The Matchmaker's Medium

“Some fella—Eric, Elmer, Ennis—no, wait! Esteban! That’s it.”

Jamal froze. “Who did she say?”

Esteban, I thought, what are you, deaf?

“No way,” he whispered, his mouth dropping open at the end. What the hell?

“He’s the same fella did my window-shield. He’s a Yankee, from up New York way.”

Haha. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to hearing one of us northerners referred to as a ‘Yankee’.

“All right, well, I’ll be goin’ now,” she said, starting the arduous process of heaving herself over, up, and off the couch. It was kind of like watching a whale un-beach itself; revolting and mesmerizing, all at once. I was tempted to help her, or even offer to help her, but I could easily imagine how that conversation would turn out.

Instead, I said, “Let me walk you out.”

“No, no, I can find the door on my own. Just need to call that dern taxi fella, again. He’s reliable, but he’s slow as molasses in the winter.” Finally freed of the couch cushions, she straightened her shirt and pants, smoothed her hair flat, dabbed at her upper lip again. “I’ll call ya if grandmamma comes tonight. You want I should call you right after? Or should I wait till mornin’?”

If you call me in the middle of the night, I think I just might take a short walk off the nearest cliff.

“No, you can just wait till tomorrow.”

“All right, then. Thanks again, Amber,” she said, pushing some buttons on her ‘cellular’. As I shut the door behind her, I could hear her yelling into the phone, “Hello? Hello? Rod-ree-go? I’m ready for ya, now!” God bless poor Rod-ree-go, I thought, trying not to laugh again.

I walked back into the room, almost plopped onto the couch, then stopped myself when I saw the huge sweat stains where Victoria had been sitting.

“Gross! It looks like she took a bath and sat here to dry off!” I yelled, pointing at the couch, just in case Jamal hadn’t seen the whole thing.

“That’s one big lady,” he replied. “How you think she gets herself clean?”

I shuddered. “Thanks a lot for the visual.”

“Sorry.”

I walked over to the coffee pot, saw it was empty, looked at my coffee cup and saw it looked the same.

“Is the coffee evaporating?”

“Seriously? Girl, you know you drink it all. Who else do you think it was? Me?” he asked, giggling at his own joke.

“Ha-ha, very funny, you’re such a comedian,” I said, grabbing the empty coffee decanter and walking to the sink. “What was all that about, anyway? Why did you want to know more about the mechanic?”

“Esteban. He’s someone who….came up, before.”

“Really? How did he come up?”

“Others told me about him.”

“Why? Is he a killer or something?”

“You always think someone’s a killer. You know that’s warped, right?”

“Jamal, the world has changed a bit since your time. We all watch crime shows, cop shows, investigation shows, hell, the average person watching TV knows more about solving crimes than some of the cops did back in your day.”

“You know, ‘my day’ wasn’t that long ago.”

I snorted, “Ha! Okay, tell yourself whatever you need to.” I brought the water-filled decanter back to the machine, poured it in, and spilled about half of it all over my papers. “Dang it!”

I set the pot back in its cradle, grabbed some paper towels, and tried to clean up the mess. Mostly, I just made it worse.

“You could offer to help, you know.”

“Why offer? We both know I can’t actually do anything to help you with it.”

“Because. It’s common courtesy, that’s why.”

“You ladies are a riot!” He walked away, shaking his head.

After I finished cleaning up, I sat back at my desk, twirling my pen. “Do I need to talk to Esteban to help Victoria’s grandmother go away?”

“Maybe.”

That’s specific.

“I wasn’t trying to be,” he said.

“Get out of my head!” I yelled, throwing the pen across the room at him. As usual, it went right through him.

“You missed,” he said, and winked.

Chapter Five

As I walked up to the garage, I could hear the rat-tat-tat of pneumatic tools at work. For some reason, that sound always made me feel like a kid at my Uncle Leonard’s shop. He was the best uncle in the world, in my humble opinion. Always had a piece of candy in his pocket, a warm smile, and a big hug for me. He was a man’s man, always talking about fishing, hunting, and football, and forever teasing me about my hair.

I only saw him a handful of times—thanks to my military brat upbringing—but I cherished the memory of every single one of those times. Just the smell of this place was making me all teary- eyed.

“Que paso?” I heard, from right behind me. I turned look at the owner of the voice, and my whole body went numb.

The man was drop-dead, call the undertaker, pick out a coffin, and start writing the obituary gorgeous. He was tall, but not too tall; just tall enough that I had to look up at his eyes. And his eyes—they were a medium-light brown, almost glowing with reflected sunlight. He was wiping his big, greasy hands on one of those blue shop towels, his Giants ball cap pushed way back on a shiny-bald head.

Dark, expressive eyebrows seemed to move on their own as he turned his head a little this way, a little that way, trying to figure me out. With his sleeves rolled up above his elbows, I could see his massive biceps pop and twitch with every movement, covered in warm-brown skin the color of my morning coffee-and-cream. I was so stunned by his beauty—yeah, that’s right, that’s the word, beauty—that I almost forgot my own name.

“Uh, I, um, it’s—”

“Are you okay?” he asked, reaching out to grab me by my elbow. He steadied me with his powerful grip, which practically made me faint, it was so stimulating. What the hell is wrong with me? I managed to think, just before Jamal stepped into view.

Oops.

He looked like a disapproving father, arms crossed on his chest, eyebrow lifted, mouth scrunched into a smirk-frown.

What? I managed to think, trying to play innocent. He wasn’t buying it. Just kept standing there, shaking his head.

“Ma’am?”

Huh? What? Who, me?