Roadside Assistance Read online

  Embarrassed, I wished I could hide in the backseat of the truck. I couldn’t even imagine what Whitney and her family would think of our possessions.

  Chuck snatched a duffle bag and suitcase from the pile in the trailer. Slinging the bag over his arm, he headed up the stairs. “Whitney, put the phone down and grab something. If we all pitch in, we’ll get it unloaded quickly.”

  “Logan can help too. You’ll just have to surgically remove him from his controller.” Whitney’s gaze swept over my attire. “Do you have your bathing suit? A few of my friends are coming over later to swim. I thought it would be nice to have one last girls’ night before classes start Tuesday.”

  “Oh.” I glanced down at my faded blue T-shirt and denim shorts and then back at the trailer. “I doubt I can find my suit in that mess.”

  Whitney shrugged. “No worries. You can borrow one of mine.”

  I bit back a snort. As if I could fill out one of her bikinis. “That’s okay,” I said. “I have plenty of unpacking to do. I’m sure I’ll meet your friends at school.”

  “Emily.” She touched my shoulder, her expression serious. “Have some fun. You have the rest of the year to unpack.”

  “Girls,” Darlene called, heaving two large tote bags onto her slight shoulders. “You can get caught up later. Let’s unpack now.”

  Saved by Darlene of all people. I threw a backpack onto my back and grabbed a suitcase with wheels and then followed my aunt up the steep front steps and into the large foyer. In front of me, a sweeping open staircase unfurled to the second floor.

  To my right was a large living room, complete with a baby grand piano, matching brown leather sofa and love seat, and curio cabinets filled with expensive-looking figurines. The doorway behind it led into the kitchen, as I recalled. To my left was a spacious formal dining room, with a long dark wooden table that would comfortably seat eight. Alongside it sat a huge matching hutch filled with formal dishes. The furniture alone was probably worth more than our old house. I wondered if Whitney knew just how lucky she was to have all of this.

  “This way, dear,” Darlene called while walking up the stairs.

  At the top of the stairs, we stepped into a long hallway lined with doors on either side. A bookshelf packed with books, framed photographs, and knickknacks sat at the end of the hallway.

  “I’ll give you a quick tour before we head into your room.” Darlene nodded as we walked by a row of doors. “This is Logan’s room.” She stopped and popped her head in. “Logan, turn off the game. Emily is here.”

  Logan glanced over and grinned. “Hey, Emily.” He stood and clicked off the television. At ten, he was tall for his age, much like his parents and sister. He had sandy blond hair and deep brown eyes.

  “Hi, Logan.” I glanced around his room, which was twice the size of what I’d had back home. Star Wars and car posters cluttered the deep-blue walls. A bunk bed, the top unmade with Star Wars sheets hanging over the side, took up the far wall.

  “Logan, go down and help your father and uncle empty the trailer,” Darlene said, heading back down the hallway.

  “This is Whitney’s room,” Darlene said as we passed a room decorated in all pastels and white furniture. She then pointed toward the end of the hallway. “I thought I’d put your father in the room over the garage since there’s a flat screen and a sofa along with the bed. It’s sort of a suite.”

  She pointed toward another door, this one at the other end of the hall. “That’s our room.” Then she nodded across the hall to two doors. “That’s the bathroom, and this is your room. It’s a guest room, as you can see.”

  She opened the door to a large room, probably three times the size of my old one, with a couple of bookshelves, a double bed, a love seat, a triple dresser, and a bureau holding a flat-screen television. The walls were a light peach, and the bed contained matching decorative pillows. Four paintings of seascapes and lighthouses graced the walls.

  She opened a door to a huge walk-in closet. Empty hangers cluttered the rod, and shelves lined the far wall.

  “I moved all of the clothes to my closet so you have plenty of room.” She placed my things on the bed and pointed toward the bureau and dresser. “Those are empty too. You can unpack everything and feel at home.”

  “Oh, I won’t need all this space,” I said, shaking my head. “I probably won’t fill half of the closet or dresser, but thank you.”

  She waved off the comment with a smile. “Oh, you don’t need to thank me.” Then she hugged me. “We’re family, Emily. If you need anything, just let me know.”

  “Thanks,” I said, glancing around the room, trying to process it all in my brain. Yesterday I was standing in my tiny room with my single bed. Now I was moving into a peach guest room with decorative pillows and paintings of beaches and lighthouses.

  As nice as the space was, I knew my boxes of car manuals and magazines would never go with the décor. It would remain a guest room.

  Whitney appeared in the doorway with a brown suitcase. “Does this go in here?”

  “Yeah.” I gestured toward a hope chest that had been made into a seat complete with padding, which sat in front of two large windows. “Right there would be great. Thanks.”

  “Let’s get some light in here,” Whitney said, drawing the long peach curtains back and raising the white blinds. Sunlight flooded the room.

  I stepped to the window and peered out over the backyard, which was even bigger than it had looked from the street. A deck, complete with a long table, several chairs, and an umbrella, stretched from the back of the house to a concrete patio. In the center of the yard was the pool, surrounded by more concrete lined with chaises. Various pool toys bobbed in the crystal blue water, which sparkled in the sun. The long driveway that snaked around from the front of the house ended at the garage.

  The car I’d heard earlier roared and sputtered again, and I glanced toward the fence separating Whitney’s yard from the neighbor’s.

  A larger, four-bay detached garage sat on the other side of the fence. The doors were up, revealing a cluttered mess of toolboxes and engine parts with the Dodge in the center of it all. The boy I’d seen earlier emerged from the driver’s seat. I absently wondered if he’d figured out the engine needed to be rebuilt. A hunter-green Jeep Wrangler, the top removed, was parked in the driveway outside of the garage. This guy was a Chrysler fan, all the way.

  “Who lives there?” I asked once the engine noise died.

  “The Stewarts,” Whitney said, pulling her phone from her pocket, checking the screen, punching buttons. “That garage is always noisy, but I guess you’re used to that.” Her phone chimed and she grinned. “Awesome. Tiffany’s coming too.”

  Chuck burst through the door with an armload of boxes. “These go here?” he asked, panting as if he’d run up the stairs double-time.

  I spotted my name scrawled on the side in black Sharpie. “Yes, thanks. Drop them anywhere.”

  “Let’s go, girls,” Darlene called from the hallway. “I’d like to get the trailer unloaded so I can start supper.”

  Part of me wondered if she also wanted to get our stuff out of their driveway before all the neighbors saw our belongings, and I hoped that wasn’t the case.

  Three hours later, the trailer now empty and parked in front of the detached garage, I sat across from my dad and between Logan and Whitney at the large kitchen table. The center of the table was cluttered with platters and serving bowls full of baked chicken, mashed potatoes, mixed vegetables, rolls, and salad. While it smelled heavenly, my appetite had evaporated the moment we’d pulled into the driveway.

  “Logan, would you like to say the prayer?” Darlene asked.

  I glanced at my dad, who shrugged and then bowed his head. Who knew Aunt Darlene was religious?

  I bowed my head and studied my faded denim shorts while Logan recited something quickly, ending with the word “Amen.” I looked up just as arms began reaching across the table, grabbing at the serving dishes. Utens
ils clinked and scraped as food filled the plates surrounding me.

  “Emily,” Darlene said, “how’s your boyfriend doing? He was such a nice young man when we met him.”

  I swallowed a groan and took a deep breath. “We broke up,” I said, with a shrug, hoping to look casual.

  “Oh dear.” She shook her head, frowning. “I’m so sorry.”

  “What happened?” Whitney asked, looking concerned.

  It took every fiber of my strength not to kick her under the table. What did she think happened? I considered telling them the truth, but the humiliation would be too much to bear. Besides, I still had a hole in my chest when I thought about Tyler, and I didn’t want to risk getting emotional in public.

  Hoping I looked unaffected by the failed romance, I shrugged again. “You know, what usually happens when someone moves away.”

  Darlene gave me a condescending expression. “Well, you know long-distance relationships don’t usually work.”

  An uncomfortable silence filled the air, followed by another chorus of cutlery tinkling.

  “So, Whitney, are you excited about your junior year?” my dad asked.

  Silently thankful for the change in subject, I snatched the bowl of salad and scooped some onto my plate, smothering the green, leafy pile in buttermilk ranch dressing.

  “Absolutely.” Nodding with emphasis, Whitney grinned.

  “You can show Emmy here the ropes.” He winked at me.

  Whitney shrugged. “Sure thing.” Her phone chimed and she snickered at the screen and then began typing.

  “Whitney Jean,” Darlene scolded. “You know the rules. No texting at the table. Turn it off, please, and hand it to me.”

  Sighing dramatically, Whitney hit a few buttons and surrendered the phone. “Fine.”

  Darlene dropped the phone onto the counter behind her and then shook her head. “Kids these days. It’s all about technology. I remember when we had to call our friends from the kitchen phone, and Mom wouldn’t allow us to make or take calls after nine o’clock. Right, Brad?”

  My dad nodded, chewing. “That’s right.”

  “Now they call and text each other at all hours,” Darlene continued, stabbing her salad. “It’s very intrusive.” Her gaze met mine. “I imagine your dad doesn’t allow you to text at the table either, right, Emily?”

  “Uh.” I looked at my dad, hoping he’d save me more embarrassment, but he was studying his glass of Coke. “Actually, I don’t have a phone.”

  Darlene looked confused. “You don’t?”

  “No.” I fingered the condensation on my glass. “I don’t see the use for one.” Truth be told, cell phones were one of the first luxuries we relinquished after my mom was diagnosed with cancer and the doctor bills started clogging our mailbox.

  “Really?” Darlene smiled. “We’ll have to take care of that. We can add another line for next to nothing, right, Chuck?”

  My uncle nodded with a mouth full of chicken.

  “That’s okay,” I said. “I’m fine without it. It’s nice being able to come and go as I please.” And I sure don’t want to be your charity case.

  “That’s right,” my dad chimed in. “There’s nothing wrong with leaving a message on the machine.”

  Frowning, Whitney shook her head. “I would die without my phone.”

  I refrained from rolling my eyes by lifting my glass of Coke to my lips and taking a long drink.

  “What was so important that it couldn’t wait until after dinner anyway?” Chuck asked.

  “It was about cheerleading,” Whitney said. “We have to wear our uniforms on Tuesday.”

  I glanced out the window and thought about Megan back home. Was she eating dinner? Certainly she wasn’t listening to a cheerleader discuss her excitement about the new school year revving up.

  I began to wonder what Tyler was doing and if he even knew I’d moved already, but I pushed thoughts of him from my head. No need to pine for a guy who didn’t care about me.

  “Maybe you should go out for cheerleading, Em,” my dad said, breaking through my thoughts. “I bet you could jump and yell with the best of them.”

  I blinked, shaking my head. Had my father completely lost his mind? Was the humidity seeping into his brain? “I don’t think so,” I said, trying to keep my voice even.

  My dad shrugged. “You might want to try something different this year.”

  I stared at his smile, my mouth gaping with disbelief. Was he joking? Different wouldn’t be the word. Certainly he’d not forgotten the loner I’d been back home. Aside from Tyler, who’d turned out to be a waste of my heart and my time, I’d been happy to spend most of my nearly nonexistent social life with Megan.

  “There’s plenty I wish I could’ve changed,” he added. “Like studying instead of working on cars at all hours?” Darlene asked with a chuckle.

  “Did you fail out of school?” Logan asked.

  “No, no,” my dad said with a laugh. “I didn’t fail.”

  Darlene bumped her shoulder on my dad’s. “But he almost did. He managed to graduate by fixing his English teacher’s car.”

  “No way!” Logan beamed, impressed. “What was wrong with your teacher’s car?”

  While the conversation turned to my dad’s and aunt’s fond high school memories, I picked at my salad. When everyone was finished eating, I helped load the dishes into the dishwasher, smiling and nodding while Darlene chatted about the beautiful summer they’d enjoyed with very few rainy days.

  Once the kitchen was clean, I headed for the stairs, hoping to make a clean getaway to my room, which was a sea of boxes, bags, and suitcases. Just as my flip-flop hit the bottom step, I heard my name.

  “Emily,” my dad called, and I swallowed a groan.

  “Yeah,” I said, craning my neck to look into the kitchen.

  “Are you going to try out the pool?”

  I shook my head. “No, thanks. I have tons of unpacking to do.”

  “Why don’t you just relax tonight?” He shrugged. “You don’t have to swim. You can just sit on the deck with me.”

  Didn’t he know that I needed some time alone to sort through all of the emotions that were threatening to overtake me? “I think I just need some quiet time alone,” I said slowly, hoping he would get it.

  “Oh, I see. No problem. Let me know if you need anything.” He smiled and then turned to my uncle and said something.

  Relieved that he finally took a hint, I schlepped up the stairs and headed into my room, locking the door behind me. I then dropped onto the floor in front of a box and began digging through it, searching for something, anything, that would connect me to my old life, the life I’d always known, the life where I felt like me, not some misfit stuck in a superficial world.

  I pulled out the small, pink, leather-bound journal that the school counselor, Mrs. Whitehead, had given me. She insisted that writing down my feelings was the best form of therapy. I tossed the journal onto the bed and kept digging through the contents of the box.

  My hands clamped onto a photograph wrapped in tissue paper. Unwrapping it, my throat dried, and my eyes filled with tears. I held the frame in my lap and studied every detail, running my finger over the glass.

  My dad’s best friend, Ross, had snapped the photograph on Christmas Eve two years ago, the last one I’d shared with my mom. My parents and I were posed in front of our small Christmas tree, and I was seated between them with my arms wrapped around my mother. She looked beautiful, despite the cancer that was eating her up inside. A mint-green scarf covered her bald head, bringing out her bright emerald eyes, the same eyes she’d bestowed on me. Her skin was pale, yet she glowed in the photograph, her smile electric. I also smiled, as did my dad, and we looked happy, so very happy. We had no clue that it would be our last Christmas as the complete Curtis family.

  I wiped away an errant tear from my cheek and sniffed. “I miss you, Mom,” I whispered. “How am I going to make it here without you?”

  Placing
the frame on the bedside table, I stood, took a steadying breath, and surveyed the boxes containing all I had left in the world. The most logical place to start unpacking seemed to be clothes. I stepped over to the largest suitcase and opened it.

  I was hanging up my jeans when a screech followed by a splash sounded outside. I glanced out the window and spotted Whitney and three bikini-clad girls splashing around in the pool. I opened the window and then sat on the window seat, inhaling the strong scent of chlorine while watching the girls splash each other and giggle.

  My father sat at the table with a can of Coke in his hand while he chatted with my uncle. He seemed so at ease, so comfortable on the deck with his brother-in-law, as if he spent every Saturday here. How had he managed to adjust to this new, strange life so easily? Was he hiding his pain or was he truly happy here? Sadness and anxiety churned in my gut.

  The sputter and hiss of an air compressor drew my eyes to the garage next door. As if pulled by a magnetic force, Logan hopped from the deck and raced down the concrete path and through a gate, making a beeline into the garage.

  The Stewart boy stood up from under the hood, dropped his air ratchet onto the bench next to him, and gave Logan a high five. He then lowered himself onto a creeper across from Logan, who sat on the floor. The boy wiped his hands off on a red shop rag and grinned while Logan spoke. He then leaned back and laughed, running his hand through this hair. From my view, I could tell he was tall, lean, and had thick, dark brown hair cut in one of those messy, trendy styles that fell below his ears. He was clad in jeans and a white T-shirt, both covered in grease spots.

  Part of me wanted to join them in the garage and find out what was so funny. I longed to grab that ratchet, lean under the hood of that car, and help the Stewart kid tear apart the engine while giving him my opinion of Dodges.

  But I knew that running over to a strange boy’s garage probably wouldn’t sit well with Whitney and her friends. They could form the wrong impression of me, which was not how I wanted to start my first day at Cameronville High.