street. “Let me buy you a cup of coffee to get you warm faster. There’s a McDonald’s right up the street on Candelaria. Not the best coffee, but we can do the drive-thru.”
We sat in the McDonald’s parking lot with the car still running and the heater blasting warm air into the confines of the Mustang. The coffee was too hot to drink, but I held it between my hands, enjoying the warmth. “The paint job looks great, Jack.” I had noticed the beautiful, shiny red paint as I got in.
“Thanks.” He smiled and sipped his coffee carefully. “I finished it yesterday. Pretty much took up my whole weekend. Hey, was this afternoon a complete disaster or did you get a chance to talk to Veronica?”
“Jack, I’m still amazed that you actually believe any part of this crazy story,” I said.
“Of course I believe it.” He paused in the act of taking a sip of the too-hot coffee. “It’s you, Ally.” Like that explained everything. When I shook my head in disbelief, he reached over and put his hand against my cheek, turning my head to face him. “Don’t do that,” he said rather sternly. “Don’t ever sell yourself short.” In a movie this statement would be followed by a passionate kiss. In my life it was followed by him removing his hand and going back to trying to drink the fiery coffee. Maybe the sweaty stench starting to be noticeable now that I was warming up was holding him back. Shit. I really needed to stop cussing.
“Well, it wasn’t a deeply heart-felt conversation, but she did let me use her cell phone to try to call for a ride.” I must have looked confused or something following my statement.
“What?” He was searching my eyes. “What did you just think of?”
I told him how Veronica had sort of freaked out when I suggested trying to find someone to report the theft to. “It was kind of weird, that’s all. So, no great conversation, no deep, dark secrets revealed, but I did talk to her. At great personal cost to myself, no less,” I ended ruefully.
“Yeah, that does, indeed, suck,” he commiserated.
“So,” I began hesitantly, “you seemed to know a lot about breaking a lock. Did you ever do anything like that?” I couldn’t even look at him. He was always so closed-mouth about his past, but I was growing increasingly curious.
He gave a big sigh. “Yeah. I did a lot of stupid stuff when I was younger. Stuff I’m not proud of, stuff I’m still paying for now.”
“Would you be willing to tell me about it?” I dared. “I mean, you don’t have to, but I thought, you know, since we’re friends and all…”
“Yeah, sure,” he said dejectedly, running his hands through his hair. I hated to do this to him, but I really felt it was an important step in our friendship. “What do you want to know?”
“I guess…what happened to you? I mean, you seem so nice now, and so mature. I can’t picture you as a hell-raising juvenile delinquent,” I said as I tried to lighten the mood.
He gave a half-hearted chuckle in appreciation. “Well, I was a good kid all the way through elementary school and most of junior high. The trouble started when I was in 8th grade. My mom was hit and killed by a drunk driver on her way back to Taos from a business meeting in Santa Fe. She was an attorney.”
“Oh, God, Jack.” I was horrified. “I’m so sorry. You don’t have to tell me.”
“No, it’s probably a good idea to tell you. You can decide if you want to even mess with me. I may not be worth the trouble.” He smiled as he said it, but I could see through the veneer.
“Hey!” I turned in my seat to face him. Now I was the one putting my hand against his cheek. “Don’t ever say that. You are definitely worth the trouble.” He took my hand in his and held it loosely while he told me the rest of his story. How his father had spiraled downward after his mother’s death into severe depression and alcoholism, leaving Jack and two year old Megan to fend for themselves. How
We sat in the McDonald’s parking lot with the car still running and the heater blasting warm air into the confines of the Mustang. The coffee was too hot to drink, but I held it between my hands, enjoying the warmth. “The paint job looks great, Jack.” I had noticed the beautiful, shiny red paint as I got in.
“Thanks.” He smiled and sipped his coffee carefully. “I finished it yesterday. Pretty much took up my whole weekend. Hey, was this afternoon a complete disaster or did you get a chance to talk to Veronica?”
“Jack, I’m still amazed that you actually believe any part of this crazy story,” I said.
“Of course I believe it.” He paused in the act of taking a sip of the too-hot coffee. “It’s you, Ally.” Like that explained everything. When I shook my head in disbelief, he reached over and put his hand against my cheek, turning my head to face him. “Don’t do that,” he said rather sternly. “Don’t ever sell yourself short.” In a movie this statement would be followed by a passionate kiss. In my life it was followed by him removing his hand and going back to trying to drink the fiery coffee. Maybe the sweaty stench starting to be noticeable now that I was warming up was holding him back. Shit. I really needed to stop cussing.
“Well, it wasn’t a deeply heart-felt conversation, but she did let me use her cell phone to try to call for a ride.” I must have looked confused or something following my statement.
“What?” He was searching my eyes. “What did you just think of?”
I told him how Veronica had sort of freaked out when I suggested trying to find someone to report the theft to. “It was kind of weird, that’s all. So, no great conversation, no deep, dark secrets revealed, but I did talk to her. At great personal cost to myself, no less,” I ended ruefully.
“Yeah, that does, indeed, suck,” he commiserated.
“So,” I began hesitantly, “you seemed to know a lot about breaking a lock. Did you ever do anything like that?” I couldn’t even look at him. He was always so closed-mouth about his past, but I was growing increasingly curious.
He gave a big sigh. “Yeah. I did a lot of stupid stuff when I was younger. Stuff I’m not proud of, stuff I’m still paying for now.”
“Would you be willing to tell me about it?” I dared. “I mean, you don’t have to, but I thought, you know, since we’re friends and all…”
“Yeah, sure,” he said dejectedly, running his hands through his hair. I hated to do this to him, but I really felt it was an important step in our friendship. “What do you want to know?”
“I guess…what happened to you? I mean, you seem so nice now, and so mature. I can’t picture you as a hell-raising juvenile delinquent,” I said as I tried to lighten the mood.
He gave a half-hearted chuckle in appreciation. “Well, I was a good kid all the way through elementary school and most of junior high. The trouble started when I was in 8th grade. My mom was hit and killed by a drunk driver on her way back to Taos from a business meeting in Santa Fe. She was an attorney.”
“Oh, God, Jack.” I was horrified. “I’m so sorry. You don’t have to tell me.”
“No, it’s probably a good idea to tell you. You can decide if you want to even mess with me. I may not be worth the trouble.” He smiled as he said it, but I could see through the veneer.
“Hey!” I turned in my seat to face him. Now I was the one putting my hand against his cheek. “Don’t ever say that. You are definitely worth the trouble.” He took my hand in his and held it loosely while he told me the rest of his story. How his father had spiraled downward after his mother’s death into severe depression and alcoholism, leaving Jack and two year old Megan to fend for themselves. How
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