Chapter Twenty-Four #3
When she turned, he could see she had her phone to her ear on the other side, but she must not have been getting an answer, because she lowered it when she saw him.
“That would be great, actually. I’m not sure what happened, just all of a sudden the wheel went unresponsive and it was like driving a tank. ”
“Power steering issue, probably,” Austin said. “Engine was fine?” The van was still running, now that he was looking.
“Yeah. I just kinda freaked out.”
“You have CAA or anything?” If she did, they’d come out and tow her for free, and she wouldn’t have to worry about it.
But she shook her head. “Never thought I’d need it.”
Austin had her pop the hood so he could do a visual check for any obvious issues, then stuck his head into the car and pulled the cover off the fuse panel so he could check that too.
“Power steering still looks the most likely,” he said.
If he had less on his plate, he’d have offered to take a look himself, but right now he had enough going on.
“There’s a dealership down the street a couple blocks.
If you want, I can drive it there for you.
You can follow in my car. They’ll probably have a courtesy shuttle, if we hurry.
” Dealership service departments were usually only open until four thirty or so.
“That would be amazing.”
Two minutes later, Austin pulled the van up in front of the service bay at the dealership. The van’s owner, whose name was Cheryl, parked his car in the side lot. Austin waved her over as the service manager came out to greet them.
The service manager was a grizzled middle-aged man with a beard and a shirt with Bobby embroidered on the pocket. He shook hands with Austin and Cheryl and asked, “What can I do for you?”
Cheryl looked at Austin. “Uh, he thinks my power steering died? So I guess can you fix it and what’s it going to cost me?”
Bobby nodded. “Sure, I can get you a quote for that. It won’t be done today, though. If you leave your keys, I’ll have the courtesy shuttle drop you off somewhere.”
After Cheryl followed his directions to the lounge where the shuttle driver waited, Bobby turned his attention to Austin. “Power steering, you said?”
“Like she said, it handles like a tank.” Austin shrugged. “I popped the hood and checked the fuses, and there’s nothing obvious there. She didn’t mention any leakage, so my guess is the belt.” He wouldn’t have been able to see that just from peeking under the hood.
Bobby tilted his head. “You a mechanic?”
“Most days,” Austin said wryly. “Didn’t have time to drive her out to my place, though. I gotta get dinner on the table.”
“Huh.” Bobby nodded and held out his hand to shake again. “Well, you ever decide you’re tired of working for yourself, we’re hiring.”
Austin opened his mouth to turn him down, then changed his mind. “Thanks,” he said instead. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
He needed that, he thought as he got back on the road toward the grocery store. Something that made a difference. A genuine compliment. One little thing to go right.
So of course, as soon as he pushed his cart up to the checkout at the store, he realized he didn’t have his wallet.
Fuck. Had he left it in his car? Had Cheryl taken it?
He’d had it at Tim Hortons—or, no, he’d used spare change from the cupholder for that. When had he used his wallet last? When he’d picked up the pizza the other night?
Yeah—and he’d taken Joe’s truck, because Will had gotten home after him and parked like a dick. Austin could visualize his wallet now, sitting exactly where he’d left it in the center console of the pickup.
Fuck his life.
Mortified, he pulled his cart out of line and put the perishables back.
He left the cart out of the way, in the vain hope that maybe no one would reshelve his groceries in the next hour.
It was fine. He’d just go home—Will would be back from school by now—pick up his wallet, go back to the store.
Easy. No harm, no foul. Dinner wouldn’t even be particularly late.
Sure enough, the truck was there when Austin pulled into the driveway. It locked automatically, so Austin had to go inside to grab the keys.
They weren’t on the peg by the door, though. Joe’s truck had a push-button start, so Will probably just left the keys in his pocket.
Ugh. He could brave a teenager’s lair for the two seconds this would take. It would be fine.
He wasn’t taking his boots off, though. Fuck that. The house was a disaster anyway. A little more mud wouldn’t make a difference.
He’d almost made it to the bottom of the stairs when his foot slipped out from under him.
“Jesus, what the—” Somehow Austin caught himself on the railing, grateful he and Joe had fastened it extra-securely after last time. His heart was still pounding in his chest when he looked down and saw the pee-stained wall and the little yellow puddle that had almost killed him.
“Fuck,” he said feelingly. The last thing he wanted was to clean up more cat piss. And now it was on his boots, which meant he was going to track it upstairs when he got the keys.
“Will!” he bellowed instead.
Belatedly, he realized Joe was probably sleeping. Or had probably been sleeping, until now.
Thumping came from the second story. A few seconds later, the creaking of an ancient wooden door. “What!”
That was when Austin smelled it. Something other than the cat pee. Something thicker, more cloying.
God, his nose had to be playing tricks on him, right?
Austin chose to believe his nose was playing tricks on him. “Can you bring me the truck keys, please?”
More thumping as Will appeared at the top of the stairs.
Austin half expected him to just throw the keys down, and maybe that would’ve been better for everyone.
Because as soon as Will got close enough for Austin to see his face, he made out the red-rimmed eyes, the dilated pupils, and the unmistakeable stench of pot smoke.
“Are you fucking serious right now?”
Will crossed his arms and scowled—whatever the drug’s effects, making him less obnoxiously moody wasn’t one. “I’m an adult.”
Austin barked a humorless laugh. Only an eighteen-year-old would think that Will’s current and recent behaviour was a mark of maturity. “Clearly being voting age didn’t make you less stupid. What are you thinking, smoking pot in this house right now?”
“The fuck do you care?” Will sneered.
Austin sneered back. “For starters, you have an exam tomorrow, unless you lied about that. Who gets high in the middle of final exams during grade twelve?” Second semester started next week, and Will had a full course load.
There would be no do-over for these first-semester classes without summer school.
“Not like I’m smoking at school before taking it.” Will rolled his bloodshot eyes.
“No, of course not. You’re just smoking a floor away from Joe, who has pneumonia. It’s not like he’s on a highly flammable oxygen tank and can barely breathe as it is!”
Will blanched—clearly not having thought about that—but then firmed his jaw. “Not like I was smoking next to him.”
“So you haven’t learned about how smoke travels in your science classes?
” Guilt flashed over Will’s face, but he didn’t back down.
Austin tried to take a calming breath, but the deep inhale only reminded him of two facts, or rather, two smells—pot and cat urine.
“So I guess it never occurred to you to use your pot-smoking time to do anything else. Like clean up cat pee.” He gestured to the floor.
“Or do the laundry or cook dinner or vacuum.”
Will stared back mulishly.
Austin impatiently pushed hair out of his face and rubbed at his temple, trying to ease the building headache.
“Fuck this. I’m driving you to and from your exam tomorrow.
You’re going straight to school and coming straight home afterward, continuing next week.
And we’ll be laying down more house rules. ”
Any lingering guilt left Will’s face as he scowled deeper in outrage. “You can’t ground me!”
“The hell I can’t!”
“You’re not my real dads!”
“No!” Austin snapped back. “We’re just the ones who love you!”
Will paled and swayed, and Austin, standing in cat pee and nauseous from the scent of weed, needed to get out.
He spun and stomped out of the house, pausing only to drag his disgusting boot through a pile of cleanish snow, and then flung himself back into his car and took off.
He needed space to cool down, to think, to escape from the house and everything in it. To breathe.
He hated yelling. Hated the thought of being like those foster parents who had frightened him as a child. And yet… he hadn’t been able to help himself when he saw what Will was up to.
Teenagers got high. Austin had been one.
He knew. But the panic and betrayal he felt at the sight of Will—smart, capable Will, who was supposed to make better choices than Austin had at that age—high on a school night, burning anything in the same house as Joe and his damaged lungs and his extremely flammable oxygen tank…
. Austin didn’t know what scared him more—Will’s recklessness with his future or with Joe’s health.
It didn’t help that Will was doing something so self-indulgent when the floors hadn’t been vacuumed in days and the laundry—clean and dirty—was piling up and Austin was standing in cat pee after a failed grocery visit.
Austin was drowning in shit to do, none of which he’d asked Will to help out with because Will was supposed to be studying for his exams, and instead Will was getting high before dinner.
Tears blurred his vision, and Austin pulled over to the side of the road. No sense getting into a car accident on top of everything. He felt hurt and stupid and ridiculous sitting here sulking like a kid after a fight, but for several minutes, he couldn’t seem to do anything else.
But only for a few minutes. He had responsibilities to attend to. He couldn’t afford to break down.