A Soldier's Promise. Cynthia Thomason
denim slacks and a loose-fitting white shirt, she looked more like a “Miss Sullivan” today and less like the woman who wore shorts and a T-shirt and lived in the neat little bungalow. She still looked good, but he missed the legs.
“You remember our schoolteacher, Mike?” Alvin said. “You worked on her car Friday.”
“Sure, I remember. What can I do for you, Miss Sullivan?”
“Call me Brenna,” she said. It was a simple gesture, but it came out more schoolteacher and less friend.
“Brenna said she heard a strange sound coming from under the hood this morning,” Alvin said. “She asked for you to take a look since you’re familiar with the car.”
“I’m familiar with the battery,” Mike said. “But sure, I’ll look.”
“I appreciate that, Mr.... Can I call you Mike?”
“I’ve got no objection to that,” he said. “Is your car in the lot?”
“Yes, right out here.” She led the way outside.
Mike got behind the wheel of the Mazda and turned on the engine. He leaned out the door and listened. “What did it sound like?” he asked Brenna.
“Oh, sort of a ding or a ping.”
He got out, walked to the front and angled his head close to the hood. “I don’t hear anything out of the ordinary,” he said.
“That’s odd. It was quite noticeable this morning.”
Mike suspected that something was noticeable, but he doubted it was a sound from Brenna’s engine. He was pretty sure that what Miss Teacher noticed was Carrie’s absence. Leaving the car purring gently, he said, “According to the sticker on your driver’s-side door, this automobile has been serviced regularly. I noticed the odometer reads just sixty-five thousand miles. This car is a honey for a seven-year-old vehicle. So the only problem you have is possibly its owner. I myself only buy American-made vehicles.”
She gave him an exasperated look.
He smiled to himself. “As I mentioned, a ping or a pong or a clink would be pretty rare on a car that has been maintained like yours has.”
“That’s why I was concerned,” she said. “I meant to ask Carrie if you were working today, but...”
“Miss Sullivan...”
“Brenna.”
“Brenna.” He turned off her engine. “Let’s go into the office. Let me buy you a drink.”
“A drink? I don’t think so...”
He pointed through the picture window into the customer waiting room. “See that machine? I was offering you a Mountain Dew or a 7-Up.”
“Oh, of course.”
They settled at a small table. Mike took Brenna’s order for a Diet Coke and brought the can to the table. He popped the top on his Mountain Dew and sat across from her. “Why are you really here, Brenna?”
“I told you. I heard a ping...”
“Or a ding, right?”
She didn’t respond, and he figured it was time to eliminate pings and dings from their vocabulary. “I’m thinking this visit has everything to do with my daughter’s absence from school today.”
She sighed, turned the can in her hands without opening it. “Okay, fine. I realize I’m transparent, but I don’t really care. I am wondering why Carrie was absent.”
He purposefully didn’t answer for as long as he could stretch out the silence. If that made her nervous, so be it.
“Let’s be totally up front with each other,” she said after a moment.
“Usually the best way to be.”
“I’m concerned about Carrie.”
“So you said Friday night.”
Brenna folded her arms on top of the table and leaned slightly forward. “I want to know why she missed school today.”
“Is the school board having teachers double as truant officers now, Brenna?”
“There’s no need to be sarcastic,” she said in a teacher voice that made Mike remember all the knuckle raps he’d gotten in Catholic school.
“You should be thankful someone cares enough to ask about Carrie,” she added.
He would be if he wasn’t so certain that Miss Sullivan had her own devious theory about why Carrie was absent, and he was looking like the Evil Mr. Langston. He glanced at his watch, knowing he was still on the clock. How much more time was he going to devote to this witch hunt? Despite the view across the table, which was pretty darned attractive, he knew he’d be better off cutting it short. “She’s not feeling well,” he said.
“What’s wrong?”
“You really want me to tell you?”
She sat stone-still and waited.
Should he reveal a private detail of his daughter’s life to this stranger? Oh, well, at least she was a woman, which made the delicate subject easier to broach. He released a long breath. “Okay, here’s the story. About one day every month Carrie misses school and stays in bed with a heating pad on her stomach. This started when she was about eleven. If you can’t figure out why that is, I suggest you go to the local library and take out a book on the subject of puberty.”
Her face flushed. She cleared her throat. Mike got a perverse sort of pleasure out of seeing her discomfort.
“I see,” she said. “That is an acceptable reason.” She straightened her spine and said, “Was telling me that so hard?”
Well, yeah, it was. He’d only recently learned about this part of Carrie’s life, and the day she’d talked about it with him he’d felt about as capable of handling the discussion as he would have been teaching a quilting class. To answer Brenna’s question, he merely shrugged.
“I don’t think we need to be on opposing sides here,” she said.
“I’m on my daughter’s side,” he snapped. “Whose side are you on?”
“I’d like to help Carrie,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “She seems lost and lonely. I’m sure you’ve noticed that.”
“We’re doing fine.” Maybe if he kept saying that, it would eventually be true.
“I’m glad to hear that, but I’d still like to make myself available to Carrie if she needs to talk.”
They were going down this road again. Why did every woman he’d ever met think they had to repeat everything? Did they believe all men were born with poor hearing?
“I already told you that talking to Carrie is okay with me. Just don’t push. Let her initiate these conversations. I don’t want anyone pressuring her.”
She honestly appeared shocked. “I would never. We have rules in the school system that we have to follow.”
“And I have rules as a father that I intend to follow. No taking my kid to places I don’t know about. No digging for information, and no making her uncomfortable.” He should have stopped there, but something inside him made him blurt out the very thing he shouldn’t have said. “And no trying to be a substitute mother.”
She stood, her can of soda still unopened. “I assure you, Mike, I have no interest in being anyone’s mother. I’ve said what I came to say...”
“And found out what you came to find out?”
“Yes. I’m going to take your word for the reason for Carrie’s absence.”
“Swell.”
She