The Row(9)

Jordan chuckles as he finishes cranking the jack up high enough to lift the weight of the car off the flat. “I thought girls only did that in old movies like Gone with the Wind.”

“Maybe the girls you know are actually helpful instead of just pretending to be.”

He squints over at me. “Maybe they’re less creative.”

“That’s hard to imagine.” It surprises me how comfortable it feels to just sit and chat with him. “So, if I can’t fan you, I’ll have to entertain you with witty conversation.”

“Somehow I’m certain you’ll be good at that.” He glances up at me.

A wave of pleasure goes through me before I continue. “Let’s see, I now know that you’re an expert in miniature cars and scientific experimentation, you at least appear to know how to change a tire, and you temporarily pride yourself on being a gentleman.”

Jordan doesn’t even hesitate as he removes another lug nut. “Sounds about right.”

Matthew comes over, his hair all matted with sweat. “Can we go home now?”

Jordan pauses and looks up at him. “Remember those things the gentlemens do?”

Matthew’s eyes go from me to Jordan, and finally to the tire. He sighs. “This is one of those things, isn’t it?”

“Yep.”

Matthew shuffles away, looking hopelessly bored.

“I’m sorry. I can try to do this—”

“Sorry, can’t hear you, this socket wrench squeaks too loud.” He holds his free hand out like he’s helpless against such a problem.

The wrench is almost completely silent.

I roll my eyes. “Fine.”

“Good answer. It’s really pointless to argue anyway. I’m a scientific mastermind, remember?”

“I don’t remember ever saying mastermind.” I frown in mock confusion.

“Weird.” Jordan looks up at me with wide eyes. “Pretty sure I heard you say that.”

“So anyway, back to my witty conversation. What else should I know about you?” I lean my head back against the car. “Anything else your mom wants her dear son to be? The first mechanic slash babysitter slash tiny-car scientist perhaps?”

Jordan’s movements stop abruptly. When I tilt my face toward him, he keeps going, but he doesn’t answer, and there is a distinctly pained look on his face now. Perfect. Of course I would somehow manage to hurt one of the only prospective new friends I’ve made all year.

“I … I’m sorry—” I begin.

“No.” He shakes his head and his smile is back to almost the strength from before. Jordan removes the final lug nut and stands up straight. “You have no reason to be sorry, Riley.”

I climb to my feet and help him lift the tire off in awkward silence. I’m not at all sure what I said that hurt him, but I’m determined not to repeat the mistake.

Jordan and I put the replacement tire in place before he turns to face me.

“Now you aren’t speaking, and I don’t want that.” He pushes his wavy black hair back from his face and glances over his shoulder to make sure Matthew is out of earshot. “Our mom died in a car accident a few months ago. Thinking about her hurts, that’s all.”

My stomach drops and I feel terrible. “Oh, Jordan, I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you.” Jordan nods. “Now to make sure I didn’t scare you away, promise me that you will talk to me constantly from right now until I finish putting this tire back on.”

I raise my eyebrows. “That’s quite a request. I’m actually not a big talker.”

“Learn to adjust.” He grins and then squats down to start securing the lug nuts back into place.

“Okay then.” I retake my seat on the ground, trying to think of anything to keep this conversation going. It suddenly feels like a lot of pressure.

Jordan stops and gives me a pointed stare so I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

“It sucks having only one parent.” I blink at him, and from his expression I can see he seems as surprised by my comment as I am. That? That is what I decide to say? What happened to being evasive?

Then he turns his eyes back to the tire. “Yes … it does. Your parents divorced?”

“Yes.” This lie is too easy and common not to take advantage of, but somehow lying to Jordan after what he just told me feels wrong. I try to leave in some of the truth. “My father hasn’t lived with us for years … since I was six.”

“That’s a long time.” Jordan’s tone is level and measured, but his eyes are filled with such a deep and aching sadness that my breath catches in my throat when he goes on. “Do you still miss him?”

“Yes,” I respond quietly. “Every day.”

Jordan finishes securing the spare and lowers the jack. Several seconds pass before he asks, “Does it get easier?”

I think about that question for a moment. Truthfully, I don’t really remember much about the time when Daddy lived with us, so that part would be hard to compare with. But I do remember early visits at Polunsky, back when I would hope that maybe next week, next month, next year, that at some point it wouldn’t make me as sad when I said goodbye.

That day had never come. It still feels like I’m leaving a piece of me behind when I exit Polunsky. It’s like a part of me has been imprisoned with him for most of my life.