“It’s okay, Mack. There’s a fresh batch on the cooling racks. I’m gonna run to the pharmacy and…take care of that.”
I’d never flown out of the garage faster. Luckily I didn’t crash the Santana on the way to the drugstore. I purchased the pregnancy test like a criminal, peeking over my shoulders and trying to make sure no one was watching or monitoring what I was doing. Habits of the judge’s child.
First Response.
BFP.
Clear, Blue, Easy.
I checked the aisle both ways before closing my eyes and grabbing whichever test my hand closed over, and then I ran to the register, keeping my head down so no one recognized me.
I didn’t even remember the ride back to The Lace Garage, only the feel of my heart doing flips in my chest, my lungs constricting, a possible panic attack taking over my whole body.
Rushing past Mack and now Clem, I locked myself in the bathroom, wrenched down my coveralls, and peed on the stick. I didn’t really need to look because I already knew the answer.
When I stood, I had to brace myself on the wall to keep from passing out. What would my parents say? Granted, I was an adult, but Judge Mills was conservative. He’d practically disowned me for opening a garage. I didn’t know what he’d do about a pregnancy out of wedlock.
I could take care of a kid by myself, right? No, I can’t! My reflection in the mirror looked as pale as the white walls behind me.
“Laney, somebody just delivered a giant box of chocolate-covered cherries. Can Mack and I have at ’em?” Clem hollered through the door.
“Knock yourselves out!” I called back.
The bachelor wouldn’t be sending sweets after he found out my news. I shoved the stick in the pocket of my Dickies and tied my hair up. I’d get his address from the guys at Roads. I’d drive to his house. I’d tell him our predicament—my predicament—and he’d never want to speak to me again.
The panic attack was never ending as I ran to my car again and then double back to the shop.
“I’m taking the day off. See you guys tomorrow,” I shouted into the garage.
“Okay, boss! But, uh, it is your day off,” Clem shouted back.
Right.
I narrowly escaped getting into a fender bender in the crowded parking lot at Roads.
“Motherfudger!’ I yelled as I beeped my horn.
Jackson was easy enough to find in this male-dominated space, which was ten times the size of Lace and lit up like a baseball diamond at night. Edison must have quite the electricity bill for these shops.
“Jackson!”
He was discussing something with a female client. It dawned on me that maybe Roads was so packed because Edison only hired good-looking men. All the mechanics in their navy-blue coveralls looked they could start doing a strip tease any minute. Maybe the key to his success wasn’t his prices but rather his Magic Mike staffers who pulled the ladies in.
Jackson looked up and so did the client.
“I need Edison’s address. He left something important. Something I have to give him today,” I said, finally reaching him, winded and breathing out my sentences. I probably looked like a deranged ex-girlfriend, a jilted ex-lover, someone the eligible bachelor wouldn’t want to see.
I pleaded with my eyes. I didn’t want to stoop to having to beg this man aloud for an address in front of his customer, who was eyeing me like a scourge against humanity.
“Please.”
“Call him and get it yourself,” he said. He wasn’t being mean, just matter-of-fact.
“I did. He’s not picking up.”
“That would be a huge breach of security for me to give you the boss’s address.”
Plan B.
“Okay, just tell him I stopped in and that I’m looking for him.”
“You got it, uh, Laney, right?”
“Laney Mills,” I told him, walking backwards. I bumped into another handsome mechanic, not looking where I was going.
When I sat back down in the car and adjusted the mirror to see my face, the pregnancy test was sticking out of my front pocket, the two pink lines clearly visible to anyone with eyes. I put my head on the steering wheel and hyperventilated for a moment. Then I drove like hell to the Valley, determined to find Edison on my own and probably ruin his life.
15
Edison
My financial planner and accountant thought I was insane, both for calling an emergency meeting on Sunday, over brunch, but also for scratching my long-held plans for Springfield.
“You can’t just close one of your best-performing stores, Eddie. What is this? Self-sabotage? That’s not the Roads CEO I know.”
I ordered cake for breakfast, and George Horace, the CPA, was looking at me like I’d suffered brain damage.
“Some things are more important than money, George.” I took a sip of my tall milk.
“Enlighten me, please, because I’m sixty-four years old and I haven’t found them yet. What are you on, Roads?”