Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Smiling at her kindness, I pay the total, leaving a more than decent tip for my waitress, pack everything into the duffle and head out. When I see the young attendant looking over my car and chatting to a greasy-handed man in his fifties, my gut clenches. I call out, “Everything okay?”
The older man looks my way before his eyes slide over me. “When’s the last time you had a service?”
I squint over at my Lexus. My car is immaculate. I don’t allow people to eat in it for fear of crumbs getting into places where crumbs have no business being. The only people I allow to look under the hood are specialized mechanics, and for the longest time, I didn’t drink anything in it. Not even water.
Opening the passenger door, I reach into the glove compartment and pull out the logbook. I hand it to the mechanic, and he smiles. “Good girl.”
After flipping through it with a furrowed brow, he sighs and jerks his head in a decisive nod. Handing back the book, he states, “The mechanic you’re using is fleecin’ you. Bleeding you dry.”
I try not to gape. “What?”
He nods. “He’s adding work here and there that he hasn’t actually done. It’s all over the place. It’s an old-school trick from way back when. Three months in a row, he’s changed your fancy Lexus wiper blades, and by changed them, I mean he’s written down that he has to accumulate enough on your invoice that he’s hoping to God you don’t check.” My mouth slacks and he smiles a fatherly smile. “Which I guess you don’t.”
“You’re serious?” I huff. “I’ve been going to him since I bought the car.” I look to the man and add quietly, humiliated, “For five years.”
The man’s brows rise. “Ouch.”
Yeah. Ouch.
I’m guessing my mechanic got a little more out of our relationship than I did. And when I say a little more, I mean tens of thousands.
Sighing, I lean my hip on the hood of my car and ask a tired, “What’s wrong with the car?”
“Cracked radiator.”
Absently rubbing at my neck, I ask, “Okay. If you can fix it for me in an hour, I’ll pay you double.”
“Not that simple, missy. I don’t have the parts I need. I’d need to order them. I could probably get it fixed in five days, and that would be the very quickest.”
Panic fills me, and I stutter, “I-I need to get out of here, sir. There has to be a way.”
He shrugs. “I can patch it, but that’s only a temporary fix. I can’t guarantee you’d get far. I got a loaner you can have if you got places to go.”
Anger rises, clenching my insides tight. “Shit. No, thank you. I need to go, as in I won’t be coming back type of gone.” Suddenly, an idea strikes me. “Your loaner, where is it?”
The mechanic points to a beat up old blue Cadillac complete with rust spots. It doesn’t look like much, but I see so much more. A slow smile crosses my face. “I’ll make you a deal. A trade, more accurately.” His brows rise to his hairline when I add, “My car for yours.”
He laughs, but there is no humor in it. I need to get out of here and quick, so I decide to use half-truths. Losing my smile, I swallow hard, and croak, “Please, sir. I need to get out of here as soon as possible. The last relationship I was in just ended, and it didn’t end well. My husband was possessive and dangerous. I’m going to be followed, and if I’m found…” I blink. “There’ll be trouble for me.”
He doesn’t respond a while, allowing what I’ve just told him to sink in. He nods solemnly, jerking his chin toward my temple. “He give you that bruise as a parting gift?”
Looks like my makeup doesn’t cover as much as I hoped it would. I don’t respond, just avert my eyes.
“Tell you what, missy. You can have my loaner. It’s not much, but I put a lot of work into it. It purrs like a kitten. But I can’t take your car.”
I didn’t notice I’m holding my breath until I start breathing again. I shake my head. “I don’t want it, really. The slips are in the glove compartment. If we do this, it’ll be a straight up trade. If you don’t want it, scrap it or use it for parts. I don’t care. I just don’t want it back.”
He holds out his hand. “Jimmy.”
Placing my small hand in his, we shake. “Ana.”
He smiles big. “Well then, let me get you the keys, and you can go ahead and drive off into the sunset, Miss Ana.”
As he walks inside, a thought makes me shudder.
People like me don’t drive off happily into the sunset.