5. Dear Baby Jesus
5
Dear Baby Jesus
I reached my truck and climbed inside, dropping my phone into my cup holder and my backpack on the passenger seat. Thrusting my keys into the ignition, I twisted, but instead of the familiar roar of my engine, there was the slightest clicking noise and then silence. Wait, what?
Repeating the action, I glared at my steering wheel as the same result happened again and again. My truck refused to start. Seriously? As if this day needed to get any worse!
I banged my forehead on the wheel, promising Mabel a new set of tires and a car wash, but she ignored my half-hearted pleas. She was dead as a doornail, and after searching for the cause, I found the manual switch for the lights sitting in the On position. I forgot to turn my lights off this morning.
Resting my head against the leather wheel, I moaned pathetically.
A knock on my window startled me upright, and I knew without checking who it was. Who else would it be on a day like today? I already ran into Eric, and now my truck’s battery was dead. Of course, the blond diver of my nightmares appeared to continue the torture.
Ben smirked at me through my window, waving his fingers in greeting, and I grimaced. I contemplated staring straight ahead and ignoring him until he went away, but I couldn’t afford such luxuries. With my dad gone until Friday, Mabel was my only means of transportation, and I was now stranded.
I unlatched my door, and he stepped back to allow it to swing open. “Car trouble?”
“No, I was meditating.”
Ben laughed, and I hated how much I liked it.
“I always pegged you for a meditating guy.” He dropped his backpack on the ground and pointed to the front of my truck. “Wanna pop the hood?”
“No need. Battery’s dead.”
“I might have cables. Just pop the hood.”
Rolling my eyes conspicuously, I pulled the lever, then hopped down from the cab, wincing at the twinge in my side. I rounded the nose of my truck as Ben jogged over to a silver Chevy Impala parked nearby. He rooted around in the trunk but returned empty-handed.
“Sorry, no jumper cables.”
“I’ll call a tow. It’s no big deal.”I turned to retrieve my phone from the cab.
“What about your parents?”
“Dad’s out of town, and Mom’s spent the last six years buying cigarettes,” I said, and he bit his bottom lip before pulling his own phone from his back pocket.
“My uncle and aunt live like ten minutes away. He’ll have cables.” He brought his phone to his ear as I sputtered refusals, but he ignored me, an infuriating smirk plastered on his face. “Hey, Uncle Henry, you home? Cool. I’ve got a friend who needs a jump, but I don’t have cables.” He paused, his cheeks pinking as he smiled ruefully. “Yeah, I know that every person with average intelligence has a pair of jumper cables in their car. Yes, I’m a failure to the male gender. Are you coming or not?”
I tried not to laugh at Ben’s side of the conversation, but a few snickers escaped as he winked at me. “Cool. Thanks.” He hung up. “He’ll be here in fifteen.”
We stood in tense silence for several minutes as I leaned my butt against the nose of my truck and stared at my shoes. Ben, of course, was entirely unaffected by the uncomfortable stillness around us as he sank his hands into his pockets and watched me. I wasn’t one to be found speechless often, but I had no idea what to say to him. The only thing connecting us was the event I pretended never happened, and there was no way in hell we were rehashing that.
“So”—he finally broke the silence—“what are you doing here after school?”
I scuffed my shoe against the pavement as I said, “Rehearsal.”
“You’re in theater?”
“Yup.”
“You don’t seem the theater type.”
“You don’t seem the annoying type, and yet…”
His brow furrowed. “That’s not very nice.”
“Guess I’m not a nice guy,” I said, and he rolled his eyes.
“Do you have an issue with me or something?”
I scoffed. “You really have to ask?”
His ever-present calm cracked. “I’ve done nothing but try to be your friend.”
“Maybe I don’t want to be your friend.”
Genuine hurt flickered in his eyes. “I only wanted to help.”
Patience waning, I said, “I never asked for your help.”
Ben chuckled mirthlessly. “Jesus, Silas, not everyone is out to get you.”
And that sparked my temper. “Oh, really? You think I don’t know what people say about me? I hear the rumors. I see the looks,” I sneered, and he shuffled back a step. “Maybe the world doesn’t have it in for me, but no one’s offering a helping hand, either. Just because I’m an asshole doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”
His annoyance bled into pity and then into something akin to satisfaction. “You’re painfully honest, aren’t you?”
“I don’t pretend to be something I’m not.”
“Maybe that’s why I want to be your friend. Because you’re the only person in this damn school that’s real.” He shook his head, running his hand through his damp curls. “Even if the real you is kind of a prick.”
“Should I be flattered or insulted?”
“Hell if I know!” He threw up his hands in exasperation, and I barked out a laugh.
A ghost of a smile played at his lips as he met my gaze, and I chuckled again. We’d come to an odd truce of sorts. We still weren’t friends, but maybe we understood each other.
The roar of a diesel engine broke the odd moment, and a huge Ford F350 growled to a stop nose-to-nose with my tiny little pick-up. The driver’s-side door read Miller’s Construction , and it swung open as a tall, burly man climbed from the cab. His heavy work boots thudded against the pavement, and dust billowed from the open door, clinging to his clothes, his graying hair, and his salt-and-pepper beard.
A man clearly accustomed to manual labor, he was solidly built and broad, and I instinctively took a cautious half-step back. Ben was no scrawny skeleton, but he didn’t hold a candle to his uncle’s thick body. Despite his intimidating aura, my wariness eased as he opened his thin mouth in a toothy grin, his blue eyes alight with soft, unexpected kindness.
“What kind of boys don’t carry jumper cables in their vehicles?” the man barked, his smile easing the bite of his words. Ben shook his head with a huff as his uncle extended his massive paw in my direction. “Henry Miller. I’m Ben’s uncle.”
“Silas Brigs.” I shook his hand, praying he didn’t crush me. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
“Firm handshake. I like that.” He nodded his approval. “But none of that ‘sir’ business. Just call me Henry.”
He lumbered back to the monstrosity disguised as his truck without awaiting an answer, and I lifted Mabel’s hood. I held it above my head since my strut broke off months ago and I never replaced it, and Ben sidled up next to me with the ends to the jumper cables his uncle had tossed our way.
“Don’t mind him. His bark is worse than his bite,” Ben whispered, and his breath swirled through the air, smelling like spearmint gum.
I stopped myself from angling closer, my fingers tightening on the hood above my head as I tried not to notice the way my body wanted to respond to his proximity. Yes, he was good-looking, but I didn’t want to be attracted to him. He was straight for Christ’s sake.
“He seems… nice.” I peeked over my shoulder at Ben’s uncle.
“Yeah, he’s a little eccentric.”
“Weird people are fine. It’s the normal ones you have to watch out for,” I said as Henry fired up his truck behind us.
Ben’s laughter was lost to the noise of the diesel engine, but I found myself grinning along with him as his dimple carved into his cheek. He looked good when he smiled too.
“Give her some time to juice up,” Henry said, and I jerked my eyes away from Ben’s perfect mouth. “Then we’ll head home for dinner. June’s already setting you a spot.”
Ben watched me expectantly, and it took me a moment to understand Henry was addressing me. “Wait, what?”
“She’ll have my ass if I send you home without a meal,” he continued talking as I blundered over excuses. “Won’t take no for an answer, of that you can be sure.” He pointed to my truck. “Start her up and see how she runs. You can follow Ben.”
“Mr. Miller—”
“Call me Henry, son.” He shooed me away, Ben taking my place under the hood as I stumbled to the driver’s door.
Climbing inside, I prayed Mabel wouldn’t wake, but of course, she purred to life like a dream. Traitorous truck!
“Just follow me,” Ben said after he dropped the hood back into place. “They don’t live far.”
“Thanks for the warning, asswipe.” I flashed him my middle finger, but he shrugged off the rude gesture as he backed toward his car.
“Worth it to see the look on your face.”
I should have gone home, but the guilt of bailing after Henry came to the school to jump my truck was impossible to ignore. I followed Ben through the nicer neighborhoods near the school until he and Henry pulled into the driveway of a nice ranch-style brick home.Modest in size with attractive landscaping, it gave the impression of wealth without shoving my face in the excess.
Shadowing Ben’s silver Impala, I pulled into the driveway beside him, and when no one told me to move, I shut Mabel down. I retrieved my phone from the cup holder and slid it into my pocket alongside my keys. A nervous sweat broke over my palms, and I wiped my hands on my jeans as Ben led me through the garage.
Stupid, gorgeous boy, wheedling himself past my defenses. The closer he got, the stickier he became. Like super glue, he adhered himself to my life, never to be removed.
And here I was at his house about to dine with him, his doomsday-prepper uncle, and his aunt whom I had yet to meet—though I assumed she was as sweetly sticky as her nephew. But hey, at least I was getting a free, home-cooked meal out of the deal. My stomach agreed with a loud rumble as we entered the mudroom and were assaulted by a delicious mixture of aromas.
Ben slipped his shoes off and added them to the shoe rack, and I followed his example as I eyed the washer and dryer running in the corner of the mudroom. Shelves of canned goods lined the walls, and we passed the door leading to the basement to enter the kitchen, the smell of food growing stronger.
My kitchen was nowhere near as fancy as this one, with its marble countertops, genuine tile floor, and shiny, stainless-steel appliances. It was spotless save for a few pans in the sink and the explosion of mementos covering the fridge.
As Ben washed his hands, I shuffled to the refrigerator and explored the messy life displayed. Photos and baby announcements, wedding invitations and magnets littered the surface, and I smiled as I inspected the pieces of Ben’s life—or at least, the life of his aunt and uncle. I smothered a laugh when I spotted a photo of him as a young kid dressed like Batman for Halloween, standing next to a blonde woman with sad brown eyes. They looked alike, Ben and this lady, and I wondered if it was his mother.
A hand violently snatched the picture from the fridge, making me jump.
“Dinner’s ready.”
Ben’s voice was empty as he tucked the picture into his back pocket, and something in my chest shriveled at the sight of his retreating form. I wanted to run back to my truck and leave as my stomach filled with lead. I didn’t. I followed Ben, my head full of questions I would never ask, some of which I could probably answer myself.
I understood the drive to remove the evidence of painful things. After my mom left, I tore down all the pictures in the house showing her face. It hurt, seeing her smile when I knew she would never come home. Whether by choice or circumstance, Ben’s mom wasn’t coming home either. It was a pain I was most familiar with.
As I entered the dining room, my mouth watered at the table full of food, but my attention diverted to the photos on the wall. A wedding shot of Henry and a short blonde woman—Ben’s aunt, I assumed—hung front and center. She resembled Ben’s mother, as if they were twins, but unlike Ben’s mother, her brown eyes brimmed with happiness.
A few more pictures of the duo clustered around the wedding photo, but the rest of the space showcased Ben, like the poster child of proud parents. A chubby toddler with blond hair held a stuffed Simba to the camera in one, and beside it hung a second photo of Ben, his face younger and rounder, smiling shyly for a school portrait. Most of the pictures portrayed Ben cheesing at the camera in different stages of life, but I caught Ben’s mother in a few as well, her brown eyes constantly sad.
I shot Ben a humored eyebrow waggle. “Cute.”
His cheeks flushed bright pink as he muttered, “Shut up.”
Voices sounded from the hallway leading farther into the house, and a moment later, Henry appeared in clean clothes as a tiny woman walked in behind him, swiping at his shirt. Satisfied her husband was clean enough, she stepped around him and leveled her sparkling chocolate eyes on me.
“Ah, you must be Silas.” She beamed at me, and her joyful expression made me feel surprisingly inadequate. I fiddled with my tragus surface piercing but dropped my hand to my side when Ben noticed the nervous habit.
His aunt approached me, and I expected her to shake my hand like Henry had. Instead, she yanked me into a rather exuberant hug. My throat thickened at the maternal embrace, and I fought the urge to pull away from the motherly kindness. And yet, when she did release me, I wished she hadn’t.
“I’m Ben’s aunt. You can call me June or Aunt June, but I don’t want to hear a ma’am or a missus.” I nodded at her stern stare with wide eyes.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said automatically. “I mean, Aunt June.”
She met my correction with another smile and a pat to my cheek, and then I was ushered to the table. “Sit, sit,” she ordered, and like foot soldiers we all sank into chairs, Ben and I side by side across from his aunt and uncle. “Let’s eat before the food gets cold.”
I almost drooled as I piled mashed potatoes, green beans, and meatloaf onto my plate. It smelled scrumptious, and I nearly dove right in face-first. Thankfully, I remembered my table manners and waited until everyone was served before scooping mashed potatoes onto my fork.
“We should say grace,” Ben said with a mischievous wink. “Silas is really religious.”
I choked.
“Oh, of course,” Aunt June agreed readily, smacking Uncle Henry’s arm as he made to take a bite. He scowled as the food on his fork dropped to the table with a wet plop, but he abandoned his now-empty utensil with a gracious nod toward his wife. “Silas, please say grace.”
I gaped like a fish, first at Aunt June and then at Ben’s innocent simper. His eyes danced with amusement. What a little shit!
I’d never prayed over a meal in my life. My one religious experience was going to Catholic Mass with a friend in elementary school. I didn’t know how to pray! Was I supposed to do the weird cross motion or hold Ben’s hand? Bowing heads was a thing, wasn’t it?
One glance at Uncle Henry confirmed he caught the joke, but instead of rescuing me, he took a drink from his water and shared an amused grin with Ben.
“Oh, uh, okay.” Aunt June continued to admire me like I was the cure for cancer, and when I couldn’t decide what to do with my hands, I dropped them to my lap to hide from judgmental eyes. “Um, d-dear baby Jesus?”
Ben’s snort interrupted my humiliating attempt at a prayer, and Uncle Henry’s guffaws soon followed. For the first time in a long time, I blushed. I glared at Ben as Aunt June swiveled her gaze around the table in confusion. Of course, her puzzlement shifted to understanding, and she turned her outrage on Ben.
“Benjamin James Adams!” she shrieked, appalled, and Ben and Uncle Henry laughed harder.
“If that boy’s religious, then I’m a monkey’s uncle!” Uncle Henry roared.
“With Ben as your nephew, I thought you already were,” I said as I took a sip of water to cool the heat in my cheeks.
“Oh, I like this one, Ben!” Uncle Henry said. “Bring him around more often.”
Against all odds, Ben’s face darkened to a comical shade of maroon, but he nudged my shoulder as he took a bite of mashed potatoes. “Who starts a prayer with dear baby Jesus ?”
“I’ve never prayed before you ass—butthole,” I amended, not wanting to offend Aunt June with foul language, and Ben ducked as I lobbed a green bean at his head. “I hate you.”
He popped the green bean into his mouth with a cheeky grin. “Worth it.”