If I Fix You. Эбигейл Джонсон
he answered with a smile. “Hey, Mr. Whitaker. I was in the neighborhood, and Jill keeps offering to change my oil.”
My eyes closed slowly and I could feel Dad’s stare. It wasn’t like this particular cat was still in the bag, but Dad getting so much concrete proof of my crush felt like I’d gotten caught driving a Prius.
Fortunately for me, Sean didn’t notice the awkwardness and kept up an easy conversation with Dad. He even attempted to tell a car joke, which admittedly, did not go over well, but he still tried. That was the kind of friend he was.
I nearly dropped my screwdriver gazing at him.
Dad clapped his hands together, making me jump. “I tell you what, Sean, why don’t you show me your little Nazi buggy and I’ll check your oil.”
Sean cocked his head. “You know, I’m pretty sure the fine folks at Volkswagen decided the name ‘Nazi buggy’ was too regional when they released the Jetta.”
Dad shrugged. “It’s still not a real car. It’s like...”
“A neutered, asthmatic poodle?” I said.
“Whoa.” Sean slid a step back from me like I’d insulted his manhood.
Dad grinned as if proud that I still had my priorities in order when it came to boys and cars. “Then I’ll leave it to Jill.” Catching my eye as he left, Dad added, “Don’t let him distract you.”
My cheeks flushed. “I’ll get everything done.”
Sean watched Dad leave the garage and I headed to the slop sink to wash up. Well, that, and so Sean wouldn’t see the blush still heating my face.
Sean leaned against the wall to my left. “You like my Jetta.” It was half question, half statement.
“I like your Jetta—”
“Right? Right.”
“—I’d like it better if it went from zero to sixty in 3.5 seconds.”
“Does that mean you’re too cool to ride in it when you get off?”
I splashed water at him. “No.”
“Good, ’cause I’m starving.”
“Me too, but I’ve still got cars to finish, then I have to sweep and use the auto scrubber on the floor, and replace the ceiling light in the corner. On top of that, I need to grab a quick shower and change before we go anywhere.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Sean held up his hands. “I can help with most of that, and I think you’re seriously underestimating how hot you look in a one-size-fits-all jumpsuit.”
I laughed. No one looked good in a one-size-fits-all jumpsuit, except maybe Mom. “Really, you want to help?”
Sean picked up a reciprocating saw and raised an eyebrow. I turned the handheld saw right side up in his hands. “I was testing you.”
“Sure you were.”
Sean eyed the rest of the equipment around him. “Maybe I’ll start with replacing the light.”
“Good call.” I pulled out a new bulb from a cabinet and offered it to him. “There’s a ladder in the closet.”
Sean looked toward the closet then back to me. “Too far.” He bent, wrapping his arms around my legs, and lifted me up, way up, considering I was already pretty tall and Sean made me look short. “I’m better than a ladder, right?” He gave me a bounce that had me clutching his hair.
“I swear, Sean, if you drop me...”
He grinned and bounced me again. “That’s your problem. You lack follow-through. If you’re going to threaten me, be specific.”
I switched out the bulb, shot the broken one into a nearby trash can and made a swish sound. “How’s that for follow-through?”
“Not bad.” Sean pulled his arm to one side and caught me around my back with the other, carrying me like the fireman he planned to be. The way he was smiling at me... I started to feel like Christmas morning. My arms tightened around his neck.
“Time to leave, Sean.”
Sean and I whipped our heads toward Dad. I hadn’t even noticed him come back. “He was helping me change the lightbulb.” I elbowed Sean, and he grunted before putting me down, then pointed to the light overhead.
“Yeah, but since I’m not paying either one of you to do that...”
“Are you offering me a job, Mr. Whitaker?” Then Sean elbowed me back, tickling me right between the ribs. “Jill, tell him what a mean ladder I make.”
I couldn’t tell Dad anything while I was laughing. Dad thought Sean was a reckless flirt. I thought Sean was reckless perfection. Dad didn’t appreciate the distinction the way I did. That was another thing I needed to fix.
“He’s leaving.”
“I am? Aren’t we hanging out?”
“Yes,” I said, making it more of a question than I wanted as I met Dad’s eye. He gave a slight but reluctant nod and I turned fully to Sean. “My house in an hour?”
Sean paused, and a tiny frown appeared between his brows, but then it was gone. “Don’t be late.” He lightly knocked my shoulder with his fist, waved at Dad and left. He might as well have said, See you later, my totally platonic pal.
I drew a finger across my throat and let my tongue drop out to one side, then I zombie shuffled toward the cars that would probably keep me busy way past closing.
And what do you know, they did.
On the upside, I didn’t have to wait for Dad. Whatever conversation he’d had with Mom, it was bad enough that he “decided to work late” and sent me home alone. If I were going to see anyone but Sean, I’d have let that knowledge affect my mood.
When I got home and spotted his Jetta, I was practically giddy to the point that I ignored the ajar front door, which made the contrast all the more devastating when I walked into the living room and found...my mom and my... Sean.
It was like one of those optical illusion pictures where all the lines cross and intersect but don’t seem to originate from anywhere. A trick. There was no other explanation for seeing Mom curved on the armrest of Dad’s favorite chair, legs crossed, leaning over Sean so that her blouse gaped open and skin and lace spilled free.
I watched her toy with the button on his shirt, trace the edge with her fingernail. My vision shrank to a pinprick when I saw her lips moving toward his ear.
When her free hand slid to touch his thigh, it was like the world exploded. All at once there was a rushing sound in my head and my bag slipped through my fingers, hitting the floor with a dull thud.
I’ll never forget Sean’s eyes when he jerked his head up and his gaze met mine, wide and utterly devoid of the warmth it usually held for me.
Ice and fire burned inside my chest in the split second before he shot out of the chair and bolted to the door, leaving Mom holding his jacket in her hands. He said something to me, words that ricocheted off the dead thing inside me and fell to the floor between us. I couldn’t hear anything until the door shut behind him.
He’d just been sitting there, not leaning in or touching her back. Later I wanted that to mean something, but there was no killing the insidious and relentless thought that slithered around in my head, refusing to die no matter how many times I stabbed it:
Sean didn’t leave until I showed up.
And Mom. My mother.
I didn’t know that betrayal was a thing. I didn’t know that it could paralyze while it quietly devoured light and sound and the air itself.
She was still holding his jacket. She was still sitting in Dad’s chair.
Dad.