Chapter 13
EJ
True love is shown more in deeds than words.
~ Saint Ignatius of Loyola
I’m driving to the salon over my lunch break today. The massive basket in my passenger seat taunts me. Doing too much, EJ? That’s what Truck said when I told him my plans.
Note to self: Don’t take relationship advice from single men.
Angie and I talked last night after she had put the boys to bed. When I asked her how they were doing, she laughed under her breath and said, “Bath time was sheer chaos.”
She went on to tell me she had to mop the bathroom floor with three giant towels while the boys ran around buck naked, squealing and laughing and refusing to put their pajamas on.
I didn’t share the strange ache in my chest when I pictured that scene—only it was me mopping up the floor, or scooping up the boys, one under each arm to take them to put their pjs on.
I might be jumping the gun. But I’ve known Angie forever.
And I’m more than ready to shoulder the load with her, to make nights like that less heavy—to laugh our way through parenthood and hold her in my arms when the house is still and we’re the only two awake.
I’m not rushing this. But we both know where this is heading if I continue to prove I’m the man who can love her and her boys. I know I am. Now I just have to help her believe it beyond any shadow of a doubt.
An idea formed when she was telling me the bath time saga. And that’s why I’m sitting next to a basket that’s big enough that at least one of the twins could comfortably sit in. Where Angie’s concerned, as long as the door is open for me to pursue her, there is no such thing as doing too much.
I park my pickup, walk around to the passenger side, and pull the basket off the seat.
The cellophane Champ’s wife helped me wrap it in sticks up near my face.
I have to crane my neck to look both ways before crossing the street.
When I get to the shop, I set the basket near my feet, push the door open, pick it up and step in.
All heads turn in my direction—and stare. The room grows silent. My eyes find Angie’s. Her mouth pops open.
“EJ?”
“Yeah?”
“What is that?”
“A basket.”
Usually the salon is bustling with noise and chatter. It’s dead silent with the exception of the low hum of the hair dryers at the back of the room.
“A basket?” she asks.
“Yeah. I figured it might help with bath time.”
Shannon’s painting Principal Barnes’ wife’s toenails at the front of the salon.
Shannon looks up at me and says, “Awww. That’s so sweet. You brought all that for Angie?”
I nod, turning my eyes back to Angie. I don’t walk over to her yet. She’s still sizing me up—and the basket. She’s definitely curious.
Mrs. Barnes’ conversation fills the silence in the salon.
“We’re swimming with actual stingrays. I still don’t know if it’s safe, but Steven assured me they wouldn’t have it as an attraction if tourists got killed doing it.
And, if I’m going to have a death by stingray, at least I’ll have those darling pineapples on my toenails when I do! ”
Shannon giggles lightly. “You’ll be coming back here in one healthy, tanned piece. Pineapple toes and all. I can’t wait to hear all about it.”
They must be going on vacation. I’m sure I’ll hear all about it soon enough.
I take a breath and walk over to Angie, lugging the basket that might weigh twenty pounds.
Okay. Okay. Maybe it is doing too much.
“What’s in there?” Angie asks softly.
A few of the customers are honed in on us, but Mrs. Barnes is chatting up a blue streak with Shannon, and Laura’s back to focusing on cutting Starla’s hair.
“Bath stuff,” I say, holding the basket out in her direction.
She takes it, and her body sags with the weight. I put my hands back under it, taking it back from her and setting it in her empty chair.
“There’s enough stuff in there that my boys won’t fit in the bath!” Angie says with a smile.
“It’s not all for one bathtime. I read online that rotating toys keeps children from getting bored. And the end of the day is a time when they’re less patient and more likely to give you a hard time. So, I got you a rotation.”
“You went online to look that up?”
“Is that not the best source for parenting intel?” I ask her.
“Parenting intel,” she echoes, laughing lightly at my word choice. “It can vary. But what you read is true.”
“Good,” I say, making a show of wiping my hand across my brow.
“Do you want to check it out?” I ask her, eager to see her reaction to the squeezy firetrucks that float, the toy Dalmatians, and the towels that look like turnouts with hoods that look like firefighter helmets.
Okay, so I themed my gifts.
Overnight shipping was my friend.
“This is unnecessary,” Angie says, eyeing the basket.
“I beg to disagree.”
“Really. I already know you're a good man, EJ. You've shown me that you care.”
I lower my voice, stepping nearer to her even though most of the salon has resumed whatever they were doing before I showed up.
Shannon’s at the door, seeing Mrs. Barnes out and saying, “Enjoy Aruba!”
I look Angie in the eyes. “That gossip rocked your world. My lack of clarity didn't help. I want to scrub all that clean.”
I almost reach out to touch her. I would. But not here.
Instead, I hold her gaze with mine, hoping she feels my words as if I’m whispering them to her in the privacy of my truck bed while I’m holding her in my arms.
“I want you to be so convinced of my intentions no one can ever sway you. You’re going to know all the way to your bones how all in I am.” I pause and add, “For you and the boys.”
She steps closer, still looking up into my eyes, and pulls me into a hug, right in front of everyone.
“Thank you,” she murmurs into my chest.
“This is nothing,” I tell her.
“You’re going to spoil us,” she says.
“Now you’re on to my plan,” I say with a chuckle.
She tips her head up and smiles at me. “I’m going to tell the boys Mister EJ gave them this basket.”
“If you want to,” I say.
“I do.”
I take off and head back to the station, a won’t-quit smile on my face the rest of the day. At night, a little before Angie usually calls, my phone rings. It’s her.
I answer. “Hi!”
And before I can say another word, two voices shout, “Thank you, Mister EJ!”
“Ohhh! Hey, boys. I’m glad you liked it.”
“We played with the squirty fire hydrants, as long as you don’t squirt Mommy, you can do that,” Levi says.
“Good plan,” I say.
“And we dried off with the fireman towels. I want to sleep in mine but Mommy said it’s just a towel.”
“Your mom is always right.”
“She not always right,” Levi says.
“Yeah she is,” Jack argues.
“Okay, boys,” Angie says in the background. “Say goodnight to Mister EJ.”
They say, “Goodnight Mister EJ!” in unison and then Angie’s on the phone.
“The basket was a hit, as you can tell.”
“Glad to hear it. Sounds like I might need to purchase two pairs of firefighter pajamas too.”
“Don’t you dare,” she says, but I can’t tell if she means it or not.
“I’ll wait a few weeks.”
“EJ,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice.
“Angie.”
She sighs softly. “I’d better get these two into bed.”
“Sounds good. I’ll talk to you in a bit.”
“Yes. That. For sure.”
She doesn’t say it, for the boys’ sake.
We hang up and about a half hour later, she calls. We talk for over an hour, until she starts yawning. Then I tell her I need to go.
Over the next week I bring coffee every morning—one for Angie and one for Laura, who tells me I’m a smart man and a good listener. I drop off dinner a few times when I come to walk Angie to her car. We text and call and we sit on the phone every night after the boys are in bed.
Friday morning, my phone rings before I’ve even left for the station.
Laura doesn’t even say hello. She barrels forward, her words coming out quickly and at the volume she’s known for when she means business. “EJ. Angie just called me. She’s stranded. Her van battery died.”
Laura’s calling me?
Coffee runs for the win.
“Where is she?” I ask.
“At home. And, yes. This is me throwing you a bone.” She pauses. “I’ve seen you putting in the effort. I like you two together. Go prove me right.”
She doesn’t have to tell me twice. I’m already grabbing my keys and running out to my truck.
I call Weber on my way to Angie’s. “I’m going to be late. Angie’s battery died.”
“Do you have a replacement with you?”
“Uh. No.”
“Maybe pick one up before you show up empty-handed.”
I chuckle. “Yeah. I will.”
My next call is to Duke. “You don’t happen to have a battery on hand?”
“Car battery?”
“You do own a service garage.”
“Right. Yeah. Of course.” He laughs. “We’ve got batteries. Why?”
“Angie’s battery died this morning.”
“Want me to bring it over to her?”
“No. I’m on my way to you.”
“Sounds good. See you in a few.”
I drive to Satterson’s to pick up the battery and five minutes later, I’m pulling up in front of Angie’s house.
I hop out of my truck and jog up to the door. When I knock, the twins are at Angie’s side.
“Hi, Mister EJ!” Jack says. “Did you bring fireman things?”
“Jack,” Angie says. “Don’t ask people to bring you things.”
“I drewed you a picture,” Levi says.
“I drewed you one too,” Jack says.
“Drew,” Angie says under her breath.
“That’s great,” I tell the boys. “I can’t wait to see them. Let me help your mom with the van, okay?”
“You gonna fix it?” Levi asks.
“Yeah.” I look down at them, looking up at me with innocent, expectant expressions. “Have you ever seen under the hood of the van?”
“The hood?” Jack’s face scrunches up. “Like my jacket?”
“The van hood.” I glance at Angie. Then I stick my hand out toward Jack. “I’ll show you.”
He takes my hand and steps out onto the porch with me.
Angie’s eyes meet mine.
She’s smiling. That’s all that matters.
“Show me too!” Levi says.
“I’ll show both of you,” I say.
I tell the boys to stay at the front of the van, then I reach inside the driver’s door and pop the hood. I don’t need them knowing all the secrets at this point. I can just see them trying to pop it on their own when I’m not around.
“No one looks at engines without a grown-up, okay?”
Both boys nod. I lift the hood, propping it open.
I lift Jack first. “See that? All that is what makes the car go.”
“How?” Jack asks.
“Well, it’s complicated. But one part,” I point with my free hand. “That right there, is the battery.”
His face is serious. He nods.
“Lemme see!” Levi says.
“Please,” Angie tells him.
“Pleeeease!” Levi echoes.
Angie reaches down and lifts him, and the four of us stand together, looking in at the engine and other components.
“So, Levi,” I say. “That’s the battery. And that gives the car power. Gas also gives the car power. And today, the battery died.”
“It’s dead?” Jack asks. His brows raise and his eyes go wide.
“That’s what we call it when it stops working and won’t work again.”
“Oh.”
“So, I have a new battery and we’re going to change it.”
“To fix it?” Levi asks.
“Yes. To fix it.”
My eyes meet Angie’s. She’s smiling at me with a smile I’ve never seen before. There’s this rightness to it—to us, to this.
I set Jack down and jog over to my pickup. Then I bring the battery back. Angie switches off holding the boys up so they can watch me take the old one out and put the new one in. Then I have Angie hop into the driver’s seat and turn the key. The engine starts right up.
“Good as new,” I tell the boys.
They both cheer and start hopping up and down, shouting. “We did it!” “We fixed Mommy’s van!”
Angie turns off the engine and joins us in front of the van.
“Thank you, again,” she says. “You’re really going above and beyond, EJ.”
“Just serving my community,” I say.
“Is that all this is?”
“Not even close,” I say with a wink. “And this isn’t above and beyond. It’s bare minimum. You needed a battery. I wanted to be the one to help you out. And I got to see the boys.”
“We got to see you too,” Jack says.
“I see you right now!” Levi says.
“Boys, tell Mister EJ thank you and go inside, okay?”
The boys do as Angie asks. When the screen door clatters shut behind them, Angie turns toward me. She steps near and kisses me softly on the cheek.
“Thank you.”
“It really was no problem. I was glad to do it.”
She crosses her arms and shakes her head, that same smile on her face. “You’re too much.”
Jack shouts from the doorway, “Mommy, Levi said I can’t go to our bedroom.”
“I’d better go,” she says.
“Me too,” I tell her. “I’ll see you after work.”
“I’ve got a girls’ night.”
“I’ll still come walk you to your car … If you want me to.”
When she says, “That would be nice,” I know.
Angie’s not only allowing me to escort her out of the salon to her car. She’s opening the door to our future another inch.
I walk backwards a few steps toward my pickup, not wanting to let her out of my sight. Then I wave and turn toward my truck, replaying that new smile Angie gave me all the way to work.