Fender Bender Blues Page 4

  Rick nodded. “It’s something you could grow into. Get married, have some babies, all that good stuff Mom’s been bugging you about.”

  Craig sniffed. “Yeah right.”

  He peered inside the pantry. Definitely more room than he needed for the kind of shopping he did. He closed the pantry and looked up at the kitchen ceiling. No stains. “How are the shingles?”

  “They’re good,” Rick assured him. “What was your problem with her anyway?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he retorted, knowing exactly what Rick was talking about. The moment he’d pulled up to the house his attention had zeroed in on the wrecked car. Mangled and dull, it was the only blemish on the otherwise perfect street. After realizing the presence of the car also meant the presence of Rachel Bennett, he went inside to find her. That morning he didn’t handle the situation very well and he meant to apologize. Until she opened her mouth.

  Instead of apologizing he’d chosen to purposely piss her off. He wasn’t sure why or how, but the woman found her way under his skin for the second time that day.

  “How do you know her?” Rick asked, leading the way to the foyer.

  “Remember the car accident I was in earlier today?”

  “Yeah, what about it.”

  He glanced at the staircase curving up along the wall to the second floor. The woman had looked spectacular coming down it, with all that wavy hair swirling around her shoulders and down her back. He shook his head to clear the image. “That was the girl with the lipstick.”

  “Lipstick?”

  “She was putting on lipstick when she hit me. She wasn’t even looking. It should be illegal to put on makeup behind the wheel. It’s as dangerous as a cell phone.” Craig ignored the thought that if he hadn’t taken his eyes off the road to reach for his briefcase he might have been able to swerve.

  “That’s a coincidence, isn’t it? That you hit her—’’

  “She hit me,” Craig interrupted.

  “—and then she shows up here with Leah?” Rick continued, flipping the foyer light off.

  “She doesn’t live far from here. It happened this morning after I drove by this place like you asked me to.”

  “Maybe we could start double-dating or something,” Rick teased, ignoring the veiled accusation.

  Craig snorted. “I’m good on the relationship front for now, thanks.”

  Rick pushed open the front door. “You know, just because Maggie is a gold digger doesn’t mean every woman is. It’s a good thing you got rid of her, though—she’d have taken you for everything you have in a divorce.”

  Craig gaped at Rick, who was picking a piece of lint off his navy blue slacks. “Are you crazy? I wasn’t going to propose.” He hesitated at the door. “They still outside?”

  “No, they left.” Rick slapped Craig on the back with a large hand. “You need to start dating again, Bro. You spend too much time at that damn dealership. It’s sad, really. Hiding in that big place like Dad used to. Not sure how Mom ever put up with him.” He shoved a flier of the house and its information at Craig’s chest. He caught it before it fluttered to the floor. “And now you’re hiding in here like a baby from a redhead with killer legs. Mature.”

  Craig pictured the killer legs. “I’m not hiding.”

  He stepped past Rick onto the porch. Her damaged car was gone. His jet black Corvette sparkled from the driveway.

  “Got the car out of the garage. Looks good.”

  Craig shrugged. “Figured I’d drive it awhile until I figure out what I want to buy next.”

  Rick whistled. “The car business must be doing well.”

  Craig rolled his eyes and stepped off the porch to walk to his car. “You should know; I had to buy you out. It wasn’t in pennies.”

  “Yes, and my bank account thanks you for it. I have a couple other houses I can show you this week.”

  Craig glanced back at the house as Rick locked the realtor key box. The columns on the front of the house were a nice touch, charming. “I do like this place. We might have to come back to it.” He tugged the car door open and looked at Rick over the roof. “Forget that Leah chick. She can’t be that great if she hangs out with a crazy person.”

  “I don’t know,” Rick said as Craig got behind the wheel. “I thought her friend was interesting. I like her even more since she annoys you.”

  The car purred to life and Craig smiled. “I’ve already forgotten about her.”

  Rick walked around to the driver’s side window and tapped the hood with his open palm. Craig gawked at him and Rick cut off his protest with, “I’ll tell Leah you’re interested in her friend. Maybe she can set you two up. I’d say she’s a better catch than your stalker.”

  Craig glowered up at him. “If you do that I’ll kick your ass, little bro—don’t touch my car like that—and Maggie isn’t stalking me.”

  “Really?” Rick pushed away and Craig flinched at the mishandling of his car. “The woman calls you every couple of hours and brings you lunch every day without you asking for it. She probably even has an old pair of your boxers that she sleeps with at night. The woman gives me the creeps.”

  “You have a sick sense of humor,” Craig said, shaking his head. He shuddered as he put the car in reverse. “I never left a pair of my boxers for her to keep. Quit fingering up my car.”

  Rick shook his head and a sad expression puckered his eyebrows. “Just like Dad. You guys revolve around your damn cars. No wonder you’re still single.” Ignoring his brother’s wishes, Rick patted the hood one more time. “Nice to see this one out on the road.”

  “A man can never have too many cars.”

  Rick opened his mouth to comment, but Craig cut him off with a wave and backed out of the driveway. He punched the gas, goosing the engine once before slowing down to take the corner. The idea of wrecking the beauty eased his foot off the gas. There’d be time for driving fast on the highway, as long as he stayed clear of Rachel Bennett.

  Chapter Six

  The man at the counter of Dick’s Repair, “You Crash It, We Patch It,” was a middle-aged man with a pot belly and a ketchup spot on his white t-shirt. He followed her outside and whistled through tobacco stained teeth.

  “Women drivers.” He shook his head and gave her a disapproving look she didn’t care for.

  Rach gritted her teeth and signed the consent form. “You can call me on my cell phone once you know how much the damage is.”

  He took the clipboard from her and spit a brown wad of chew on the cement. It landed with a splat next to her shoe. “Will do.”

  “Okay, then, it was nice to meet you,” she lied and hurried away.

  Rach’s dad waited in the parking lot in his glacier-blue Toronado. The sun glared off the white vinyl roof and the car stood out like a sore thumb. She slid onto the velour bench seat and looked at him in his black pork pie hat, wispy tufts of orange-red hair escaping to curl against his pale skin and large ears. He wore a Hawaiian button-up shirt in bright oranges, blues and greens; colors that would stand out in any crowd in the Midwest.

  Even though he looked ridiculous in the hat, he never took it off but for church and the dinner table. He swore he looked like Rocky Balboa in it; an impossible feat since Rocky was Italian with black hair, not Irish with red hair. It was strange that her mom hated his Toronado but found his Rocky impressions adorable. After years of practice, Rach had perfected a watered-down wince every time she heard his heartfelt, dramatic, “Adrian!”

  “Thanks for picking me up, Dad,” she said, buckling her seatbelt.

  “No problem, Tiger. I had to rearrange a few things in my schedule, but you know you’re number one in my book.” Glen maneuvered them into a wide turn, the front end of the Toronado leading the way. “I’m glad you’re taking the car for a few days, she doesn’t get out much. Your mother thinks the car’s an eyesore. She won’t even ride in it with me anymore, just complains that everyone is staring at us. It’s a damn classic, is what i
t is. But you can’t get that through her thick skull. She doesn’t know crap about cars.”

  “Well, I promise to have her back as soon as my car is fixed. I’m really hoping they total it, though. The car is a pile.”

  Rach’s dad shook his head. “You might get another hundred thousand miles on that car if they fix it right. A new car is a bad investment and you can’t fix a damn thing under the hood, it’s all computer nonsense these days. Not to mention you spend a fortune on one and then they lose their value as soon as they leave the sales lot. It’s like throwing your money away. Now a nice classic car would be a good investment, you should think about it. Like my baby here, she’s a beauty.” He lovingly rubbed the white dash with a thick-fingered hand as he roared onto State Street. The growl of the engine shocked passing traffic and elicited a grin from his daughter.

  “Love your car, Dad,” she answered, racking up the brownie points.

  “We should go car shopping, find you a fixer-upper,” he suggested, excited. Her stomach did a flip-flop.

  “I don’t think so, Dad. No fixer-uppers. That sounds very…fun, but I don’t have the time or money for it.” She had a horrible image of him bringing home another Toronado. She shuddered at the ridiculous image of the two of them wearing matching pork pie hats and Hawaiian shirts, grinning beside identical cars. Changing the subject quickly, she asked, “Mom tell you I found a job yesterday?”

  “She mentioned something about it. What kind of job?” he asked, glancing at her cautiously. So much for faith in his only child.

  Forcing a smile, she lied, “I’ll be running an office. I’ll have a kid working under me. You know, getting me coffee and stuff like that. It’s great. So you don’t have to worry about me.”

  It was only a small twist of the truth. William would probably do just about anything she asked. Plus, she knew she’d done the right thing by fibbing because the relief on her dad’s face was so telling of how worried he’d been for her. During her leave of absence she’d tried hard, really hard, to think of another occupation that would make her happy, and therefore make her parents happy, but with each job change she’d only encountered a mismatch. Truth was she had absolutely no idea if she’d ever find anything that would please her as social work had.

  Her dad reached over and patted her hand with his long-fingered, freckled one. “Good for you, Tiger. I’m proud of you. I know you’ve had a rough time since…”

  He trailed off and they both let it drop. He knew her well enough to know the subject was still too sore. He hummed as he drove them back to his house and she moped in the passenger seat. She’d never had to lie about her success because she had always succeeded and now she was a miserable sham. They would be so disappointed in her if they ever found out she’d lied to them. They’d always been understanding and supportive of all her decisions. If there was a Worlds Worst Daughter award she was certain she’d be up for nomination.

  He parked the car in the driveway in front of the tan ranch-style home and gingerly opened his door. The large, rounded evergreen bush standing next to the front porch now had a small brown spot the size of a basketball where the nettles were dying. She glanced over at her dad. “I didn’t notice that brown spot the last time I was here.”

  He mumbled something inaudible and got out of the car. “Never mind that, it’ll go away after a couple of weeks, I’m sure.”

  Rach forgot to be as careful getting out and accidentally slammed the passenger door a little too hard, earning a reproachful stare from her dad.

  She winced. “Sorry, I’ll be gentle with her, promise.”

  “You better or I’ll take her away and you’ll be driving your mom’s van—or the wagon,” he threatened and Rach gulped. The Toronado was a show-car classic compared to her mom’s all-wheel drive 1987station wagon. The faded brownish-gold beast was a rust bucket that hadn’t been driven in years and sat in the detached garage under boxes. Did the car even run? The threat had to be an empty one. She hoped. He shook a finger at her, the short sleeve of his bright shirt waving menacingly in the warm spring breeze. “And whatever you do, don’t wreck her.”

  “I didn’t wreck my car, someone hit me,” she grumbled. She’d convinced herself the statement wasn’t untrue. After reenacting the crash over and over in her head—a little obsessive, yes, especially when the insurance company had already found her at fault—why hadn’t he swerved to avoid the collision?

  Her dad ignored the statement and dropped the keys into Rach’s open palm. “She’s got a full tank of gas. Make sure you wash her twice a week.” Before she could close her fingers around the keys, he snatched them back and gave her a hard stare. “And no fast food in my car.”

  Rach plucked the keys from her dad’s fingers. “I wouldn’t dare, not in a classic.” She leaned up and kissed him on a scruffy cheek. He was growing a beard and it had to be driving her mom nuts.

  His face relaxed. “Okay, then. I’ll see you soon.”

  “Love you Dad, you’re the best!” She hurried around the car and slid inside, tucking her legs beneath the large steering wheel. Waving at him through the window, she called out, “She’s in good hands. You’ve got nothing to worry about!”

  His Hawaiian shirt billowed in the spring breeze and his lips were pinched together in a nervous line as she drove away.

  Another five minutes in the driveway and he might have changed his mind about loaning out his classic.

  She gave the car a little gas just in case he changed his mind about lending her the car and chased her down to get it back.

  Chapter Seven

  William, her new teenage supervisor and son of the owners of Copy Masters, hadn’t stopped staring at her since she’d sat down at the workstation he’d proudly dubbed hers. She sat at her designated spot against the wall with an ancient computer that froze up on her every time she sent the printer instructions. The pamphlet she’d been given for her first project at Copy Masters was taking much longer to complete than she’d expected of something that had sounded so simple.

  The print screen was frozen on the monitor and she struck an angry finger at the Enter key again. No way was karma coming around this late in life. The only time she’d ever been mean to anyone had been in high school. The girls had been horrible to her and she’d been horrible right back. Surely karma understood kids being kids.

  “Let me help,” William offered from behind, startling her from images of bratty high school girls in cheerleader outfits making fun of Rach’s hair. She leaned to the right as he crowded her space. The smell of cologne invaded her nostrils and she held back a cough. A lock of mousy brown hair rested over his eyes. He swiped it away and it fell back onto his forehead the moment he released it.

  He flashed his shiny metal grille at her and she smiled back. Why hadn’t his parents thought to do the orthodontia in grade school? Didn’t they know how cruel teenagers could be? She shuddered, remembering the teasing she’d endured in high school when her hair had been a much brighter orange and less manageable.

  He tried to look down the front of her shirt, an impossible feat with her high-collared Japanese-style blouse. Amused, she scooted her chair over to give him the space he didn’t want and two seconds later the computer was back in working order and the printer across the room hummed to life.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She scooted her chair back and inspected the screen. “How’d you get it to work?”

  He grinned and wiggled his bony hands. “Magic fingers.”

  Rach returned his smile, but decided the best comment was no comment at all and escaped to the copy machine. When she bent over to peer at the display, he ogled her from behind. She sighed and waited for the copies to print.

  She hadn’t realized there was so much to a copy machine. The big beast in the back printed two-sided, correlated—whatever the hell that meant—stapled and even hole-punched. She’d already messed up a batch of one hundred copies, hid the mistakes, and tried again.

  An hour
later, she was taking out her frustration on a stapler when her cell phone rang. Happy for the interruption, she glanced at the display and answered without a second thought. “You never called me last night, you jerk.”

  “He really is perfect,” Leah said as a customer walked into Copy Masters. Her eyes were narrowed in a beady glare and her back stiff with purpose. She attacked the gum in her mouth, chomping double-time, and slapped the manila folder down onto the counter.

  Yikes. There was no way she was going to help that woman. Rach barely knew how to make a double-sided copy.

  “Hi! William will be with you in just a moment,” Rach greeted in the chipper tone William had been using on the customers all morning. The woman stared blankly at Rach’s smile. Oookkkayyy then. She turned around and faked great concentration on the pamphlets at her work station. She hoped William would return soon from the back room or she’d have to get up and help the crabby lady herself. She picked up a pamphlet and told Leah, “No such thing.”

  The black plastic binding slipped from the two holes she’d managed to jam it into. Plastic piece of crap. She huffed and tried again. She’d never put one together before and it was proving to be a pain in the ass.

  “Sure there is, you just haven’t found your perfect man yet. You’ll see,” Leah insisted.

  Rach smiled at the absurdity of the comment. “The only thing more unrealistic than your perfect man is two perfect men in this world. There definitely is no such thing as two of them co-existing in the same universe. At least you’ve proven he’s not a serial killer.”

  “I told you, he’s too gorgeous to be a freak.”

  Rach smiled. “He could still be a nose picker.”

  Leah laughed. “He didn’t pick his nose.”

  “Of course he didn’t do it in front of you, they never do.”

  “He showed up at my door with a dozen roses and a box of chocolates,” Leah continued.

  “Sounds like overkill to me,” Rach said matter-of-factly and waved at William when he walked through the storage room door. “William, we have a customer.” He gave her a curious stare, as if wondering why she hadn’t gotten up herself to help the woman. Rach waved the pamphlet at him. “I’m having the worst time with these things!”