14
I spend the next couple of days getting my bearings with the back-end intricacies of the store, making sure Harvey is settled into the rehabilitation home, and calling agility centers. I find only one that has an affordable class with openings. While I am dedicated to this venture, there are limits to my commitment, and paying annual membership fees is a hard no.
On the flip side, I’ve started playing around with designing a website, and I’ve also set up a table in the storage room for my sewing machine, so at times when the store isn’t busy, I’m working on filling commissioned orders. In addition to the Cleopatra getup, I’m in the process of making two haunted mansion costumes for a couple who runs the pumpkin patch two towns over. They’ve given me free rein, so it’s proving to be a nice distraction.
That’s where I am Thursday evening when my cell lights up with Mom’s picture.
“I don’t have long,” she says in greeting. “Your father is waiting.”
“Okay… What’s going on?”
“I just talked to Dad. He’d like his green robe and a bag of those blue corn chips he loves, so if you could bring that to him tomorrow, that would be great.”
I had this conversation with Harvey already. He knows I’ll only be able to get out to Dalebrook when I can borrow Micki’s car, and I tell Mom as much.
“Isn’t Dad’s car right there? Or did it break down again?”
“No, he had it fixed. But you know I don’t drive stick.”
“Pfft. Your grandpa needs you, Coralynn. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” She says something to my dad on the other end before she comes back. “Your dad says it’s easy. Break, clutch, shift, let up gently.”
I’m pretty sure there’s more to it. Harvey tried to teach me when I was in high school, and for a while I almost got it, but when I moved away for college, my brain had to make room for other information and promptly dumped everything I knew about manual transmissions.
“You can do it,” Mom insists. “I’ve got to run. We’re doing a guided tour at Yellowstone today. I’ll send you pictures. Your dad spent a fortune on new hiking boots, so we’d better put them to use!”
At this reminder of my parents’ decently flush bank accounts, I almost ask Mom for help. A small investment in the store, a loan even, to pull us out of the red. Except I know she’ll say no. My parents are all about individual responsibility, and she’s made clear more than once how she feels about Pop still working at his age.
“Okay, have fun,” I say instead.
“And you’ll bring Dad his things?” Mom asks.
“If I can get the car running.”
We hang up, and with rising apprehension, I add to my list: learn to drive stick.
I get up early to give Harvey’s car a try. It’s an old, gray Ford Mustang that he’s had as long as I can remember. It smells of pine air freshener and wet dog, but he’s kept it meticulously clean throughout the years, and the seat hugs me like it wants me to be there.
“Okay, Pop,” I mutter, inserting the key into the ignition. “Show me your ways.”
I turn the key, and the car immediately rocks forward and dies. I grip the steering wheel tightly, my foot pressing down hard on the brake pedal. This feels familiar in all the wrong ways.
After two more unsuccessful attempts, I pull out my phone and search for a stick shift primer for dummies. “Make sure the car is in neutral,” I read. It’s not. Harvey has left it in first gear. “Press down on the clutch and keep it down while you start the car.” Okay, here goes…
The engine thrums to life without issue. “Haha! Gotcha.” I read on. “Move the gear shift into first gear. Gradually let up the clutch as you start driving.” It’s starting to come back to me, but that doesn’t make me sweat any less. Here goes.
This time, I manage to get out of the parking space before the engine stalls again, and after two more tries, I realize there’s such a thing as going too slowly. I’m going to have to be more deliberate with the gas pedal, no matter how much I don’t want to die. I’m in charge now. I need to be able to drive myself places.
I do a few starts and stops around the parking lot, thanking all the gods no one else is out and about, and when I’ve managed this small feat, the next logical step is to venture around the block. The first turn is fine. I stop at the stop sign without incident, the engine still purring, but when I make a left onto the street that runs in front of the store, there’s a truck parked in my lane and oncoming traffic in the other. Instantly, I forget the clutch, and the car stops in the middle of the street. Damn it! What order was it again? Brake, clutch, gas, shift? Clutch, shift, brake? Somewhere near me, a car honks, and that doesn’t help my frazzled state.
I’m on the verge of tears when there’s a knock on the passenger window. Leo gestures for me to open it.
“Is this part of your marketing strategy?” he asks. “Forcing customers to stop in front of the store? Because I don’t think it’s working.”
As if wanting to emphasize the truth in his words, the car behind me honks again. “One sec!” Leo hollers to them. Then to me, “What’s going on?”
The impulse to unbuckle and run away is overwhelming. How he must enjoy this. “I’m having some issues with the car,” I say, not looking at him.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him glance down at the center console and up to where I’m still holding on to the wheel for dear life.
“Is the issue that you don’t know how to drive stick?” he asks.
“Maybe.”
He taps both hands on the open window frame. “Okay, move over.” He comes around to my side and opens my door.
“Why?”
“So we can get the car out of the street.” The honking behind us intensifies. “Seems kind of like a priority, no?”
I’d protest, but he’s not wrong. I crawl over to the passenger seat, and two minutes later, he’s completed the lap around the block and parked us safely back in Harvey’s spot.
Leo turns off the engine, and for a long moment, neither of us speaks.
“I think ‘thank you’ are the words you’re looking for.” He unbuckles his seat belt but doesn’t get out.
Somehow, he’s now come to my aid twice this week. It unnerves me, but at least he doesn’t seem to be gloating about it.
“Thank you. I would have figured it out.” It might have taken a while, but still…
“Of course you would. How’s Harvey by the way?”
His eyes soften as he says Pop’s name. Or maybe that’s just in my imagination.
“He’s moved from the hospital to the nursing home. He’s fine. Just logistics, you know. Getting settled.”
“Good.” He smiles and reaches for the door handle. “I’ve got to get back to the store. Deliveries.” Halfway out the door, he looks back at me. “You’re not going to take off into traffic again as soon as I leave, are you?”
“Duh.”
“Just making sure. Got to crawl before you walk.”
Okay, wiseass. Problem is, I need to know how now. Harvey needs me tonight. The dog training starts tomorrow. There’s no time for crawling.
Leo closes the door behind him, and the air around me quiets and stills as he walks away. The morning light illuminates a few stray specks of dust on the dash that I wipe off while I try to conjure a next step. As I move, the seat creaks beneath me, and the key chain swings gently from the ignition.
I reach over to grab it, and at that moment, the most terrible idea of the century strikes. My only explanation is that desperation tops pride.
I jump out of the car as Leo is approaching the corner and call his name.
He turns. “Yeah?”
“Any chance you could show me how to do it?”
He looks from me to the car. “You want me to… No, I don’t think so. I’ve got a business to run as you know. Trying to stay competitive.”
Okay, I deserve that. My mind scrambles for something to bargain with. Lord knows I have no money. “I’ll mention your opening on our social media.”
He starts walking again, but backward this time. “You’re not on social media. Bye, Cora.”
How does he know that? Has he been net stalking me? I don’t have time to consider this further. He’s getting away. “If not for me then for Harvey.” It’s a shot in the dark, but the two of them did seem to hit it off.
Leo slows. “Oh, that’s playing dirty.”
I take a couple of steps closer. “Please. I need a way to get to the nursing home or Pop will be all alone there. A few lessons are all I ask. It’s not like I’m starting from scratch.”
His expression says he begs to differ, but to his credit, he doesn’t spell it out.
I go in for the kill. “Unless you don’t trust your teaching skills, of course.”
He squares his shoulders. “There’s nothing wrong with my teaching skills. I’ll have you driving that thing in no ti—” His eyes widen. “Ah, very clever, I see what you did there.”
I smile. “So you’ll help? He wants me to bring him a few things tonight.”
Leo runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Fine.” He puts a finger up to stop me from responding. “On one condition.”
My stomach dips. If he asks me to let Canine King best Happy Paws, I—
“Look, I know you’re feeling a little territorial perhaps and protective of Harvey and his pet shop, but—”
I cross my arms. “With all due respect, you don’t know anything about me.”
He mimics my stance and considers me for a long moment. “Debate team, art club, volleyball… Parents’ names are Martin and Lynda, and apparently you hold a twenty-year town record for most money made off a lemonade stand in one day.”
I gape at him. “You looked me up?”
“You had the advantage of knowing me. It didn’t seem fair. What was in that lemonade?”
“I’m getting light serial-killer vibes here.”
“Well, being forced to listen to incessant meowing in the store for three days admittedly made me feel a little stabby.” He raises an eyebrow.
I could deny it was me, but what’s the point? “Okay, that’s fair.”
“Besides, it was hardly a deep dive into your personal vaults,” he says. “I checked my yearbook and talked to my aunts. Over five hundred dollars in a day?”
“They knew about that?”
“They remember standing in line for it. Come on, tell me. What was your secret?” His eyes glitter as he tilts his head forward, all earnest and innocent.
To my dismay, it works. “It was 104 degrees that day, and my grandparents’ house was on a busy corner. That’s all. Sorry to disappoint.”
“Still impressive.”
I clear my throat. “You said you had a condition?”
“Yes.” He lets his arms relax at his sides. “I’ll teach you to drive stick if you agree to a truce. No more of this sabotage and prank business—it’s below both of us. We’re adults.”
When he says it like that…
I blink up at him, weighing the pros and cons. Maybe I can be mad at him but still be civil. For Harvey. “Okay.” I nod. “A truce.”
He stares at me for a moment, something that looks almost like relief playing behind his eyes. Then he turns on his heels. “I close at six. I’ll be over at six thirty.”