CHAPTER TWENTY Van
Ifroze in place, awed beyond belief at the old vehicle sitting in front of me in the garage behind the mercantile. The red exterior could use a good waxing, but the body was straight and had zero dents or flaws on the surface.
“Wow,” I cried in excitement. “Does this truck run?”
“She sure does,” Chip confirmed. “Runs like a dream.”
I stepped forward and laid my hand on the smooth steel hood before stepping alongside the classic vehicle, my fingers outlining the curvature of the front wheel well, the driver’s side door, and then the top edge of the truck’s bed.
Stepping backward so I could read the old, white hand-painted script on the side of the door, my mouth hung open. “Missile Tow,” I read out loud. “A tow truck?” I asked, keeping my eyes locked on the antique.
“Her name is Lucy. She’s the original tow truck my grandfather purchased when he first opened the mercantile and gas station,” Chip said.
“Lucy?” I asked incredulously. “That’s an odd coincidence. My mom’s name is Lucy.”
Chip grinned. “My gramma’s name was Lucy. Another coincidence? They’re starting to pile up,” he stated.
I pointed at the door of the truck. “Missile Tow,” I read out loud. “Like m-i-s-t-l-e-t-o-e, the other mistletoe,” I added, spelling out each letter.
Chip looked at me quizzically. “I never thought about that.”
I spun around in disbelief. “No way!” I exclaimed. “Of course you have.”
He raised his hand like a Boy Scout at a badge award banquet. “Honest,” he confirmed. “I’ve walked by Grampa’s tow truck a thousand times and never put that together until now.”
I moved to the tailgate, brushing off dust as I took my time admiring the vehicle.
The truck had a black tow hitch mounted in the center of the bed.
There was a worn-out cable that had seen better days attached to the hitch, but the overall appearance was nearly flawless.
The closed tailgate, made of stamped steel, displayed FORD in bold white letters.
“Fifty-five, maybe a fifty-six,” I muttered, still walking around the incredible find.
“You think that’s the year of the truck?”
“I think so.”
I continued my tour, pressing my face against the passenger side window and peering inside. The black, heavily creased from use, leather bench seat needed professional treatment to restore the interior’s look. A long stick shift coming out of the floor had a stained ivory knob on top.
Chip’s vacant stare alerted me to the possibility that he was experiencing a memory from his past. Before I could ask, he headed toward the back of the old building’s interior.
“These boxes over here have the lights,” he said, his back to me.
“We have some plastic figurines and a couple of inflatable reindeer as well.”
After a minute, he turned around and caught me still drooling over the vehicle. “What?” I asked, noticing him cross his arms.
“Walk away from the tow truck,” he added, laughing.
“I think I’ve just found the best decoration ever,” I declared. “To start, I say we decorate a real tree and place it in the truck’s bed. Maybe a Santa inside, like he’s driving.”
“Are you serious?”
“Dead serious,” I stated. “And then we park the truck right in front of the mercantile until New Year’s.”
“I suppose I can put a battery in it, or if need be, we could pull it out of here with my truck if you think it’ll look good.”
I hurried over to him, grabbing both of his hands and pleading with my eyes. “Just think about it,” I began. “Missile Tow. How much better could it be? I’m still shocked you’ve never noticed that.”
“You’re… right. It could look good,” he solemnly agreed, unexpectedly sounding like he wasn’t totally sold on my idea.
“I’m hearing a but in that response.”
“I guess I never noticed the name coincidence because the tow truck only comes out one time a year during the summer.” His voice quieted noticeably. “John used to drive it in the Fourth of July parade every year…”
“Ohhhh… I see,” I replied, nodding and whispering my response. “And you think people would associate it with John driving the truck, and that upsets you somehow?”
“Maybe,” he admitted. “I’m not sure how I feel.”
I understood his confused thoughts. My past year was fraught with worry as well.
What were friends saying about my breakup?
What would special occasions be like without Evan?
What about Christmas and my birthday? Like Chip, I’d been dumped just before both special days.
And it sucked. But I didn’t want this season to be the same or feel like last year’s.
“It sucked last Christmas, didn’t it?” I asked, moving closer to him. “All alone. Missing what you had with John. The lowest of lows, as you probably thought about how you could possibly survive the hurt. Does any of that sound familiar?”
“All of it sounds too familiar,” he confirmed, his head tilting toward the concrete floor. “I’m amazed I got through it.”
I lifted his chin so he could see I recognized his pain. “Me too,” I said. “That’s why I’m moving forward, Chip. I do not want to live in that headspace any longer.”
He sighed and swiped at his eyes. “So you’re moving to get away?” I nodded. “I’m not moving away, though,” he explained.
“I know that,” I acknowledged. “So, your challenge is harder. Everyone around you connects John to you, to the mercantile, and even to this old tow truck.”
“Exactly.”
“So you’re stuck?” I asked. “Living with his ghost while the rest of the world moves forward? Is that about right?”
The look on his face concerned me. I’d hit a nerve, or he was pissed about my observation. Or worse, I’d uncovered a truth I’d been afraid of since meeting him. He wasn’t over his ex.
Chip turned away and began moving boxes of decorations from a wooden shelf and stacking them on the floor, completely disregarding my question. Stepping closer, I placed a hand on his shoulder while his back was to me. He froze.
“Is that about right?” I asked for the second time, finding the willpower to face my fear of rejection rather than run from it. “It’s not my intention to be cruel, Chip.”
I’d been accustomed to looking to Evan to solve my issues in the past, but now I was single, so I understood Chip’s sadness. Back then, I didn’t have to feel or make mistakes because Evan ran our lives. But look where that got me.
Chip remained silent for half a minute, his shoulders moving with each breath, before he spoke. “They won’t let me be a different person,” he whispered.
I squeezed his shoulder and stepped to within inches of his back. “Who won’t let you be a different person?”
He cleared his throat of the pain stuck there. “The townsfolk won’t. They knew me and John our whole lives. John was me, and I was him. We were bookends since we were kids.”
“Where do they think he is?” I asked, trying my best not to insult him by sounding like a smart ass. “John left you and this town for another man,” I stated. “Do they know that?”
“I don’t know,” he murmured. “No one ever says anything except Bertie because she works with me.”
“Mrs. Hatfield knows,” I reminded him. “And you mentioned the older gay man across the street. He knows.”
He turned to face me, his face streaked with tears.
I realized in that moment, Chip was far more in touch with his emotions than I’d credited him with.
Of course, my heart ached the second I understood he was far from over John, too.
But I decided he needed a friend right then, not some horny guy wanting to fuck around for a couple of weeks.
“I guess I’m afraid to badmouth John to people he’s known forever,” he said. “Like, why make him look bad just because I’m so fucking miserable?”
“You don’t badmouth him to me,” I disagreed. “You’ve been nothing but respectful as well as direct about what he did. Do you speak about John’s absence to people?”
“I assumed they knew,” he said. “We never speak directly about him. I mean, at first, it was obvious he’d left town. Slowly and over time, people stopped inquiring about him.”
“But you were his significant person,” I said. “Wouldn’t they express their sorrow at your loss?”
“You’d think, right?” he began. “But truthfully, John and I never labeled to others who we were to each other. We assumed everybody knew we were a couple.”
Perhaps he was correct, but I didn’t accept the reason they wouldn’t let him be different. The two events didn’t have to be mutual. If he wanted to create change or be different, as he mentioned, then he could do that, in my opinion.
“But because the fact that you two were a couple was never discussed, I’d bet people were unsure how to bring his departure up. Maybe they were afraid they’d assumed the wrong thing about you two. You ever think about that?”
“I suppose,” he admitted. “Even his parents don’t speak about him to me. I think they’re relieved our relationship is out from under their noses.”
Chip had unloaded quite a parcel of news, and I was unsure what all of it meant. My feeling that he wasn’t over John was basically confirmed. I also assumed his reluctance to bring the tow truck out was related to the memory of his one true love as well.
Who was I to push him to do something he obviously felt uncomfortable with? My urge to make my apologies and hit the road to Denver that instant was huge. There was nothing for me here other than great sex. However, my urge for more great sex was also huge.
“Let’s leave the tow truck where it is,” I said, kicking a box near his foot. “Looks like you’ve got plenty of other great stuff to decorate with.”
I turned and headed for the door, deflated, but determined to keep moving forward. I was stronger for choosing myself for a change. No Evan to rain on my pursuits and desires. No need to entertain thoughts of Chip being anything other than a fun time for a couple of weeks.
I’d already surprised myself by vocalizing what I wanted sexually with Chip. He represented a clean sexual palette who allowed me to fulfill my needs, so why not enjoy what we shared? Even if the exchange was destined to be sexual only.
“Hey, Van,” he called after me. I stopped and turned to face him. “You okay? Are we okay?”
“We’re good, Chip. I think we’ve clarified some things I needed to hear.”
He took his cowboy hat off and ran his hand through his hair, his brow furrowed, studying me closely. “Yeah?” he asked.
I simply nodded, turned, and made my way to the door. The discovery of his not being ready for new love hurt more than I thought it would. Chip still lived with painful memories; he didn’t need to see the pools in my eyes.