Lying Out Loud(41)

“So what’s the problem?” Bianca asked, tapping the hood.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “It stopped running. I’m hoping it’s just the battery. Do you guys have jumper cables?”

Wesley opened his mouth to answer, but Bianca just popped open the hood. “Let me take a look first. I have plenty of experience with crappy old cars.”

“Be my guest.”

She poked her head around inside while Wesley and I watched. After a second, she took a step back and slammed the hood shut.

“We’ll need to call a tow truck.”

I groaned. “What’s wrong with Gert?”

“Your alternator. The belt is totally just hanging there. It’ll need to be replaced.”

“The alternator,” Wesley said, nodding. “I mean, obviously.”

Bianca rolled her eyes. “For someone with such a nice car, you know so little about them.”

“How much is that going to cost me?” I asked.

“Hard to say,” Bianca admitted. “If it’s just the belt, it won’t be that bad. If it’s the actual alternator … a little more.”

“More that I don’t have,” I muttered. “And I don’t get paid until next week.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Wesley said. “I’ll take care of it.”

“I can’t let you do that,” I said. “Or your parents. You guys have already done way too much for me.”

“Don’t be silly,” he said. “We don’t mind.”

“But I do,” I argued.

Bianca put an understanding hand on my shoulder. “Maybe you could consider it a loan, then,” she said. “To be paid back when you can.”

I still wasn’t thrilled about this, but it wasn’t as if there were a ton of options. So, reluctantly, I nodded.

“Deal,” Wesley said. “I’ll even charge interest if you like.”

“Let’s negotiate that in the car. Where it’s warm,” Bianca suggested.

It took about twenty minutes for the tow truck to arrive, and by then, I was super late for work. Poor Gert and her broken alternator were hauled off, and I silently promised her I’d come to rescue her soon.

“So where were you headed?” Wesley asked as he steered the Porsche back onto the highway.

“The mall,” I said, checking the time. “My shift started half an hour ago. My boss will be so pissed. And now I have no way to get home after …”

“We can come pick you up,” Bianca said.

“You don’t have to do that,” I said.

“Of course we do,” Wesley said. “You don’t think we’d leave you stranded, do you? Just give me a call when your shift ends.”

“Thank you,” I said. “Really.”

Wesley smiled at me in the rearview mirror. “Anytime.”





Well, this was some serious déjà vu.

“Sheila, come on,” I begged. “I told you. My car broke down. I had to wait for the tow truck.”

“You could have called,” she said.

“I tried,” I said. “No one answered.”

“Why didn’t you try again?”

Fair question.

“We had to call someone else to cover your shift,” she said. “The day after Christmas is always busy, and you weren’t here.”

“I told you. My car —”

“You always have an excuse,” she said.

To be fair, the excuses about Gert had been true. I’d had more problems with her lately than usual. I seriously needed a new car. But that required money. Which required a job. Which Gert was making it incredibly hard to hold on to.

Well, Gert, and my hatred of the holidays.

“Look,” Sheila said as she rearranged a few picture books that had been tossed around by some kids a few minutes before. I was following her around the store like a pathetic, lost dog. “You were seasonal anyway. We were probably going to be laying you off in two weeks as it is.”

But that was two weeks’ worth of pay that I needed. Especially now that I owed Wesley for Gert’s repairs.

I just stood there, staring at her.

“Sorry, Sonny,” she said. “But you’re fired.”

I stormed out of the bookstore, pissed at Sheila and at Gert and at myself. I thought of calling Wesley, asking him to turn back around and come pick me up. But I took a deep breath and decided to be more proactive.

I was already at the mall, so I might as well start my job hunt right away.

I sighed as I headed toward the food court, remembering the day Amy and I had come here when I was first applying for new jobs.

Some days I felt like a rat on a wheel, running and running and running and never getting anywhere.

*

“Sonny?”

I was walking out of Daphne’s, a vintage-inspired clothing store, after dropping off my application. Ryder was standing a few yards away, a shopping bag in his hand and his green utility jacket slung casually over his shoulder. He looked like a model. Like a picture any one of these stores would have loved to have advertising their brand.

“Hey, Ryder,” I said.

“What’re you doing here?”