Please don’t say it.Please don’t say it.
“Worst case scenario,” he said slowly, sadly. “You’re lookin’ at a new transmission.” He pulled his hat off and held it over his chest as he looked down at the engine, like he was a mourner staring down at a casket.
He might as well be. I couldn’t afford a new transmission. Jesus Christ, I could barely afford gas.
White, I thought inanely. Joe’s hair was white. Just like Santa.
I’m sure I looked every bit as devastated as I felt, because he attempted a smile. “I mean, it mightnotbe that,” he said. “Remember, that’s worst case, okay? Might be some connections’ve gone funny. Or, ah… I don’t suppose you put bleach in the gas tank?”
I squinted at him.
“You remember that?” Joe shook his head and chuckled, leaning against the car next to me. “Back when you were in high school? That little shit Trent-whats-his-face from over Camden way used to drive his Camaro like he owned the road?”
“Gaynor,” I said sharply. “Yeah. I remember.”
“Trent Gaynor! That’s right. You put bleach in his tank!” Joe said, like I hadn’t been there and might not recall. “Car died a ways out on Lobelia and Trent ended up crashing into that fence out by the reservoir. I’ve neverseena man as pissed off as Trent’s daddy was over that prank.” Joe laughed exultantly. “Thought he was liable to kill you.”
It hadn’t been a prank, per se, but the truth was a moot point when Trent’s daddy was a rich lawyer and my mother was a small-time business owner.
Spoiler: Vince Gaynorhadn’tkilled me. What hehaddone was worse, in some ways. At least if I’d died, folks in town would’ve probably remembered me fondly. At least I wouldn’t have had to stand by helplessly while Vince Gaynor sued my mother, ripping away everything she and my dad had worked for to line his already-plush pockets.
It wasn’t exactly a fond memory.
Joe shook his head again. “Shoot. That must’ve been, what? Two, three, four years ago now?”
“Nine last month,” I said with a sigh.
“No!” Joe sounded truly shocked. “It’s never been that long.”
“Yep. I was a sophomore.” My teenage rebellion had peaked when I was fifteen, though I hadn’t known it at the time. “So about my car?”
“Right.” Joe straightened. “No bleach, then?”
Jesus. “Yes, Joe. I put bleach in my own tank so I could have the fun of calling you out here on a Saturday morning, and then the added fun of paying you to fix it.”
Joe's mouth turned up on one side. “Yeesh, Connie. Justjokin’with ya. Thought you of all people could take a joke.”
That was me: Constantine Ross, king of inappropriate humor.
But it wasn't Joe's fault teenaged Con had been a dumbass and that my twenty-four-year-old self was literally still paying for it. “Sorry. I’m not in a joking mood. Not exactly flush with cash right now.”
“Yeah, I hear ya. Well, come on then. I’ll get her towed in and we’ll see what we can see. I’ll call you later and letcha know.”
I nodded, because there was nothing else to do. “Mind dropping me off at Ross Landscaping first? Gotta grab the truck and I’m late for the market.”
Joe chortled. “Always somethin’ with you, Connie.”
Wasn't that the damn truth?But you know what? Even if my life was fucked, nobody in O’Leary was gonna know it.
When life hands you lemons, you juggle those fuckers and make somebody laugh.
Joe clapped me on the shoulder and gave me a shove in the direction of his truck. “Grab the chains and let’s get this show on the road.”
Chapter Two
Micah
Christ on a cracker,the things I did to earn a living.
