She shakes her head. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.” Glancing at her watch, she gives me a sad smile. “No time anyway; I gotta get back.”
I lean across the cab and give her a kiss meant to show her I love her, to tell her it’s okay, and to prove I’m on her side. She smiles when we pull apart, opening the door but lingering in the cab for one more second.
“You’re right about my Mom. I’m not far enough into therapy yet to know how to categorize how I feel or to have had a better handle on that lunch. Thank you for standing up for me and getting us out of there. I love you so much for that. It was just… a lot in my head today.”
I grunt. I spoke my peace, and she understood. “Have a good afternoon. Call me when you’re off.”
She smiles. “I will.”
I’m still learnin’ what she needs and how she needs it. Right now is a time for me to learn a little about her. How she processes.
Before she can get inside, I hop out of the truck and deliver her a kiss and a hug, and I get the feelin’ she’s fighting back tears, but she never breaks. Not in front of me, at least. If she’s gonna, I wish it would be with me. But I let her go, and she goes inside.
Back at Wrench Kings, I’m feeling sour.
The rest of the day goes by pretty fast, though, because Miller and I are wrist-deep in a spark plug replacement followed by an ignition coil repair, which ultimately leads to an ignition coil replacement.
I haven’t received so much as a text from Goldie this afternoon, and I chalk it up to her being busy at work. When I’m getting back in my truck, my Mom calls.
“Done at the shop?” She greets me when I answer.
“Yup. What’s up?”
“There’s a clog in the dishwasher line. The internal garbage disposal is clogged.”
I scratch the back of my head. “I told Dad he has to rinse the plates better if he’s gonna use the dishwasher.”
Mom sighs a year’s worth of pent-up sighs. “I know, Atticus, I’ve been telling him the same thing for forty years. Can you come look at it?”
I turn the key in the ignition. “Yeah, I’ll be there in ten. Leaving Kings now.”
“Okay,” she says, “see you soon.”
* * *
“I toldyou last time I took this fuckin’ thing apart!” I shout at my Dad, who only partially deserves it. Mostly I’m angry at Goldie’s mom, and I’m takin’ it out on my Dad because that's what people do. Misdirect their anger and hurt to people they care about because they don’t know how to handle it.
“I didn’t put celery or carrots down there!” Dad defends, though by the way the motor ain’t even running when I flip the switch; I don’t buy it.
I’ve been on my side under the sink for an hour already, and— “sweet potato,” I grunt as my fingers connect with a chunk of slimy orange peel. “That’s worse than carrots and celery combined.”
“Well,” Dad harrumphs, “you didn’t say anything about sweet potato!”
After I get out from under the sink, I wash my hands and face him. “How about this? All fresh food goes in the garbage. Think of the garbage disposal in the dishwasher as broken. Expect it to do nothing.”
He waves a hand down, his expression unimpressed—which is how he usually looks after I save his ass and hand him a lecture. “Fine, fine.”
Mom hands me a small mug with an inch of Brandy in it. “You’re cross today.”
Tired and sore—because six feet four inches doesn’t belong under a sink for more than a few minutes—I collapse into a kitchen chair and divulge it all.
“I met Goldie’s mom today at lunch.”
Mom’s lips twitch with discomfort. “How was it?” she asks kindly, though I know Goldie talks to my Mom. I know they even talk on the phone sometimes. Chances are, Mom knows all about Constance Berry.
“Awful. She ragged on me, ragged on Oakcreek, ragged on the waiter… but the worst was how she talked to Goldie.”
“Not good?” Mom questions with no real suspense on her face. She’s being diplomatic, and even though Goldie isn’t here, I love her for respecting Goldie that way.