banter. The conversation circled back to my crappy car, and my
desperate need for working wheels.
“While it may not
be your favorite car, it does run, although not right now.”
I felt a little
embarrassed. Oh well, what can you do?
“I can recommend a
good mechanic. You should have the engine checked. Hondas are generally
reliable, but I think this old model had transmission or ignition problems, and
there could be a fix.”
“Great,” I said
half-heartedly when I really just wanted to cry. We didn’t have money to fix
problems, especially not big ones, like a transmission. And how would I pay to
get that hunk of junk hauled away? He picked up on my anxiety—it was kind
of hard to miss.
“Don’t worry about
the cost of the tow, or the work. This particular mechanic owes me a favor.”
“Is there anything
I need to know? Like, is this some kind of a Godfather thing?”
“No, it’s not some Godfather thing.” He
leaned closer and used his husky voice. “But you will owe me a favor.”
Yikes! It was a
Godfather thing. I wasn’t sure this was a good idea. I had a really hard time
knowing whether to run, or stay and pull him closer. The look in his eyes
warned me I was playing with fire—the dangerous, seductive kind—and
already in way over my head.
“Okay,” my voice
crackled. I thought it over, and then in my best South Jersey accent said, “You
want I should whack somebody for you?”
He laughed at my
attempt at humor. “Unh-unh. Nope.” Garrett waggled his finger at me. “The favor
comes later, and it’ll be a something you can’t refuse.” He finished the last
part in his best Brando Godfather voice.
My phone buzzed. I
figured it was mom, probably worried about what we might be doing for so long.
I’d kept her in the loop up until we stopped for the car, but got busy
wondering what a brave woman would do with this hunk of a man sitting beside
her. I’m usually much stronger, and more in control when it comes to feelings.
Okay, so I cried to chick-flicks, and anything involving animals and kids, but
I sort of felt like a tough girl. Not totally hardened, but picky when it came
to my time and my heart. Maybe it was just the way I’d insulated myself over
the years—hurt has a funny way of working on people like me. Instead of
being logical when it came to our situation, and remaining friends in light of
the fact he was one of our employer landlords, I struggled against the desire
for more. The way he acted made me think he might have felt a similar conflict.
When I checked the
display, it was Chloe’s mom. Did they not talk? I thought my previous message
to Chloe was clear: Call Your Mom!
“Excuse me, it’s my
friend’s mom and I really should take this call,” I told Garrett
apologetically.
I started the call
upbeat, and slightly perturbed, but felt heavy with guilt when Mrs. Ellis mom
broke down. “She’s gone. Chloe’s dead.”
At first, I
couldn’t believe it—we’d talked just a few days ago, and were supposed to
meet up to discuss her case. Mrs. Ellis said she was dead. Suicide, the coroner
had ruled.
There was no way, I
thought. Chloe told me once she’d dreamt her whole life of becoming a judge.
Chloe had so much going for her as an up-and-comer in the legal
world—working on a big gambling case, being heard by the State Supreme
Court. The case would have bolstered her career and put her on a fast track to the
bench. Why would she kill herself before it was even heard? No way she’d
miss the opportunity of a lifetime. She didn’t commit suicide. Chloe’s mom
didn’t think her daughter had either.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs.
Ellis, so sorry to hear about Chloe. What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,
Mattie. I want to get a second opinion, but don’t know if I should.”
“Maybe I can help.”
“Doing what, dear?”
Garrett sat
patiently, absorbing at least the half of the conversation.
“Well, mom and I
work at a funeral home now,” I
desperate need for working wheels.
“While it may not
be your favorite car, it does run, although not right now.”
I felt a little
embarrassed. Oh well, what can you do?
“I can recommend a
good mechanic. You should have the engine checked. Hondas are generally
reliable, but I think this old model had transmission or ignition problems, and
there could be a fix.”
“Great,” I said
half-heartedly when I really just wanted to cry. We didn’t have money to fix
problems, especially not big ones, like a transmission. And how would I pay to
get that hunk of junk hauled away? He picked up on my anxiety—it was kind
of hard to miss.
“Don’t worry about
the cost of the tow, or the work. This particular mechanic owes me a favor.”
“Is there anything
I need to know? Like, is this some kind of a Godfather thing?”
“No, it’s not some Godfather thing.” He
leaned closer and used his husky voice. “But you will owe me a favor.”
Yikes! It was a
Godfather thing. I wasn’t sure this was a good idea. I had a really hard time
knowing whether to run, or stay and pull him closer. The look in his eyes
warned me I was playing with fire—the dangerous, seductive kind—and
already in way over my head.
“Okay,” my voice
crackled. I thought it over, and then in my best South Jersey accent said, “You
want I should whack somebody for you?”
He laughed at my
attempt at humor. “Unh-unh. Nope.” Garrett waggled his finger at me. “The favor
comes later, and it’ll be a something you can’t refuse.” He finished the last
part in his best Brando Godfather voice.
My phone buzzed. I
figured it was mom, probably worried about what we might be doing for so long.
I’d kept her in the loop up until we stopped for the car, but got busy
wondering what a brave woman would do with this hunk of a man sitting beside
her. I’m usually much stronger, and more in control when it comes to feelings.
Okay, so I cried to chick-flicks, and anything involving animals and kids, but
I sort of felt like a tough girl. Not totally hardened, but picky when it came
to my time and my heart. Maybe it was just the way I’d insulated myself over
the years—hurt has a funny way of working on people like me. Instead of
being logical when it came to our situation, and remaining friends in light of
the fact he was one of our employer landlords, I struggled against the desire
for more. The way he acted made me think he might have felt a similar conflict.
When I checked the
display, it was Chloe’s mom. Did they not talk? I thought my previous message
to Chloe was clear: Call Your Mom!
“Excuse me, it’s my
friend’s mom and I really should take this call,” I told Garrett
apologetically.
I started the call
upbeat, and slightly perturbed, but felt heavy with guilt when Mrs. Ellis mom
broke down. “She’s gone. Chloe’s dead.”
At first, I
couldn’t believe it—we’d talked just a few days ago, and were supposed to
meet up to discuss her case. Mrs. Ellis said she was dead. Suicide, the coroner
had ruled.
There was no way, I
thought. Chloe told me once she’d dreamt her whole life of becoming a judge.
Chloe had so much going for her as an up-and-comer in the legal
world—working on a big gambling case, being heard by the State Supreme
Court. The case would have bolstered her career and put her on a fast track to the
bench. Why would she kill herself before it was even heard? No way she’d
miss the opportunity of a lifetime. She didn’t commit suicide. Chloe’s mom
didn’t think her daughter had either.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs.
Ellis, so sorry to hear about Chloe. What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,
Mattie. I want to get a second opinion, but don’t know if I should.”
“Maybe I can help.”
“Doing what, dear?”
Garrett sat
patiently, absorbing at least the half of the conversation.
“Well, mom and I
work at a funeral home now,” I
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