Knitted Hearts by Amber Kelly
Foster
Ijust finished showering off the day, and I settle in on the couch, in my underwear, to relax with a cold beer and watch a game when my phone starts ringing.
Wendy.
I hit Ignore and grab the television remote and turn it on.
It starts ringing again.
Dammit.
I press the green button to accept the call and bark, “What now?”
“Nice to hear your voice too.”
“I’m not in the mood to bicker, Wendy. What do you need?”
“I need help. I’m stranded on the side of Old Church Road.”
“What happened?” I ask.
“How the hell am I supposed to know, Foster? My car stopped working.”
“Can’t you call Gator?” I ask.
Gator is her older brother, who lives about a mile outside town and not far from Old Church Road.
“I already tried. He’s out at the hunting cabin, and you know he gets spotty phone reception out there. I left him a message fifteen minutes ago,” she explains.
“What about your mom and dad?”
“Like I’d ever call them for anything. Come on, Foster. You’re my last resort. I’m going to be late for work.”
“Fine. I’ll be there in ten minutes,” I tell her.
“Can you make it faster?” she asks.
I click off without answering and chuck the phone onto the coffee table in front of me. I knew I shouldn’t have answered. So much for a relaxing night. I stand and pour out the beer. Then, I climb the stairs to the loft and take my sweet time in getting dressed.
My headlights illuminate the black Volkswagen Beetle on the side of the dark road. Wendy is pacing on the asphalt beside it with her phone to her ear, and she looks pissed.
Great.
I pull off to the side with the front of my truck facing the VW in case she needs a jump start, and then I hop out.
“I have to go. Foster finally showed up,” she says to the person on the other end of the line before ending the call and shoving the phone into her back pocket.
She meets me as I make it to the car and pop the hood.
“What happened?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I was just on my way to work, and the Check Engine light started flashing. Then, smoke began coming from the hood. I pulled over and cut it off, and then I got out to make sure nothing was on fire. When I got back in to start it, it wouldn’t turn over. It just clicks.”
“Does it have gas in it?” I ask.
“Of course it has gas in it; I’m not an idiot. Something is wrong. I told you last week that it was making a funny noise,” she snaps.
“And I told you to take it into Jackie’s Garage and have him look at it,” I bite out.
“I assumed it just needed an oil change or antifreeze or something. You’ve always taken care of our vehicles, Foster. I didn’t want some big bill from Jackie for something simple you could do.”
I look down at the engine, and I might as well be staring at a circuit board.
I shake my head. “I can change the oil in a truck, and I can tinker with old engines, but I warned you when you bought this thing that I couldn’t do shit with a German vehicle with a complicated computer system,” I remind her.
“This again? I told you I didn’t want to ride around in an uncomfortable truck anymore,” she shrieks.
I slam the hood shut and face her. “Then, you are going to have to take the thing in for regular maintenance and definitely have it checked by the dealership or Jackie if the Check Engine light comes on or it starts making strange noises, Wendy. It’s not rocket science.”
“Fine. Next time, I’ll take it to the dealership, but I need it to start now. So, what do we do?” she asks.
We? She means, me.
“I’ll call and get it towed to the garage,” I offer.
She puts her head in her hands and starts the waterworks.
Fuck me.
I don’t want to be a dick, but her tears don’t work on me any longer. They only frustrate me.
“That’s not going to help,” I snap.
“What am I supposed to do? I have to work tonight. If I’m out again, Gene is going to fire me,” she whines.
As much as I want to tell her that it’s not my problem, hop into my truck, and drive off, I don’t. The truth is, if she loses this job, it will most definitely be my problem. So, I dig my keys from my pocket and toss them at her.
“Here, take my truck to the bar. I’ll wait for the tow truck to come,” I tell her.
She catches the keys and smiles. “How will you get home?”
“I’ll get Truett to borrow mom’s car and come and fetch me or something, but I’ll need my truck in the morning. Just leave the keys in it, and I’ll pick it up.”
“What am I supposed to do about a car until mine is fixed?” she asks.
“You have parents and a brother. Ask one of them to let you borrow their car or give you a ride,” I suggest.
She scowls and then stomps off toward the driver’s side of my truck.
“You’re welcome,” I call out as she gets in and slams the door.
She revs the engine and spins the tires as she peels out onto the street.
She’s a piece of work.
I fish my phone from my pocket and call Jackie for a tow, and then I leave my brother a message, asking for him to call me back.
How the hell did I go from sitting on my couch in my underwear to sitting in the dark on the side of the road?
Wendy.
Story of my life.