Chapter 13 The Women’s Wednesday
THE WOMEN’S WEDNESDAY
CARTER
“She’s working late again. Asked if I could swing by and let the dog out.” Paige says through the phone, and I thank her, but before I can ask another quick follow-up question like Is she okay? Does she ask about me? Do you think she’s wanting to see anyone else? She hangs up.
Shit.
I learned through Trev that Paige has been asked to swing by a few days a week to let the dogs out, so Becks could work a bit longer after school.
Apparently her new TA is dropping the ball, and she needs the time to make sure everything is set up just right.
I’ve always admired her passion for her job.
She won’t let someone else’s fuckups get in her way.
I’ve been helping where I can at home on those days—at her home I mean.
A lot of what Becky said to me has sunk in since our talk a few weeks ago, and the new perspective is sobering. It fills me with so much shame.
I duck back under the hood of the car I’m currently working on, and think through everything for the one-thousandth time. Randy, our high school part-timer, hangs out next to me with all of my tools at the ready.
“I wasn’t trying to be in contact with Taylor, but she still hadn’t paid me for that last week of bullshit, and I couldn’t stand the idea of losing everything for this arrangement just to not even get what I was supposed to get from it, you know?”
“Yeah, sure thing.” He sounds distracted until I hold my hand out for my next tool, shake my head at what he hands me first, then grab the second offering.
“After that talk, though…” I trail off, recognizing he doesn’t need to hear this part, but my mind keeps running through it all in a loop.
After those tears being held back. After I finally realized the pain I caused because of this stupid fucking deal I had with Taylor, the money I earned now seems dirty.
An escort.
It all makes me feel dirty. While I was under her car, changing the oil, I decided to stop trying to get paid for that final day. I also realized I don’t like seeing that extra money in my account. It no longer makes me feel closer to my goals.
Another tool swap, Randy getting it right the first time.
I work quietly for a few minutes when I realize something uncomfortable about myself.
I can admit with time and distance, it was, nice, having a moment in the middle of my busy day to have someone there to listen to my bitching, to soothe my stressing, to take care of my needs.
I grunt while I try to reach a tricky bolt, still considering what I’ve done.
“She was so easily helped without a ton of effort on my part. All I had to do was drive or lift something heavy, and she made me feel useful, like a hero.” I got a mid-day positive boost fairly regularly from my drives and chats with Taylor.
I lean out again and see Randy avoiding eye contact. Hell, how much did I say out loud.
“Randy!” Jumping at his name, he drops the next tool, obviously checking out during my rant. I grip his shoulder like a concerned father. “Don’t fall for easy shi—crap like that, you hear me?”
“Yessir.” He’s totally not listening.
“Go help Darren with the Civic’s tire alignment.”
“Yessir!” He drops the tools in his hands and practically skips to work with the taciturn old man on the simple fix, showing more enthusiasm in that walk than he has with me all week.
“Carter!” Billy’s leaning against the office doorframe—a rare day in the shop for him. “Stop boring the high school kids with your drama, and do your job.”
A snicker from behind me tells me Patrick heard.
“Yeah, okay. Gotcha, boss.” Billy just nods and shuts himself into the room once again—the faded office paper sign fluttering with the move.
I return my focus to trying to get the timing right with the Jeep. My brain returns to playing back my fuckups.
Taylor was charismatic, funny, but my time with her led to me lying.
Ultimately, everything turned to poison, and I drank that poison right up like an idiot.
Now, I’ve hollowed myself out by allowing my stupid actions and inactions to leech that poison across nonexistent boundaries and infect the best part of my soul.
Nobody could blame Becky for leaving. Hell, half the town assumes I left and am now with Taylor no matter how many times I correct them. After what Becky went through in her last fucked up relationshit, she didn’t need me to fuck up this badly with ours.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” My head bangs against the hood of the Jeep two or three times, maybe on purpose, maybe not. Who knows. My chest feels like it’s ripping into pieces when I’m not moving or working, so I snatch the next tool needed and duck back down.
Becky used to give me my mid-day boost before I decided to start hiding everything from her.
We used to sneak messages to each other all day.
In the summers, she’d bring us lunch to share, and those were my favorite memories.
I had her pure, deep, honest love. Then I worried Paul or someone would talk about my extra hours and driving Taylor, so Becky thought I was too busy for anything but a working lunch.
I didn’t pursue another woman, but I chose not to react to Taylor pushing inappropriate boundaries with me. A choice I made over and over again.
“Choosing not to act is still a choice.” Becky’s voice is a ghost, repeating a phrase she’s said a multitude of times over the years.
Every time she’d get pissed at me for not responding or reacting to something, she’d come along with that tidbit of wisdom.
Well, Carter, here’s a perfect fucking example.
I feel eyes on me and look up from the timing belt to see Paul staring from across the garage.
I throw him a half-assed nod and turn back to my work.
There was a sudden and mysterious absence of Taylor’s car in the shop since I’ve stopped answering her calls and messages.
Apparently, Paul delivered a miraculous car recovery.
I eventually get the timing right and call Randy back over to start the car while I watch and listen closely. He revs it a few times until I give him a wave and have him take my place under the hood to put it back together again.
I check the notebook hanging outside the office to figure out my next job.
I pull my pen out of my breast pocket and make a notation then head over and pop open the hood to another local’s ride.
I sort through my mental checklist to find what’s wrong with this vehicle.
That’s my specialty; I’m the go-to for diagnosing unknown problems. And that makes me wonder, why was I pulled off of Taylor’s car when there were so many supposedly unknown problems?
This entire situation smells more and more like bullshit, the more I distance myself from it.
With a roll of my shoulders, I get back to work.
I’m quickly in my element, and while my hands are busy, I think through what else our house—her house needs when I stop by later to let the dogs out.
Would it be too obvious to finally put that shelf up?
Probably. However, she gets so hyper focused during the first few weeks of school, I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t notice.
I heave a giant pained groan and restlessly run my fingers through my hair just to remember I am covered in grease.
Fuck it. Not the worst thing to happen to me.
I’ve gone from planning to get married, buy a business, buy a house, and start a family to planning…well, nothing. I no longer know what my next step is when it comes to anything anymore, but I do know one thing.
Becky might be done with me, but I can and will still be there for her in whatever capacity I can be. With or without her knowledge. Right now, it’s all behind the scenes. I’m waiting for a sign before I step up my game. I’m hoping I get a chance soon because I’m ready to win my girl back.
Becky
I arrive last.
Earlier, I ended up drinking two glasses of wine, which meant I had to resort to our local drive share. We have one man who has found a way to work both companies.
Nobody is going to say shit because he is literally the only one. Despite my last minute ride request, I only had to wait about thirty minutes for Collin to pick me up, which was the perfect amount of time for me to start and finish my third glass of wine.
I enter Joe’s like I am in the Emperor's New Groove, with a flourish and a boom baby!
A few random patrons roll their eyes, but many familiar faces smile and a few wave.
“Hey Tina! Hello Joanne!” They send me equally friendly waves and turn back to their conversations once I pass them, heading to a table of “three awesome women ready to get wasted this Wednesday!”
“Woo!” Sonya cheers with me, her pink fruity concoction spilling a little in her enthusiasm. It’s fine, though. She quickly licked it off the side of the cup.
“You seem…prepared for tonight, love.” Paige smiles, waving me toward my seat. Of course she saved me one where my back is to the wall. Thoughtful, lovely bitch.
“Yes, I am so overly prepared it’s not even funny. Now, have you all done introductions?”
“Yes, doll, I took the liberty of getting that ball rolling.” Vicky stirs her martini with her olive. “And how dare you all have so few wrinkles or gray hairs. It’s disappointing.”
Paige and Sonya snicker, and I’m guessing this topic has already been covered. “I have a couple coming in now, I swear. Especially with the way work is—”
“Bzzz, wrong answer. No work talk tonight, but that’s okay because I have an idea. I need to talk boys—err men.”
I snicker with the others this time. “Okay, Sonya, go ahead.”
“No, no, I can’t start it. Someone else needs to. Vicky, you’re the oldest, you start.”
“Shots fired.”
She shoots me a playful glare, but responds to Sonya.“I am a widow.” Oh, shit.
“Oh, hell. I’m sorry.” Sonya looks like a kicked puppy with all of her light brown, curly hair drooping over her face in response to this new piece of information.