6. Becca
SIX
BECCA
I turn the key again, hoping maybe the twelfth time will be the winner. “Come on, come on.”
The damn engine still won’t turn. I lean my head against the steering wheel. I’m a few towns over from Paint, out running errands to avoid the inevitable back at the farm: prepping for another weekend of madness.
When I’m in town, it doesn’t seem as daunting. I forget the do-or-die nature of it. I can pretend it’s fine.
My bank statements say otherwise. It’s the small business equivalent of a Hail Mary.
I inherited this farm two years ago, and once I left Stone for good, I moved out here.
It started with me, a handful of chickens, and a dream.
I eventually figured out that if I can host my weekend festivals, I might be able to make enough to invest in everything else that needs to happen around here.
It costs a lot to put on the festivals, and I need every dollar I can get. But as long as the weather holds, it’ll be enough to get me through a whole month of the off-season.
I’m trying to figure out a way to not have an off-season anyway, but that’s after I survive the fall weekend rush. At least I grew my own pumpkins this year to save money. I have the land. Why not use it?
And while my land is free and clear at the bank thanks to my family friend Kenny’s generous will, it’s not completely without strings.
Mamaw was the gym teacher at Paint High, and Kenny was Mamaw’s coworker and best friend.
He tutored me whenever I had trouble in school because, according to Mamaw, I was “the stubbornest thing that ever was” when she tried to help me.
I was slightly more forgiving with Kenny.
I only bit him once, and considering Mamaw’s track record with me in the bite department, that’s pretty good.
Kenny owned what is now my farm with his partner, Ernest, but the farm sat unused for a year or so before Kenny passed.
Their health deteriorated quickly, and both of them moved into a nursing home on short notice.
They saw how expensive things were going to get and that Ernest might outlive their funds.
So, Kenny made me a deal: make sure Ernest was taken care of and the farm was mine to have.
He wouldn’t have made enough just selling the acreage, and I wouldn’t have had the money to buy it outright either.
They decided they’d rather the farm went to someone who would love it like they did, and I’d use my farm income to foot their end of life care bills.
I can eat ramen and the things I grow and get by just fine, but Ernest’s nursing home bills don’t come cheap. And I would never, ever consider breaking my promise to Kenny.
But that leaves money tight at various points in the year, like now.
I really don’t have the time or money for my truck to fail.
Darcy’s husband, Jake, has been raving about some new mechanic he found, saying what a nice guy he is and what a good deal he gave him.
Jake’s like me: he knows cars and tractors and everything in between, but there are some repairs you can’t do without an auto shop at your disposal.
I’m working on fixing up my garage to be able to do work like that, and by working on, I mean it’s on my mile-long list of upgrades I want to do at the farm.
But once that cash starts flowing again, watch out. Every windfall has a place to go.
This truck repair will be another windfall out the window. I jump out and open the hood to find what I’ve been suspecting: the timing belt snapped.
“Well, T, looks like we’re gonna have to get help this time,” I say to T-Bone, who has been licking her chops in the backseat and tracking a gnat.
I open my phone, taking care not to cut my finger on the deep chasms of broken glass on the screen. That should probably go somewhere on my repair list. I dial Jake.
“Hey,” he whispers. “I’m at work. What’s up?”
“Never mind then, get back to work.”
He sighs. “Oh, quit. What’s going on?”
“My truck has a busted timing belt and I need your mechanic’s name.”
“Ah, shit. Where are you?”
“Hurricane. Out on a supply run.”
A keyboard clacks in the background. “Let me look at something. Oh, perfect. It’s within five miles of the shop. I’ll call my roadside assistance people to come get you.”
“Thanks, pal. And maybe put in a good word for me? Since you’re so tight with this guy.”
“I mean, it’s not like I hang out with him,” he backpedals, “but I’ll call him and let him know you’re coming.”
“Appreciate you. I’ll owe you a pie or something after this.”
He chuckles. “Just put it on our friendship tab.”
I make small talk with the tow truck driver, who, surprisingly, I don’t know. The closer we get to the shop, the more my stomach sinks. I pet T-Bone, who lays her head in my lap.
“Hey, which shop are we going to?”
He lets out an especially lung-crackling cough and sighs out a “‘scuse me, woo,” before saying, “Paint Auto.”
I scrunch up my face and exhale a shallow breath. “I was afraid of that.”
“You want it to go somewhere else?”
Yes, I absolutely do, but it’s too late now. I’m not retracting my free five miles of towing thanks to Jake’s nice roadside assistance plan. “No, my friend recommended it. I’ve just never been there.”
For several good reasons.
One is that I can usually do my own car repairs. I change my own oil and do as much routine maintenance as I can myself. Being a trucker right out of high school got me over any fear of getting my hands dirty.
But the main reason is who runs Paint Auto: Tyler Davis and his dad. His dad is a lovely guy, a friendly drunk who I chit chat with often at the American Legion Hall bar in Paint. Tyler, on the other hand is, well, Tyler.
My brain scrambles for a way out of this. I could call my brother, Dustin, and he’d figure out a way to get me the part. But Dusty’s got his own life, and the last thing I want is him thinking his baby sister still needs help.
Even if maybe a teeny tiny part of me does.
But not really. I put on my big girl pants every damn day and do all the things.
The tow driver pulls past the garage and throws his gear shift in reverse to drop my truck down.
Well, here’s hoping Jake’s recommendation can outweigh the hostility Tyler feels toward me.
I muster up my finest charm. I can win Tyler over. After all, there were those couple of times where he might have even liked me a little bit. Nothing like a trip down memory lane to save me. I pull my neckline down and scoop into my bra to lift my boobs by hand. The tow driver gives me a look.
“Mind your business,” I say, blowing a bubble with my gum. “Nothing I can’t fix with my feminine wiles.”
He smirks. “I’m just wondering why I didn’t get your wiles. You know—”
I hold up my hand. “Respectfully, Aster, can it if you want any of the cash in my wallet.”
“Cash is good, but ass is better.”
“My dog bites,” I warn. T-Bone’s never successfully bit a thing in her life except a fly every once in a while. “I could also give you a poke from my knife.”
I carry a knife at all times. A girl’s gotta be prepared, and so many things happen at close range. A man comes for me, I’m ready for him. Might even give him a little smooch before I stab him in the back.
Why does that fantasy feel so comforting?
Aster doesn’t bother asking for a tip and I don’t pretend I’ll give him one. The man lost his privileges.
I smile at the memory of Kenny, who passed and left the farm to me. A man gives you trouble like that, Becca, they deserve everything they got comin’.
My smile is inconveniently timed because that’s right when Tyler looks up to find me at the counter. His face drops into a scowl. “Do any of your clothes cover the body parts they’re supposed to cover?”
“Tyler,” Mr. Davis scolds from the next bay over. “Sorry about him. You know what a grouch he is. That bad attitude’s bad for business.”
Tyler turns his face back down, immersed in his task. I prop my elbows on the till and ring the bell on the counter an obnoxious number of times. He cuts a scathing glance at me. “None of them cover your mouth, so no, they don’t. What’s a lady gotta do to get some help around here?”
Mr. Davis hoots out a laugh and a “got you good!”
Tyler stands straight, poking his tongue into his cheek. “I don’t see any ladies ‘round here.”
I scowl at him and slam the bell three times in succession. “Call me what you want, but you’re gonna fix my truck.”
“Surprised this is the first time you’ve darkened my doorway,” he calls. “Cheating on your usual mechanic?”
I blow and pop a massive bubble gum bubble. I fuckin’ love bubble gum. Keeps my mouth from getting into trouble. “You’re looking at my usual mechanic.”
“Independent woman,” he muses, barely looking at me while he screws a cap back on under the hood.
“And here I thought you said you didn’t see any ladies.”
His lips tighten. I irked him. I adore irking him. “A lady and a woman’s two different things.”
I simper and flutter my eyelashes. “You’ll have to educate me, sir. I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. I’m but a simple woman.”
“You can’t have dogs in here,” he adds, flicking his chin toward T-Bone.
“Then what are you doing here?” I ask.
Tyler’s lips quirk up and I can tell he’s cooking up some fresh bit of sass. But he never gets to deliver it, because Ellie comes skipping into the garage from a back room. “Papaw, I want a snack.”
Tyler’s expression changes completely, and Mr. Davis’s face positively lights up. It’s almost like Tyler knows how to be nice when his daughter’s around. “You know where the apple slices are, shug. You can get ‘em for yourself.”
“I want pretzels,” she says. “The long ones with the big salt.”
A dimple on one of his cheeks pops as he looks at his daughter.
Mr. Davis’s laugh, one I’ve heard countless times at the Legion, rings out. “Like the ones on Papaw’s desk?”
“Mm, those are yummy,” I say. “Can I have one?”
Ellie’s eyes light up when she sees me. “Miss Becca!”