Breakdown (Crash into Me) (19 page)

Silently and out loud I cursed at myself. If I had thought things through a little better, I could have baked something just before I left work, putting it aside and saving it for later—a solid excuse to see him on platonic terms.

Me:
Do you not eat before racing?

Do-gooder:
No races tonight because of the weather.

My spirits fell. Instead of cursing William though, I cursed myself; cursed myself for letting my hopes get so high, and for not even taking the weather into consideration.

Do-gooder:
I was gonna drag you to a Steve McQueen double feature, but I got called into work tonight.

Now I was mad. A garage open on a Saturday night? Unlikely. If William was going out with one of his girlfriends, or even one of the guys, why did he feel the need to lie about it? We had only known each other a week. And, admittedly, while he was growing more important to me, I wasn’t quite so crazy enough to think that I meant anything to him. For a second I was insulted. Did I really come off as violence against others type? Myself? Sure. But other people?

Do-gooder
:
Are you still with me, Jumper?

Me
:
Yeah. Thanks again for my car. I owe you one.

Before I could be tempted to obsess anymore, I turned the phone off and left it in the sitting room, closing the doors firmly behind me. Though I had not earned it, and certainly did not deserve it, I felt a sort of claim on William, a possessiveness that I did not understand but was unable to shrug off. More than likely, I told myself, he had been with a couple dozen women, maybe even a hundred… and if he was telling the truth about his family history, then his kindness towards me suggested he looked at me like just another sibling—one of many sisters to pick on him.

Not that I needed anything else. Little more than a week ago I didn’t even have a friend to my name, and if William was the person I hoped he was, then having his friendship in my corner put me at a far greater advantage than where I was at before. I sighed and peeled my clothes off, taking great care, as usual, to avoid looking at my body in the mirror. Perhaps it was better William wasn’t interested in me that way. After all, it had been a year and a half and I still couldn’t stand to look at myself. How could I expect anyone else to? More to the point, if I wanted to be a good friend, I couldn’t very well have expected him to donate his entire weekend to the Overpass Jumper Foundation.

After I showered I went back downstairs, staring at the sitting room doors for only a few seconds before I made myself walk away. From Dad’s office, I turned on NPR and listened to a program about the life of Julia Childs. Before long, however, I had the butter and sugar out, mixing them together with the eggs, flour, and vanilla. Just like earlier that week, I watched the agitator turn the mix into a complete batter, imagining they were tires, the batter wet ground they were spinning out in. I did this long after the flour had blended in, and my arm grew tired from holding the bowl in the crutch of my elbow.

Every now and then, I looked to the blister on my hand, thinking that I had not bandaged it nearly as well as William, though still slightly proud of myself for the effort. Instead of letting the wound get any worse like I might have a week ago, I cleaned it carefully, concealing it with gauze so the blister wouldn’t open while I was cooking. Though I admittedly did it mostly for the sake of William—thinking it would have been a shame to let the wound get infected when he had done so much to prevent it from doing so. There was the smallest part of me that wanted it to heal for myself, wanted it to go away just so I wouldn’t have to look at the scar. I was so immersed in the thoughts of it that I didn’t even hear the garage door opener, hardly even heard the sound of the patio door open until I heard the wheels of her suitcase on the floor.

“Hello?” her voice called out from the sunroom. I sighed and unplugged the mixer, instantly feeling annoyed though I had no real reason to be so.

“In here,” I called back.

Leaving her suitcase by the stairs, Mom dropped her tote bag of a purse at the entryway of the kitchen and slipped off her shoes—one of many pairs she had that were business but still dressy. Why anyone needed so many pairs of shoes, I hardly understood, and asking only ever seemed to bring up arguments so I kept silent and began flattening the batter onto the waxing paper.

“Baking?” She sighed. “Again?”

“How was St. Louis?”

Frowning, she sat at the kitchen table in the very same seat William had chosen before. I tried not to think about that, about him and perverted names for bakeries, but I did. “Rainy and boring as always.”

“And your flight?”

From the corner of my eye, she took off her green business jacket. “Even worse. God, what I wouldn’t give to be your age again, to not have any responsibilities—”

Ignoring her, I dug the cutter into the dough. If I did it hard enough would I put a nick in the countertop? It was doubtful, but I tried again.

“To stay out dancing with my friends at all hours and still have the energy to go to work the next day—”

“Mom—”

“Maybe it would be easier if you got involved in more activities at school. What about student government? Or the republican society?”

I considered reminding her that I wasn’t a republican, nor did I have any interest in politics, but decided against it, arranging the shapes on the baking tray.

“I’m just saying, it isn’t healthy to spend all your free time in the kitchen. You aren’t some barefoot housewife. These are the best years of your life, and you’re wasting them away like you’re a leper or something.”

“I work, I go to school. It’s not like I’m a hermit Mom.”

“I know that, but—” Pausing, she sighed impatiently, and while I didn’t stop to look, I felt her eyes staring, judging because I wasn’t more like her. “—whatever happened to that membership to the tanning salon I got for you? I thought we agreed you were going to try and spend a little more time there? Maybe take a spin class?”

I put the tray in the oven and blinked hard. If I dropped to the floor and played dead would she just sniff at me and walk away?

“Tanning? This is California, Mom. With all of the sun cancer is free here.”

She continued as though I hadn’t even spoken, listing off the same old suggestions I had been hearing since grade school “You could at least spend more time outside then. You’re so pale. Maybe you could take up jogging? The university has a running club or something, don’t they?”

Sighing, I worked to cut out more shapes, working to rearrange them alternatively. Motorcycles and hardtops followed convertibles and trucks accordingly. Every time I cut out a little police car, I smiled.

“Charlotte? Charlotte?”

“Huh?”

Looking up, I saw her nodding at the microwave, its timer going off frantically. I got up and quickly turned it off, slightly startled to see Mom had let her hair down. Though clearly her mane had clearly seen the straightener and some product, I thought in these rare moments we almost looked like each other; brown eyes too big for our oval faces and convex noses piecing everything together nicely.

“What’s with you?” she asked. “Are you even listening?”

“Yeah, Mom,” I lied. “I’m listening.”

Skeptical, I felt her eyes roll while I took the tray out of the oven, putting another one in its place.

“Well, I hope you pay better attention in class than you do to your mother.”

“Don’t worry about that, Mom.” I felt myself smile as I looked over my icing inventory. “I’m learning new stuff all the time.”

I spent the rest of the evening studying for calculus, a chore that even Mom couldn’t nag me about. Quickly, I got bored with it, leaving my pens and highlighters in the textbooks and flipping on the TV instead. And when the
Car Crazy
marathon grew almost as boring as studying, I emerged from my room and went searching for some food, knowing full well I couldn’t sleep on an empty stomach.

Extra quiet, I made my way down the stairs, stopping just before the sitting room doors came into view. Had William thought about me while he was working, if he was actually working? What kind of garage was even open on a Saturday night? Then again, maybe he had another part-time job. I could easily picture him as a bartender or bouncer, or maybe even a tattoo artist or a band roadie. What if he wasn’t any of those things though? What if he was a male escort or a drug dealer, a magician or a wedding photographer?

Unsure of which was worse, I shuddered at the terrible alternatives and decided to forgive myself for being ridiculous. Sure enough my phone was blinking on my way through the kitchen, and while we didn’t have much to eat, I decided a snack search had never been so successful.

Do-gooder:
Are you still with me, Jumper?

I looked back at the two other unanswered text messages I had from him. The messages were the same, and I read them over and over, trying to sooth my excitement over the fact that he
had
been thinking of me.

Me:
Hard to sleep with my phone going off.

Do-gooder:
Good. Come outside and see me then
.

Hesitating, though still excited, I stood on my tippy-toes and pulled back the curtains and blinds. About half way down the block I saw red taillights around the familiar shape of Bloody Mary. What was he doing here? And this late?

I rushed back upstairs, uncaring whether or not Mom heard or if I woke her up. Just as rapidly, I threw on a light jacket over my tank top and traded my pajamas for a pair of jeans and clean sneakers. Briefly, I considered pulling up my hair and looking for something better to wear, but quickly decided against it. If there had been some last minute scheduling of a race and William was involving me in it, I wasn’t going to slow either of us up with my vanity.

I met him out in the rain, smiling under my vinyl hood, but trying not to seem overeager. Through the rain, the smoke from the tailgate blended together with the fog the evening rains brought on, and for a moment I pretended to stare at it, standing at the end of the driveway in case he was watching for me. And, when the passenger side door opened, I knew he was.

“Hey!” I tried shaking some of the rain from my jacket and slipped inside. Wearing a long-sleeve Henley with the sleeves rolled up, I noticed right away how the blue of his shirt made the stars on his arm pop. Instead of staring at them, I tried to focus instead at the gray beanie that made his messy hair look even messier. 

“Hey yourself, Jumper.” He smiled and looked me up and down. Frankly, I was surprised he hadn’t invited himself in and already made himself home. “How’s the car running?”

I smiled and leaned my head against the sear. “More like walking—or fast crawling, but it’s better than nothing.”

He nodded sympathetically.

“What are you doing here?” I stared off at the windshield and silently prayed for the word
race
to come out of his mouth. “I thought you had to work tonight.”

William stretched his arms out over the dash and sighed. “If it’s okay with you, I don’t want to talk about work.”

If he didn’t want to talk about his night job then it definitely must not have involved cars. Still, I honored his request and didn’t ask him about it further.

Though my eyes had adjusted to the dark, I blinked hard and focused in when I saw his right hand. A dirty, white rag had been wrapped around the base of his knuckles to the top of his wrist, and while it was dark and dingy, almost black after drying, the sight of blood was a distinct one I couldn’t ignore. Without even thinking about it, I reached for him the same way he had reached for me the night before. Like me, he gave the limb over willingly.

“Christ, what happened to your hand?”

“Work.” He shrugged. “That’s kind of why I wanted to see you.”

Reaching for the overhead light, I could see it was bad without even really seeing it. William flinched when I tried to move the makeshift wrap, but when I looked up to apologize he was smiling at me just enough to let me know he had just been joking.