Interim(58)

“What can I do for you, darling?” Roy called.

Regan blushed. “I’m sorry. I thought business would be closed by now. I was just coming to see Jeremy.”

Roy smirked knowingly and jabbed Jeremy’s side.

“Ouch! Stop,” Jeremy hissed.

“Wednesdays are our long days,” Roy addressed Regan. He glanced at the large clock directly above her head. “But it’s about to be quitting time in half an hour. Why don’t you take a seat over there with those folks and wait for him.”

Regan bit her lower lip as she nodded—reluctant assent because she thought she shouldn’t say no to an adult.

“Give her an option, Roy,” Jeremy whispered, picking up a wrench. “God. Maybe she doesn’t want to sit over there and wait. Maybe she didn’t want to come here in the first place.”

Roy frowned. “I don’t even know what that means. She’s here, isn’t she? And who is she, anyway? I didn’t know about any girlfriend.” And then he added as an afterthought: “You know the apartment rules.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Jeremy replied. “Not even close.”

He glimpsed Regan sitting in a far seat close to the door and imagined she’d make a run for it. Wouldn’t surprise him. She was visibly agitated, tugging constantly at her knee highs and then moving to her ponytail. He thought she’d yank her hair right out of her head.

He sighed, then dove underneath the truck again. “Roy? Let me leave a little early?”

Roy peeked his head under. “Ha! You out of your mind? As I see it, you owe me extra time for falling asleep. You forget that part of the day?”

“Roy, please. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. I just . . . I know Regan has to—”

“So, it’s Regan, is it?”

“Ah, jeez . . .”

“That’s an interesting name: Regan. Reegan,” he said again, exaggerating the first syllable.

“I like it,” Jeremy replied, immediately going on the defensive.

“Calm down,” Roy said, chuckling. “I like it, too. Sounds regal, like she should be six feet tall or something.”

“I like her height,” Jeremy blurted. Shut. Up.

Roy’s chuckles turned to full-out laughter. “And her face and hair and toenails and armpit creases . . .”

“Shut up, Roy!”

“You’re in love with her, son. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Oh, God . . .”

“But that isn’t getting you out of work early. You’re finishing this oil change.”

“Fine.”

There was nothing he could do about the rate at which the old oil drained from the engine, but lucky for him, that part was over. He could, however, control the rate at which he installed the new filter and poured in the fresh oil. He flew into action, catching a glimpse of Roy, who stood watching him like a hawk.

“You better lube that filter ring, Speedy Gonzales,” he warned.

“I got it, I got it,” Jeremy muttered.

“And you better not spill a drop of that oil,” Roy went on.

“I know.”

“And you better . . .”

The list continued throughout the entire oil change. Jeremy listened politely, aware that he wasn’t giving the truck the attention it deserved, but also realizing that he wasn’t changing brake pads. He was changing oil—something he’d done a million times. He could change oil with his eyes closed. It didn’t need to be the big deal Roy was making it. He knew it was only that Roy wanted to give him a hard time about Regan. A girl. His girl, in another, better world.

When he was finally alone with her outside, he apologized.

“You didn’t have to stay. Roy can sound bossy at times, but he really was giving you the option.”

“I wanted to stay,” Regan replied. “I mean, I needed to.”

“Why?”

Regan cocked her head. “Seriously? You know why. We need to talk. I almost went to the office about you.”

Jeremy tensed. He knew she’d switched sides. That was apparent this morning by the way she looked at him—frightened and apologetic at the same time. He knew it had everything to do with her little homework assignment last night—researching the meaning of a tattoo that wasn’t any of her goddamn business. He decided to play dumb.

“Why would you go to the office about me?” he asked.