My nerves take over my face as soon as we walk into the store as I realize I have no idea where to look for what I need. The only thing I’ve ever purchased from Toby’s are windshield wipers and wiper fluid. Those things are on an end cap, and I had to get help picking out the right wipers. I’m about to embarrass myself, badly.
Thankfully, Eleanor peels off from me to wander different aisles while I walk up and down sections that seem they might have engine parts out and ready to take. It only takes a trip down two of those aisles for me to swallow the hard truth—I am going to have to ask someone for help. Taking advantage of still being alone, I step up to the service counter and lean over as far as I can without lifting my feet off the floor in an effort to gain the attention of the guys in the back. It takes two coughs for someone to rear back in a chair and make eye contact with me, and the man who looks like he could be my grandfather’s brother—I guess that means my great-uncle—sidles toward me, hitching his pants up on either side as he walks.
“How can I help you?” He pulls the reading glasses from atop his head and slides them up the bridge of his nose before typing on his computer.
“I need an alternator.” My voice cracks with my request, and things get a little fuzzy in my periphery. The flop sweats are hitting hard, and underneath the counter, my knee is bobbing like a meth addict. This, of course, is when Eleanor joins me.
“For what?” The man—whose name is Dale, which I read on his shirt—dips his chin to peer at me over his glasses. The slight smirk that joins his query is a pretty clear signal that he knows I’m clueless. The glance to my left, toward Eleanor, that follows, is an even clearer sign that he sees I’m here with a girl who is way out of my league. And then finally, the way his eyes, full of pity, flitter back to me and land on my face, tells me he probably won’t be as helpful as I need him to be in terms of making me sound like I know what I’m doing.
“Seventy-two Ford Bronco.” My hand squeezes the cash in my pocket while visions of my five-year-old self slapping cash haphazardly on the counter for candy run through my mind. The grumbled response I get from Dale is not reassuring. Neither is the way he shifts his weight and pulls his glasses down more.
I swallow.
“One-twenty? One-forty? Preference?”
I swallow again. My mouth is dry. So. Very. Dry.
“I—”
I’m interrupted with the swift smack of Dale’s fat palm on the worn laminate counter top in front of me. It startles both Eleanor and me back a step, and my mouth snaps shut while my eyes widen.
“Hey, you Hank’s grandson?”
Thank you, sweet baby Jesus!
“I am,” I answer, eager that maybe I’m going to be spared more embarrassment.
“Jonah, right?” He shakes his finger at me, backing up and peering down at some mystical space beneath his computer and register.
I nod.
“That’s me.”
“Ah, yeah. Here it is.” Dale’s enormous body disappears behind the counter as he crouches and when he stands, he slides a box toward me with a yellow sticky note slapped on the top and HANK scribbled on it in fat marker.
“No charge. And tell that goddamn card hustling grandfather of yours that we’re square now, and I plan on raking him over the coals next week.” His hands cup the sides of the box and hold it just tight enough that when I reach to take it, it doesn’t move. He doesn’t let go until our eyes meet and I nod to agree to his demand.
“Yes, sir.”
Box tucked under my arm, I stride out of the store a little buzzed by what just happened. I’m frightened and a little insulted. I’m also lucky I got the part I needed without breaking down completely and begging for Dale’s help or running back home to take photos and bringing in my dad’s weird-ass notebook.
Unable to help myself, I head for Eleanor’s door first, pulling it open and getting a playful chastising glare from her as I do.
“I’m fully aware you can open your own doors, but I think if I didn’t do this with Dale staring at me out that window he’d come out here and punch me in the nose.” I’m only half joking.
Eleanor’s crooked smile deepens and she nods, accepting my gesture and getting in the car.
“You’re probably right. I should tell him I was promised a massage chair!”
“I never said—” She pulls the door closed, cutting me off again.
My face tingles from the stupid grin my lips form. In a million years, I never would have imagined I could be more attracted to Eleanor Trombley. Every word that leaves her mouth proves that wrong. Every. Single. Word.
During our drive home, I explain to Eleanor the history of how my grandfather came to live with us and his regular poker games in our garage. It all comes down to cost-savings for all of us, and even though they bicker, my mom and he love each other like blood relatives. I realize while I talk that he skipped having his regular game yesterday, and I’m not sure whether it had to do with the Bronco’s arrival or Eleanor’s sister going missing. Grandpa Hank’s friends are all like Dale, blunt and a bit pushy. He was maybe sparing the sweet girl he let
