4. Wrench
Chapter Four
WRENCH
Lila’s kitchen light burned for most of the night.
I parked the shop truck up the block with a thermos and a view of the whole of Strawberry Street.
Waffles and I sat there through the dark hours watching her place.
The green dot on my phone sat quiet at the Carlton Motel out by the highway the whole time, where Savage is currently parked in his own truck, texting me updates I didn't ask for. Savage keeps offering to go inside and ‘take care of the problem’; he’s bored if he’s not fighting or eating.
The man in the red car ordered two whole large pizzas to himself, apparently.
No beer. He’s staying sharp, and I don't like that either.
Waffles snored through most of my shift. Some soldier.
As dawn streaks the sky orange, Lila’s front door opens, and there she is with a duffel bag over her shoulder, moving quietly down her porch steps so the boards don't creak.
Even now, sneaking out of her own life, she moves so easy on her feet, hitting the ground to the beat of some song playing in her head.
I've clocked that about her at the diner; how she works a Saturday rush at tempo, spins on a heel with five plates up, never a wasted step.
Takes one to know one. Mamá raised six kids in a house with one unbreakable rule: everybody dances.
I could salsa before I could ride a bicycle.
My tía Marta swears I could dance before I could talk, and given how talking's gone for me so far, she may have a point.
A woman who moves like that shouldn’t be running and afraid. She should be adored and cherished. By me, and only me.
Lila loads the bag in the trunk, eases it shut with two hands, gets in, and turns the key.
The grinding sound is worse than yesterday. The engine catches, splutters and dies. She tries again. Nothing. Starter's finished, and some traitor part of me wants to congratulate it on its timing.
I'm out of the truck and crossing the street before she's done with the third try. Waffles hits the pavement behind me and takes a stance guarding her porch without being told, sitting facing the road. On duty.
Lila erupts out of that car.
“You.” She keeps her voice down, one eye on the house, and gets right up in my space, a whole five-foot-and-change of fury in her floral sundress. “You're watching my house.”
“Yeah.”
“All night?”
“Mostly.”
“You can't just…” Her hands come up, then drop to her sides. She has to crane her neck to look into my eyes. “You can't just do that.”
“I'll leave when you tell me who's in the red car.”
She sighs and drops her gaze. “Nobody. It's nobody.”
“I know that’s a lie.” I keep my voice gentle. “You're good at it, but I can see what it costs you. I hate that you have to lie to keep yourself safe. Let me in, Lila.”
Her chin comes up and her mouth opens, ready to push me away. Then all the fight drains out of her at once. She wraps both arms around herself, like she’s trying to stop herself from breaking, and meets my eyes.
“His name is Shawn.” Her voice is subdued.
“We were together for a year when Rosie was a toddler. Couldn’t accept it was over, I had to move away a few times, but he kept following.
He went away, to prison, and now he's out, and last night there was a note in my mailbox from him. Wrench, I’m scared. ”
She digs the paper out of her pocket and puts it in my hand.
Miss you, Lilabelle. You look good. So does she.
I read it twice. Somewhere down deep, in the engine room, everything goes over into the red and stays there, needles buried.
“He's at the Carlton Motel.” Her breath catches. “Savage is sitting on him right now. By lunch a friend of the club will have his full name, his parole officer, and every address he's ever slept at. You want to hear what happens next?”
“There is no next. Rosie and I will be two states over by…”
“Your starter's dead.”
“Then I'll take the bus.”
“Lila.” I put my hand on her shoulder and the connection flashes in her eyes.
“You want to run, I'll drive you myself. Both of you, far as you point, no questions.” I step in closer, slowly, giving her all the time in the world to back off, and she doesn't. “But you don't have to anymore.
You've been the only protection your little girl has for her whole life.
I'm asking you to let me help. And not just me. The Outlaws will protect you both.”
She looks up at me. Tears glisten in her eyes.
Her voice is shaky. “Why would you do all that for someone you barely even know? Your waitress at the diner?”
“You know why.”
“Say it anyway.”
“Ever since I first saw you, I knew. Because you're mine. It’s a fact. Been decided a long while. I was waiting on you to catch up.”
Her breath goes out of her, shaky, and she looks at my mouth. I don't move. She closes the last inch herself.
Her mouth is soft. She comes up on her toes to reach me and grabs a fistful of my cut to stay there, and I wrap her up carefully, one hand spread on her back, feeling her heart go like a hummingbird against my ribs.
She's been thinking about this too. Nobody kisses like that on a first try.
All those months of two-word conversations go up in smoke, and I finally get why my mamá cried at every wedding she ever attended.
A door hinge squeals and we break apart.
“MAMA. Is Waffles here?!” Rosie’s voice is delighted.
Lila steps back with her hand pressed to her mouth, and her daughter is on the porch in dog-paw printed pajamas.
Waffles has already abandoned his post to present himself for tribute, tail going, soldier discipline in ruins.
Lila looks at the dog, and the kid, then down at the duffel in the trunk, and then back to me.
“Inside and get dressed for school, Rosie-roo. Maybe Waffles will walk you there.”
Rosie cheers and vanishes with the dog. Lila stands in her driveway and then she reaches into the car, pulls the keys, and puts them in my palm, folding my fingers over them with both her small hands.
“If you can fix it,” she says. “We'll stay until then. Thank you.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“And Wrench? That thing you said. About being yours.” Her chin's up again, but her eyes are shining. “I’m going to need a little time to process that.”
“S'alright, beautiful.” I pocket her keys next to mine. “I'm a very patient man.”