Authors: Suzanne Jenkins
“Okay then, Mr. Johnson. See you at two.” She looked up at him, but there was no recognition on her face. Alan couldn’t help himself, studying her face for that few seconds; he saw that she had his eyes and his hairline, a slightly croaked widow’s peak. “Anything else, sir?”
“No, that’s all,” he said. She waited and he knew that if he stayed for one moment longer she’d be uncomfortable, so he nodded his head and opened the door to leave.
“You can wait, if you want,” she said, misinterpreting his interest. “The coffee is fresh.” Alan closed the door again.
“Okay, that sounds great.” He looked at his watch; it was only a half hour wait. “I’d like that. It’s hot out there today.”
“Are you from around here?” She came out from behind the counter to pour his coffee and Alan was relieved that she was dressed appropriately for a teenager in rolled up blue jeans and an ironed cotton shirt, not provocatively at all like most young girls dressed nowadays. Hiding a grin, he thought it funny that he would suddenly change his opinion because she could be his daughter.
“No, from Texas actually. Just passing through.”
“Cream and sugar?”
“Yes, please.” He stood next to her in the small space, watching her thin arms perform the maneuvers necessary to fix coffee and there was something so vulnerable about her with her thinness and her pale skin and freckles, he got choked up without warning. Quickly taking a handkerchief out of his pocket, he wiped his eyes before she turned around, but she avoided looking him in the eye and didn’t see the tears.
“Thank you,” he said when she handed it to him. He took a sip. What was making him so sad wasn’t that she didn’t know they could be related, but if they were, what a horrible example he’d be for her. He had nothing to give her, no means of support. He didn’t even have a job. What would be the point of upsetting her life with Frank McPherson? If he did, it would be pure selfishness. But he longed to know her, now that he knew of her. He felt compelled to find out what he could about her, while something in him said to put the coffee cup down, make excuses and leave, never to return. But it was too late.
The door to the garage opened and a striking figure of a man stepped up into the office and extended his hand. “You can bring your car around now if you’re ready. The last job didn’t take as long as ’spected.”
“Okay, will do,” he said. “Thank you for the coffee, miss.” He nodded at Ellen and she smiled a small smile at him before he left to cross the street for the car.
“Oh look! There’s that handsome guy I was telling you about!” Miss Logan was working on Margo Portland’s hairdo when Alan left the café that afternoon. They women leaned forward, watching him walk in front of the grocery store, pause, and then walk across the street.
“He’s moving to Beauregard?” When Miss Logan said the new guy was handsome, Margo figured she meant
Seymour handsome
; that was any man who was clean shaven, wore a t-shirt under his overhauls, kept his stringy hair in a ponytail and had most of his teeth. This man was
city handsome,
black hair cut short, pressed pants, crisp white shirt.
“Well, he’s lookin’ for work,” Miss Logan answered.
“You weren’t kidding. He’s a looker alright.”
“I’m telling you, I can’t wait to get home tonight and have dinner with him,” Miss Logan admitted. “Even if it is Cate Ashbury’s cooking.” Margo laughed.
“I’m tempted to invite myself to come along,” she replied.
“You’re welcome to,” Miss Logan said. “Eat first, though. Let see, I think tonight is roast chicken and that’s usually pretty good so you might be safe to come hungry.”
“I was just teasing,” Margo said. “Can’t wait to get back to my place and put my feet up after work.”
In case Boyd Dalton, the sheriff comes by.
Alan waited in the heat while the oil in his car was changed, preferring to suffer than to put Ellen on the spot. Remorse filled his chest; he was sorry he treated Margaret so badly; sorry he used her and took her money. Sorry he was such a failure. It was all too late to do anything about.
Frank opened the door to the sidewalk. “Your car’s ready, sir,” he said, holding the door open for Alan to pass. “Ellen here will ring up your bill.”
He wrote some figures down on a piece of paper and slid it over to her. “That’ll be fifteen dollars,” she said. Forgetting about his cash problem, Alan pulled out the credit card and handed it over to her. Ellen looked up him, apologetic. “Oh, I’m sorry. We don’t do credit cards.”
“Oh! Sorry, here, no problem.” He took fifteen dollars out of his wallet, cursing himself for not being more careful. No more spur of the moment purchases.
“Town talk says you’re lookin’ for work,” Frank said. “Hope I heard right and ain’t speakin’ out of turn.” Alan was speechless for a moment.
Who’d he tell? Miss Logan? Cate? Mary? And already the news that he was looking for work made its way to this man?
“I guess news travels fast in small towns,” he answered, smiling. No point in being irritated. “I don’t have any car repair experience though if you have an opening. Sales are my specialty.”
“Is that right? Paul over at the auto parts store has an opening for a counter person. You want I can put a word in for you.” Alan tried not to show his disgust at the thought of the environment of parts. The parts department at the dealership was considered beneath the salesman because they weren’t paid on commission. Alan couldn’t imagine being an hourly worker again. Feeling like he’d been backed into a corner, Alan once again decided he had nothing to lose by just going with the flow.
“Well that would be mighty generous of you,” Alan replied, letting it go. Frank reached for paper and pen.
“I’ll give Paul a call and let him know you’ll be stopping by there this afternoon.”
“Okay, thank you very much.”
“Here are your keys,” Frank said, passing them off. Alan took the keys, wanting to get out before they engaged him again. “Don’t forget your car.” He turned around and looked at Frank, who was pointing at the garage.
“Oh, right. Excited about the job lead, I guess.” Frank nodded his head and held the door to the garage open, waiting for Alan to pass by.
When the car was out of the garage, Frank shut the overhead door.
“Anything else comin’ in today?” He leaned over Ellen’s shoulder to read the schedule and then walked over to the window, watching Alan Johnson drive away, failing to stop at Paul’s Auto Supply.
“Looks like a tune up at three, and that’s it for the day unless a breakdown comes in. I guess I could go home and start dinner,” Ellen said. Frank turned to her, thinking of the stranger at the edge of the wood, the decimated garden.
“Stay here, sister, will you? I got a feelin’ about a breakdown coming in. I know, crazy, but just in case.” Ellen laughed, and nodded her head.
“Okay. I’m glad cause I just got to a good part in my book,” she said, holding it up so he could see the cover, a beautiful couple in a passionate embrace. He laughed and nodded his head, going back into the garage to clean up from the oil change and get ready for the tune up, knowing Ellen was safe with him.
Chapter 13
Dinner was ready. Cate had everything set out on the sideboard, the chicken carved, potatoes mashed to perfection, hot rolls, corn on the cob. Miss Logan, although preoccupied with something she’d seen earlier that evening, tried not to allow the distraction interfere with her anticipation of having dinner with Alan. Dressed in her most alluring hostess pajamas, she didn’t notice that Cate, too had taken extra care with her appearance and was wearing something other than the usual chambray shirt and jeans.
“Gosh, I don’t think we should wait too much longer,” Cate said, looking at her watch. Mr. Rosen folded the evening paper and put it on the table to the side of his plate.
“Who is this man that has all the women in my house in a dither?”
“If you’d come down for breakfast, you’d have seen,” Miss Logan said, disappointed, tucking her napkin in her shirt before standing up. “I’m gettin’ some food. It’s clear he’s not comin’ so no point in letting everything get cold. This looks wonderful, by the way. Margo Portland almost came down here to eat with us so she could meet Mr. Johnson.”
Cate stood off to the side, wiping the lipstick off her mouth with a paper napkin. “Yeah, well it’s a good thing she didn’t waste her time. I guess I shouldn’t have expected him because he didn’t pay for dinner. I guess it’s my fault.”
“Are we going to eat or not?” Emil asked.
“Get up for goodness sake,” Miss Logan reprimanded, out of sorts. “You want someone to serve you?” The tenants lined up silently to get their food. Next to the heated pans on a cut glass cake plate stood a whipped cream frosted angel food cake covered in fresh strawberries.
“You went to a lot of trouble for us today, Cate,” Mr. Rosen said. “I appreciate it. And I’m sorry I missed breakfast. I didn’t feel well this morning, Sally Logan for your information. One of these days you’ll find me dead in my bed and then you’ll be sorry you were such a witch.”
“I might be sorry I’ve been a witch, but I’ll never be sorry I was a witch to you.” Laughter rang out, easing the tension in the room between the women, the disappointment slowly turning to anger. How dare he stand them up?
“Children, children,” Cate admonished laughing. “Don’t fight during dinner. Miss Logan, no one would dare call you a witch to your face.”
“Gee, thanks, Cate. That really helped.” The banter continued through the meal, but both women would be up until after midnight, listening for the sound of a door opening and shutting that never came.
Alan Johnson snuck into the boarding house at four the previous afternoon, returning right after the encounter with Frank and Ellen McPherson. Cate wasn’t at the desk, having fallen asleep in her room reading the book. He quickly changed his clothes and left without her discovering him, making it back into Seymour before Paul’s Auto Supply closed.
The inside of the store was as depressing as Alan imagined it would be; badly lit, stacks of greasy boxes full of metal parts, serial numbers written in black oil pencil in bad handwriting. Rows of metal shelving stood so close together, a grown man could barely get through unless he walked sideways. The counter was covered with parts manuals, one for every car manufacturer. Rows of books from years past neatly lined the shelves at the end of the metal parts shelving, sharing the space with the owner’s collection of vintage metal gadgets, having the look of a steampunk library. But the coop de grace was the man behind the counter himself, the quintessential counter guy, thin bordering on anorexia, bad skin, bad teeth, fingers nicotine stained, hair in a brush cut, body contrasted contradictorily in a perfectly starched and ironed navy blue uniform looking more like a Boy Scout than a auto parts clerk.
“Help you, sir?” the man said. Alan noted that everyone in Seymour called a man sir. It was a little disconcerting because he was sure this guy was older than he was.
“Yes, I’m Alan Johnson. Frank at the garage said you might have an opening for a parts clerk.”
“That I do,” he said. “I’m Paul. Paul Sherman. Owner of Paul’s Auto Supply. You got experience in the industry?”
“Not in parts sir, that I do not. But I’ve been a salesmen in the auto industry for, well, for over thirty years now. Since high school.”
“
Car
salesman, is that right?” He drew out the
AR
in car, so that Alan wanted to laugh and it took all the self-control he had not to.
“Yes sir, car salesman.” The impulse to pronounce car the way Paul Sherman had was overpowering and Alan had to look down at the floor, pinching his hand as hard as he could to stop himself. “But I’m a fast learner. I know all about serial numbers so I think I could do a good job for you.” Paul looked at him and scratched the back of his neck.
“Frank tells me you’re new in town. Have a date with Mary tonight. Is that right?” Alan stepped back, shocked. Mary must have been the one to tell Frank he was job hunting then, not Miss Logan. He wanted to tell the man to mind his own fucking business, but he needed the job.
“Yes, sir.” He gritted his teeth.
Why was he doing this? He didn’t want to work in a parts store, yet here he was, practically begging this prick for a job.
“Look, Mr. Sherman,
sir
, can I have the job or not? I need to get over to Mary’s by six.” He thought that’d shut him up good and it worked.
“Okay, tomorrow morning at nine. I operate nine to five, Monday thru Friday, no holidays, no overtime, no weekends. Five-fifty per hour. Paid vacation after six months, no sick time but holidays that fall during the week are paid.”
Alan stuck his hand out to shake, a big mistake. “I’ll take it,” Alan said cringing. He left quickly, hoping Mary would let him use her bathroom to wash his hands as soon as he got there. Paul Sherman’s hand left a trail of warm slime behind where he touched Alan. He was being obsessive, but didn’t care.
Mary’s house was easy to find, a smallish Cape Cod-type bungalow with a rambling addition off the back that looked like an afterthought. It was her personal apartment, which was separate from the rooms she rented to strangers. Parking in the driveway, he ran up to her porch and pounded on the door.
“Right on time,” she said, stepping aside. He was looking around agitatedly.
“Where’s the bathroom. I need to wash my hands right now.” Hesitating, Mary stepped away and pointed to a door at the back of the kitchen.
“In there,” she said. “You can use the kitchen sink it you want.” She didn’t really know this man and he was behaving bizarrely. “Is there a problem?”
“I’ll tell you in a second,” replied, stopping in the kitchen, turning the water on in the sink full blast so it sprayed the front of his shirt. Grabbing the dishwashing soap bottle, he squirted enough in the palm of his hand to do a load of dishes.
“What happened?” Mary asked, concerned. “Are you okay?”
It was obvious Alan was agitated and unable to control his response to whatever was happening. Her questions swirled in his head and he wanted to say the correct thing, not chastise her for blabbing to Frank. Certain his craziness was partly due to meeting Ellen, he pushed it down, it being something he was not going to discuss with Mary.