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Chapter Five
After breaking up with Owen, even though we weren’t officially dating, I throw myself into work, volunteering for tough jobs, thankless jobs, crappy early morning shifts, and difficult clients. If I can’t wow the men with my skills, I’ll make myself indispensable and wear them down until I’m the last one standing.
My dedication does not go unnoticed, and my dad starts giving me bigger assignments. My first major job, accompanying a client on a high-stakes trip, leaves me triumphant when I return, and the first thing I want to do is tell Owen about it. I pick up the phone, then freeze with my finger over the dial. I start turning it slowly, but halfway through his number I hang up. It would be shitty to call up out of the blue after telling him we needed to go back to just friends.
You were never just friends, Elizabeth, my traitorous inner voice says, and I shut that bitch right up. I’ll drop off one of the sedans for a tune-up, and if I happen to see him there, it would be rude not to chat with him, right? Nodding decisively, I head back to headquarters and pick a random black car to receive some extra attention, But when I get to the shop, Owen’s nowhere to be seen.
I want to ask but realize I’m afraid to learn the answer. I casually cruise by our bar and am relieved not to see his big truck out front. Not that I would have any right to complain if it was. Depressed, I return the smoothly-running automobile to the office and get in my MG. I drive her up the canyon and stop at our parking spot, then sit and watch the sunset in silence. Well, except for my crying. I drive to my apartment and go to bed, even though it’s the middle of our workday. I think I made a terrible mistake.
More jobs, bigger clients, more responsibility, and still no one to brag to. I’ve dropped by the garage a couple more times, and finally when I’m dropped off to pick up one of our incredibly well-maintained fleet, Lenny follows me out to the gravel lot.
“Elizabeth, Owen’s—”
“What? I’m not here for Owen. I just need this Town C—”
“Kid. Let me finish. Owen’s gone. He isn’t working here.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He went up to the new branch in Seattle. He’s going to be their lead mechanic. No one told you?” I cast my mind back, seeing now the averted gazes and abbreviated exchanges I’ve been having lately. I hadn’t noticed because I’ve been running almost flat-out every time I go through headquarters. Now that I think about it, though, my dad has been uncharacteristically uncritical lately. Sighing, I feel so dumb.
I look helplessly at Len’s tired face and his expression tells me he just watched all that play across mine.
My voice sounds like a little girl’s when I speak. “The new mechanic? Like, to get it set up for someone?”
“No, kid. To get it set up for himself. He transferred. Moved.”
The ground yawns beneath me, threatening to suck me down.
“But…” But nothing. I have no response. When Len reaches out with a cleanish shop towel, I realize tears are streaming down my face. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it, kid. If it helps, his face looked a lot like yours when he left. Absent the leaky eyes.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Really.”
I hand back his rag, which he pinches between his thumb and finger with a grimace, then tucks it into a back pocket. When I turn to leave, shuffling across the gravel, his voice stops me at my car.
“Elizabeth. Let’s talk inside.” I follow him into the office, and he pauses to speak to his grade school aged son, who is sitting next to a younger little girl. “Junior, watch Jenny while I speak with Elizabeth in the garage.”
“Sure Dad.” The boy shrugs and gets back to his homework, his head bent over the table close to his sister’s. Her lilting voice follows us out the door as she asks her brother about colors.
Len pulls up a chair at the small round table in the back corner and motions for me to take another. I eye it suspiciously then live dangerously by sitting on it and resting my arms on the dusty table.
“What’s up, Len?”
“You remember Marsha, my wife?”
“Yeah. She’s older than me by about ten years, right?”
“Yep. She’s younger than me. Her parents were Concierges, too, and she grew up in the life. She was like you; bright, ambitious, ready to break the glass ceiling you women are always talking about now, and giving us guys a run for our money. But I screwed up. I expected her to stay home when the kids came along, and she did. She excelled at being a mom and wife just like she had at being an assistant to your father. When she got quiet, I didn’t notice. I’m not sure when she started pulling away, because I didn’t notice her except as my wife and the kids’ mom. She sure caught my attention when she left.”
I’m almost afraid to ask. “Where did she go?”
“She went back East. Transferred to a branch there and is working successfully now.” He sighs heavily. “I’ve had a crash course in single parenting, and have had a lot of help from the C.I. wives and the mothers of kids in the kids' school.”
“I’m sorry. That must be difficult.”
