Chapter 4 #2
The parking lot doesn’t make for a great view, but it’s clear enough to see the mountains on the far side of town. I grab a handful of pistachios from the bag I picked up at the grocery store this morning. I shell them and toss them in my mouth one by one, taking a sip of beer every so often.
I like keeping my hands busy, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to sit still for more than a minute or two.
I was driving myself nuts after the old shop burned down and had nothing to keep me busy.
I spent way too much time scrolling mindlessly through my Facebook feed, looking at reels, sometimes hours at a time.
That’s where I bumped into a video of this guy, a veteran who described suffering from restlessness and anxiety since trying to return to civilian life.
He’d taken up crocheting and said as long as his hands were busy, his mind could settle down.
I ended up watching a bunch of the instructional videos he posted, figured I could probably do it. turned out to be a welcome source for supplies which were dropped off in an anonymous box. It was worth trying, and I wound up really enjoying the almost mindless rhythm that keeps my hands occupied.
However, I’m not about to sit out here in full view of the town, crocheting my next afghan. I’d never live it down. My new hobby will remain my private business, which is why I’m out here, shelling pistachios instead.
My eyes drift from the mountains in the distance to the street, where I see a familiar SUV pulling into the sheriff station’s parking lot. My hands still as I watch Tessa climb out. She starts moving toward the door when she notices me sitting here and freezes, her eyes fixed on me.
I’m still a bit ticked off at her for the shit she gave me last night, implying I might have some nefarious intentions toward her kid. So I keep my face straight when she changes direction and heads my way. The closer she gets, the more hesitant she seems.
“Hey…Clem.”
“Tessa.”
“I…um…am sorry about last night. I reacted poorly to what was probably a kind gesture.”
The apology is clearly costing her, but I can’t resist poking her a bit.
“Probably?”
She lowers her eyes to stare at the toes of her sneakers.
“Look, I just wanted to say thank you for looking after my kid. He’s been struggling a bit and I’ve been worried, maybe more than I should be. But regardless, I’m grateful you’re giving him a chance.”
Shifting a little, I reach behind me to grab the extra beer I’d kept in the shade to stay cool, and hand it out to her in invitation.
“Pull up a tire and have a drink with me.”
I know I told the kid I wouldn’t tell on him, but I’m starting to rethink that promise. Maybe part of me had hoped he’d tell her himself, but her comments just now make it clear he didn’t. She’s his mother, and I don’t want her to let down her guard, so I think she should know.
She only hesitates for a moment before she appears to shrug something off and accepts the beer. Then she gingerly perches herself on a second short stack of tires.
“You need a bench,” she suggests.
“I’ve been thinking about it. Or maybe a couple of those Adirondack chairs. These tires are hard on the ass after a while.”
A brief silence follows as she takes a sip of her drink, and I contemplate how to broach the subject of her son, and the backlash it might have.
I don’t want to break the boy’s tentative trust, so I’m going to have to convince Tessa to keep the knowledge to herself.
That’s probably going to be a tall order.
“I’m about to break a promise I made your son,” I start. “And in addition, I’m going to ask you to trust me, a man you barely know.”
That definitely gets her attention. She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and pins me with a sharp look as she utters a single word.
“Talk.”
So I do, telling her how I found him in the back lot, stealing parts off the parked vehicles, noticing her knuckles turn white as she tightens her grip on the beer bottle. Afraid she’ll break it; I reach over and pluck it from her hands.
“You should’ve called me,” she grinds out through clenched teeth.
“Yes,” I concede. “I probably should’ve, but…I wanted to give Remi a chance to do the right thing, which he did. He showed up yesterday morning and worked his butt off all day.”
“No. The right thing would’ve been to stay home Friday night, where he was supposed to be. Nothing is right about this,” she argues as she starts to get to her feet.
“Look, I don’t disagree with you, but please hear me out,” I request. “I got myself into plenty of pickles and made my own boneheaded choices when I was his age. I was mostly acting out, like I suspect he is. He’s not a bad kid.
Back then someone gave me a chance, a purpose, which stuck better than any punishment had.
I thought it might for your son as well. ”
She leans forward and aims her index finger at my face.
“You don’t know my son.”
I could probably argue that I may not know him, but I understand him better than she thinks I do. However, I have a feeling that might not go over well.
“Maybe not, but yesterday he wasn’t out stealing catalytic converters off cars, he was in my shop, doing oil and filter changes all day long.
He was good at it, and he had a good time doing it.
I’m willing to bet he’ll be back next Saturday.
He’s paying off the damage he did, and I have a good feeling he’d rather be here, learning as much as he can, than out there getting himself into more trouble. ”
Her hands are clenched in fists by her side, and her entire posture screams barely contained anger. I’m not sure whether it’s directed at me, at Remi, or both, but she’s not yelling at me, and she’s not running off, so I’m going to push through to my last point.
“And this is where trusting me comes into play. The moment Remi finds out I talked to you, I can almost guarantee I won’t see him back here, which would be a real pity.
Any small measure of trust I may have gained will be gone, and he’ll just be pissed at you for being found out.
That might send him right back to where I found him. ”
The tension comes off her in waves, but to her credit, she seems to consider what I suggest. Then she bends down, snatches her beer back, and tosses it back in one go.
Wiping the back of her hand across her lips, she glares at me.
“I’m so damn mad, I can’t see straight.”
“I get it.”
“I will not tolerate you keeping anything to do with my son from me again.”
“Understood.”
“I want you to swear to it.”
I lift my right hand.
“I swear.”
She narrows her eyes, probably gauging whether or not I’m making fun of her. Then she pulls her phone from her pocket, unlocks it, and hands it to me. I assume she wants my number, so I enter my cell phone in her contacts.
“Send me a message so I have yours as well,” I suggest, handing her phone back.
When my phone pings with the incoming text, I quickly save her info to my own contacts.
For a moment she stands in front of me, looking like she doesn’t know what her next move should be.
“Thanks for the beer, and if anything comes up…” she starts.
I finish her sentence with a promise. “I’ll let you know.”
Next she nods sharply and turns on her heel, marching back to the station, where she disappears inside.
My eyes follow her all the way across the parking lot, before I grab the empty bottles, my bag of pistachios, and hit the switch for the overhead door.
I’m smiling as I head up the stairs to my apartment.