If I can get my car fixed and drive myself back home before five, then I’ll be able to take Michelle’s discarded things out of her house. I hope she didn’t weaken last night and take any of her culled things out of the spare bedroom. I’ve had clients who did that, and it was twice as hard to get them to let go the second time.
Maybe since Cindy spent the night, because she had drunk too much wine, Michelle stayed strong. All I can do is hope that’s what I find when I go over tonight.
Dialing the mechanic’s number, I wait through several rings. “Fosdick’s,” He answers at last. An impact wrench fills the speaker on my phone, drowning out his voice. I tell him my problem and ask him to take a look at Kiley today. Surprisingly, he says, “Sure,” if I can get her there before noon.
“I’m on it.” I say and hang up. Scrambling to google for a tow truck near me. Google lists two, both in Deadwood. I call the first one listed. Boy, Lady Luck is on my side today, the tow truck is in my driveway in thirty minutes and Kiley is being winched on top of the long flat bed. I crawl into the cab with the driver, who barely looks eighteen. He has dark peach fuzz for a mustache and an enormous Adam’s apple that bobs when he swallows or speaks. He looks like such a hay-seed farm boy, I want so bad to ask him who he took to prom, but I keep my questions to myself. We head for Lead, which isn’t all that far away, it’s almost like a suburb of Deadwood.
I am banking on the fact that I will have no other ride home except for Kiley to be running, to motivate Mr. Fosdick to fix her today.
I hear the round guy, wiping grease from his hands before shaking hands with my tow truck driver, say, “Thanks Wade Karl.”
So he obviously knows the kid well. I was probably right about his age, because no man over twenty-one continues to go by his first and middle name that his momma called him when he was a boy.
