I don’t know what it is, but it’s from her, and I know it’s not for a car. Which means it’s only for one other thing. #2
“If that’s what helps you remember, then yes, that,” I say, losing all moisture in my mouth. I like that Delane is well-versed in sex and not afraid to talk about it. She would push me to test myself if she were my girl, of that much I know for sure.
Her curls sway with her playful laugh. “It does.”
When the back door swings open, we step apart like teenagers caught fooling around. Atticus narrows his beady eyes at us, then looks to the driveshaft which Delane is holding.
“Which bagel and coffee is mine?” he asks, all interest in us completely lost because breakfast is two feet from him. That wasn’t my strategy, but if it buys me a few more minutes alone with Laney, I’ll take it.
“Any of them but the Cinnamon Toast Crunch,” I say over the top of Delane’s head. “And any of the coffees are yours; they’re all black. Except the one with the L on it.”
The corner of his mouth lifts a millimeter before he’s gone, and the door is rattling the walls with its closure.
Delane rolls her lips together. “Want to have another lesson tonight?”
In ten seconds, I get excited and crash back down to reality. “I do, but I can’t. I have plans.” Disappointment twists her face for a moment before she smiles, knocking hair off her shoulder casually.
“That’s fine; let me know when it works.” She shimmies out of my coat, and I can’t help but wonder, had I agreed to tonight, would she have kept it on? No, Delane isn’t like that, and this isn’t an emotional endeavor for her. We changed a driveshaft, so now I get a lesson in return.
That’s all it is.
The drive to Zeth’s after work is a lot different than it normally is. I want to see him–I always do–and I brought a few tools and my jack so I can look at his mom’s car.
But for the first time ever, I really wish I was somewhere else.
With her.
“How was work?” he asks as he slides into the passenger seat of my pickup. We always have a chat in my truck before anything we do, even if all I’m doing is dropping him off somewhere. The program advised a handful of minutes of dedicated conversation, and I’ve honored that.
It’s turned into some of our most vital time together, too.
I consider Zeth’s question. “Fine. The morning was the best part. Afternoon crept by,” I admit, omitting the detail that Delane is why the morning was so great.
I didn't see her much in the afternoon, and that’s not uncommon.
The place is crazy busy. But only recently have I noticed how infrequently our paths cross some days. And I don’t like it.
“How was your day?” I ask, reciprocating the basic question because, for a kid like Zeth, I may be the only person to ask him. That feeling is familiar, so I never skip asking.
He shrugs. “Fine.”
“You eat?”
“When?” he asks, yanking up the zipper on his oversized parka.
“Today. Tonight. All day.”
He shrugs, and the coat rises extra because of how big it is on him. “Yeah. My card reloaded, so I ate breakfast and lunch at school. Haven’t had dinner yet.”
I glance at my watch and see it’s twenty-past-five. “Hungry?”
The way his eyes light up when I turn the key in the ignition, bringing my truck to life, makes me feel all sorts of guilt. I wish I could do more for him, but as a Big Brother, they advise against going overboard. It can often upset the families.
“Let’s get burgers,” I say, not giving him an opportunity to answer. “Go tell your mom. And tell her I’ll bring her back something.”
He leaves the door open when he runs to the house, opening the door and presumably shouting inside. He leaps down his pathway back to me and slides into the seat, slamming the door. “Thanks, Miller.”
I drive us in silence for the first few minutes. “You okay, Zeth?”
He looks out the window as he replies. “I wish you were my real big brother.”
I knock a fist into his thigh gently, getting his focus as I edge toward a red light. “I can be. Just because we don’t share blood doesn’t mean we can’t be family.”
“Do you have a family?” he asks, and I can feel his attention on my profile as I navigate through a busy, snowy intersection.
“I work with two guys I consider my brothers; like I said, we don’t share blood, but that doesn’t change the fact that we’d go to the ends of the Earth for each other.” I know I feel that way about Beau and Atticus, and despite the way Atti gives me crap, I think they feel the same about me.
Zeth bobs his head. “You got a girlfriend? ”
I cast him side eye as the fast food restaurant comes into sight. “I’m working on that. It’s… complicated.”
“How?” he asks, and suddenly I feel like I’m in the car with that kid from Home Alone that gets into the airport van and asks the driver all those questions. Did you know the McCallisters are going to France? Do you know if it’s cold there? Do these vans get good gas mileage?
That was one of the first movies I watched when I got my own place.
I watched it that first Christmas I had alone.
I connected to Kevin McCallister as an eighteen-year-old, the way a six-year-old probably does.
Until the end of the movie, that is, when he’s reunited happily with his family. I shut the movie off at that part.
But I relate to the kid in the van, too. I had so many questions. And like the kid in the van, they never got answered. It’s why I’m always honest with Zeth. It’s what I wanted at his age.
“Well,” I scratch the back of my head as the steering wheel slides through my other hand. The drive-thru line has a few cars in it, so I join the queue. “I don’t have a lot of confidence in myself. Do you know what that means?”
“I’m twelve, not two. I know what confidence is.” He puffs out his chest. “Feeling good about yourself.”
“Right,” I smirk at him across the cab. Delane would like Zeth. He’s a sweet kid with lip, and I think she’d appreciate his personality. “Well, I have a friend helping me with that. Because once you feel good about yourself, you can do anything.”
“That sounds corny.”
I shrug. “Maybe. But I believe it’s true.”
We talk about school as the line dwindles, and I order us all a burger with fries and Coke. I know Zeth’s mom likes Coke; he’s told me that before .
I eat my burger in the truck while he takes his and his mom’s inside the house.
After I’m done, I set up two camping lights, get my tools out, and get to work on his mom’s car.
It’s a spark plug replacement along with a handful of other things, and after an hour and a half in the near freezing, the car is fixed, and I’m ready to thaw out.
I pack up and go, eager to get home to a warm shower and happy to know that Zeth and his mom will be driving to school and work tomorrow, in a working car, rather than walking or waiting for the bus.
When I reach the top of my apartment stairs, my outdoor light flickers, and it’s in a burst of temporary illumination that I notice a package on my doormat.
Unlocking my door, I reach down and grab it, bringing it inside with me.
There’s no label with a return address, nor is my home address on it. Only the letter M.
I lock my door, drop my bag, kick off my wet boots and hoodie, flop down on the couch and tear into the package.
It could be a bomb, but as a guy who grew up never receiving any gifts–I’m willing to risk it for the excitement of unwrapping and opening something actually for me.
I lift the lid and inside the box, sitting on shreds of cardboard, is a black contraption of some sort. Angling the box under the dim lights, I study it some more, still unsure what it is. There’s a lock and key attached to the item, too. I lift it out to discover a note beneath.
Unfolding the small square of paper, I realize the gift is from Delane because I’d recognize her beautiful penmanship anywhere. A mix of cursive and capitals, I didn’t know I could love handwriting, but when it comes to hers, I really do.
Miller,
This is for you to wear. Part of the lessons. See you tomorrow .
Delane
I hold up the device, turning it in my fingers a few times before I notice the crotch of my jeans growing tight. I don’t know what it is, but it’s from her, and I know it’s not for a car.
Which means it’s only for one other thing.
Time to take that hot shower.