I want to ask Mara what she’s doing here since she hasn’t said a word while she peruses the shop. But I keep my mouth shut and my head down.
Until I see her frame stop near the tarp covered vehicle I keep in the back. I haven’t given myself much time to work on it this winter.
“What’s this?” Mara asks with a brief glance in my direction. “Can I take the tarp off?”
She doesn’t even wait for confirmation before walking it back over the hood of the car and tugging it over the roof to reveal the 1965 Chevrolet C10 truck beneath the warn tarp. It needs a paint job and lots of other updates. But it runs and drives.
I just haven’t touched it because it belonged tohimand it’s hard to work on it without thinking about him.
An audible gasp leaves Mara’s mouth when she sees the faded rust colored truck in all its run-down glory. I haven’t started it up since last spring. It’s like it’s cursed and every time I get near the damn thing, I can’t unsee his face. I can’t unsee how his life ended. I wouldn’t say I feel remorse for his death. But…sometimes guilt seeps in. It was my fault, after all, even if Mom and Dylan insist it wasn’t.
Sometimes I don’t even feel right being in this house. The cabin was his place. As much as the rest of us loved it, he loved it more. And he had it long before he met Mom. It was his sanctuary yet here we are, the two people he hated most in the world, occupying it like squatters. He’s probably rolling over in his grave considering how much of his life we’ve taken. The fact that we are still thriving in his absence.
“Jason,” Mara breathes, “this is incredible. I mean, I don’t know much about classic cars, but it looks like it’s in great condition. Did you fix it or find it like this?”
A little bit of both.The interior was new when we moved up here. And the engine was halfway restored. Dylan and I finished the rest but cars really aren’t Dylan’s thing, so I’ve been slowly replacing parts that are too old or worn out to operate. As well as updating a couple things to make it safer to drive. Right now, it’s somewhere between “original and unrestored” and a resto-mod. Not sure how much more I want to do with it.
“We should really figure out some way for you to answer questions if you’re not going to talk.”
It’s called sign language, and I don’t do it on purpose.
“Blink once for no, and twice for yes. Did you find it in this condition?”
I just stare at her. I’m not playing this game.
“Ugh, you’re impossible,” she gripes. “I don’t know why you still refuse to speak, but sometimes I wish you’d get over whatever is holding you back cause I have so much I want to ask you.”
Interesting. This is a rare sight of vulnerability from Mara I don’t see very often.What kind of stuff does she want to know?
Knowing Mara, it’s probably all trivial like my favorite movie or if I was hugged enough as a child.
“Give me something, Jason,” she leans her pert ass against the hood of the truck. “Where did you get this car? I don’t want to play guessing games with you. I do that enough as it is.”
She was already nosy before we started sleeping together, but apparently fucking for a week has made her even bolder.
I roll my eyes. Grabbing a piece of scrap wood and a marker I use for drawing guiding marks on projects, I scribble a single word on the board.
DAD
Mara’s hazel eyes scan the board earnestly. I know it didn’t take her longer than a second to read the word but she stares at it longer. Then her eyes meet mine.
God,they’re beautiful. The mirage of colors in her irises is easy to get lost in. But the pity they hold morphs into curiosity.
“Dylan wouldn’t tell me what happened to your dad,” she announces.Good, it’s none of her business.“He said it’s not his story to tell. But I suppose you won’t tell me either.” I shake my head slowly. No way in hell am I reliving it. I already have to see it in my sleep on a regular basis.
“Fine,” she concedes.
Planting both hands on the hood, she lifts herself so her ass and thighs sit on the flat metal while everything below the knee dangles over the edge. Keeping her hands flat against the hood, she hunches her shoulders forward.
“Tonight’s New Year’s Eve. Do you usually stay up until midnight?”
My shoulders rise and fall in a silent chuckle. I haven’t stayed up on New Year’s since I was a kid. Dylan and Mom tried to get me to in high school but I didn’t care to stay in my father’s presence any longer than I had to.
“Will you stay up tonight?”
Why the hell does it matter?
“Come on! It could be fun. We can have some drinks, play games. Dylan even made snacks. We’ll have our own little party.”
