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“Yogurt.” I point to it. “And we drove it here in the Range Rover.” I lift my eyebrows. “Because I think someone stole my car.”
He folds his arms over his chest, and his forehead furrows. “No one in their right mind would steal that car.”
I grimace.Fair point.Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a handful of quarters. “Tabby, you said you wanted to check out the arcade, right?” When I brought up that we could visit her father at the rink, Tabby didn’t want to go at first, but then she mentioned the rink had some video games, and I could coax her.
Now, she swipes the coins from my hand and scurries off. The arcade is within eyesight, and the rink is closed for camp, so she’s safe there. When she’s out of hearing range, I hold out the yogurt, and he takes it from me. I try again. “Duke, could you tell me what happened to my car?”
“I asked my mechanic to look it over.”
I’m not sure what I expected when I came to visit him at the practice facility. Part of me wondered if he would say anything about taking my car if I didn’t somehow confront him about it. But I didn’t expect this.
A mechanic? My brain tallies the cost of my car’s potential repairs. The number it spits out makes me nauseous.
“I see.” I inhale and do my best to plan the most diplomatic response I can. “You do realize that is my personal property. I would have appreciated it if you had cleared that with me.” If he had, I would have told him I don’t have money for a mechanic.
He exhales, and for the first time, I realize he looks tired. My alarm went off at six o’clock, and he was already gone, so I have no idea what time he woke up this morning. Add that to the sporty, fitness things he probably did all day, and he has a right to his exhaustion. I get tired just putting on my shoes sometimes.
“I should have sent you a message this morning when I contacted Mike.”
“Mike?”
“My mechanic.” He runs a hand through his disheveled hair, but it falls back exactly how it was. “I texted him this morning to see if he could give your car some TLC.”
“I told you I just had it tuned up.”Three months ago,I add in my head. I don’t want to admit he’s right. My car probably needs an oil change, maybe a bunch of other things too. But they’re things I can’t afford without a paycheck. They need to wait.
“You said.” He cocks his head, as if he’ll allow that fact in the debate. I want to roll my eyes at his arrogance. “And I told you there was a better option than your car in my garage. Then last night I realized you might not be comfortable driving the big SUV. So, I reached out to Mike to make sure your car was as safe as possible before you started driving Tabby around.” When I glance away, taking in the lobby at the practice facility, he continues. “I don’t even like Tabby riding with my mother-in-law, and her car is brand new. Please, just give me this. If you don’t like the big SUV, I can get us a smaller car for you.”
I shift my weight. This morning, I’d been furious. I couldn’t imagine what explanation he would have to take my car with no warning. But this… I can’t blame him for looking out for his daughter. And he was worried I might be nervous driving the SUV? If anything, all of this is almost endearing. Is it possible to be endearing and overbearing at the same time? Somehow, he seems to manage it.
But he talks about buying another car like it’s a thing people do with no real thought or anxiety. My life has never had financial stability. What must it be like to not worry about things like that? What would it be like if I could get my car fixed without being concerned that I wouldn’t have the money to pay my bills for the rest of the month?
Finally, I sigh and admit, “It’s just… I don’t have the money for any automotive work right now.”
He blinks at me. “I called Mike. My mechanic, my treat.”
I shake my head. “But it’s my car. It’s not your responsibility to pay for it.” He opens his mouth to argue further, and I rush forward. “This is… really generous.” That doesn’t feel right, but it isn’t wrong either. “But I’m not a charity case.” The words resurface memories I pretend don’t exist, and they give away more about me than I wanted to.
I resulted from a teenage pregnancy, and my mother never hid the fact I was an unwelcome accident. I grew up with constant reminders I shouldn’t have been born. When she turned me over to foster care, I had a backpack of personal items and the clothes on my back. My wardrobe has always consisted of hand-me-downs, and I have always been asked to find a place for myself within a space that always felt crowded. One more kid in a room, one more mouth to feed. A life of constant imposition.
I’m an adult now. I want to make my own way.
Duke searches my face, and I have no idea what he finds there. I tilt my chin up.
“You’re my employee,” he offers, as if testing the waters on this approach. I nod because it’s a factual statement. “And… if I want to give you a bonus to pay for your car—a car you’ll be driving my daughter around in—then I can do that, can’t I?” When I huff out an exhale and try to find another argument, he hurries on. “He was supposed to have it back before you had to get Tabby to dance later. But I have no problem with you using the Range Rover as long as you want. Whenever you want.”
“That car probably cost more than my college education.” I drove under the speed limit the entire ride here.
“So?” He shrugs. “It’s only a car.”
I can only blink. Only a car? I can’t process the differences in our perspective.
“It’s a big car, which is why I bought it,” he continues. “Makes it safe in an accident.”
“I will not get in any accidents.” I have a spotless driving record.
“I didn’t say you would.” He enunciates each word clearly. “But there are other people on the road. My job is to keep you and Tabby as safe as I can make you.”
I can’t think of any response to that. In fact, all the words have evacuated my brain. In my entire life, I don’t think anyone has ever worried about my safety. Not like this.
