Page 2 of Mechanic Next Door
2
Thomas
My men fallquiet when I amble into the garage, put my hand up, and say hello. I’m a fair boss and I don’t mind a fair amount of chatting when we aren’t busy. I know they were talking about Peach from the way their lips zipped up when I camein.
I stride past them and make a quick right into my office. We aren’t going to be busy today. A good chance for me to catch up on paperwork. With the local college on spring break we haven’t had much work in the past week or so. Peach should be by today with lunch for the guys. She does it every Friday and my stomach is already grumbling when I turn on my computer to check myemails.
I should have offered to bring her in with me today. She likes the guys, but I make sure no one gets too close. I’ve told her she shouldn’t do some of the things she does, but she won’t listen to me. There’s nothing I can do to fix it, short of locking her in her house, and that would be wrong, so I have to be content to keep close watch over heruntil…
I don’t know when. This is the part that pains me most. I don’t know how this thingends.
I put my head down and go through the mail. She’s offered to come in a few days a week to reply to inquiries, do some front-desk work, make up the guys’ schedule. She looked up at me with her big blue eyes and said she’s keen to make her own money. She always says her college classes don’t take up enough of her time and energy and she wants something else to do. She has enough money in the bank, not that she needsmuch.
But I know how the guys look at the women who come into the shop, and if any of them looked at Peach that way, I don’t know how I’dreact.
I’ve has a taste of it. The first time it happened, she sashayed in here with a big tray of sandwiches and brownies. A hush first settled over the garage. You could hear a pin drop. Ray wiped his brow with the back of his hand. Peach smiled at him with her chin tipped down and her blue eyes shining, painting warmth and beauty on the walls. She walked slowly with a slight arch in her back and when the men descended on her like a murder of crows I stood up in my office and peered through the blinds, my fingers splitting the slats open so I couldwatch.
I watched. I watched them thanking my woman, eating the food she’d made. Everyone praised her. Everyone asked what was in the brownies, what kind of cocoa she’d used. I wanted to tell them to slow down and enjoy the brownies and not eat them too fast. I watched with one hand in my pocket and the other still fixing the slats so I could see through. Her eyes flicked over to my office and after a drowsy dance they flittered to mine. Her thick, pink lips spread into a smile and she walked over, knocked on mydoor.
I fell into my seat and cleared my throat, told her to come in. She pushed the door open, came in and smiled. She closed the door behind her, the light click sealing us in. I hadn’t noticed before that she had a small tin in her hands. She placed it on my desk in front of me and told me she’d set aside my own portion because she knew how hungry the boysget.
“You work them too hard, Thomas,” she’d said. I could hear myself swallow and I could feel my eyes blink, my heart thud, my blood pump. I gave her my thanks and she left, taking a little piece of my heart along with her as she did. I watched her walk past my office window, her perfect, round breasts teasing against her white tank, her cut-offs too short, her legs too long and smooth. I ate the sandwich and brownie and was unable to make how good they tasted conform to the reality of what she’ddelivered.
It was just toasted white bread, slathered with mayo, a few pieces of white meat left over from a chicken she’d cooked the night before, a thick slice of tomato, a crispy leaf of lettuce. And the brownie was a mixture of milk, eggs, cocoa powder and some other things poured into a baking pan and cooked to a certain temperature for a certain length oftime.
And when I saw the way they looked at her that day, well…I just didn’t know how to handle it. I’ve had to keep my distance from her since then, but it isn’t easy to keep watch over her and stay away at the sametime.
If she really wanted to make her own money, she could get a job at the bar we always go to. She could get a job on campus. There are a million and one different things she could do, and the fact that she’s taken no other opportunity to work makes me think my garage is the only place she wants towork.
I’m unable to push thoughts of her out of my mind all morning. I’m able to get some back-office work done through a haze, and by the time she comes sashaying into the garage I’ve already spent the better part of half an hour checking the old clock on the wall above thedoor.
I stand to shove my hands into my pockets, peering through the slats in the blinds like I always do, careful to not make too much movement. The smell of the garage is cut through with blinding sweetness when she walks in. The white tank-top with the frill of lace at the neck. The cut-off shorts I keep telling her not to wear. The long blonde hair braided and fixed around her head like a crown. The daisy she keeps tucked behind her ear and the sweet, deep-set eyes that are bluer than any bluesky.
My chest feels hollow when she turns her eyes to my office. She raps two knuckles against the door and opens it to peek around thewood.
“I missed you last night at the bar, Thomas,” she says, pulling a tin out from under the crook of her elbow. I regard her carefully and distantly as I take my seat again behind my desk. She sits in the chair across from me as she’s always done, and this time I can see she’s planning to stay a while. She sits back, crawls her fingers up the back of her scalp with her eyes closed, notches her heel against the edge of my desk, hooks one ankle over theother.
I open the tin and smile at the contents. Peach cobbler wrapped in wax paper and a thick sandwich wrapped infoil.
“I was up late two nights ago making the dough for the cobbler,” shesays.
If she were any other woman I’d tell her to get her feet off my desk, even if they’re only hanging off the corner. Any other woman and I’d tell her she shouldn’t be in the back office with me, any other soul and I’d tell her I don’t need anycompany.
I know she was up late two nights ago making the dough. I watched her do it. I couldn’t get to sleep until I saw the candles lighting up her kitchen flicker out. She makes her kitchen dark and lights a few candles when she doesn’t want me to be up late looking after her. She teases me, tells me I’m an old man who needs his rest. She uses the candles and thinks it lets me get to sleep early. It doesn’t. Just makes her look all the more beautiful, makes her soft features even softer, makes the shadows on the walls a little blurrier, makes me take notice a little bit more than Ishould.
I take a bite of my sandwich. It tastes too good. It was made with too much love. And it’s making me sad to think about how she put so much time and effort into it for me and the boys and how I need to temper mypraise.
Ray pops his head in as I take a bite of my sandwich. Peach is doing something on her phone. She told me a year ago I needed to get on “the apps.” She made me a profile, forced me to pose for a picture sitting at my desk, said that any woman would love a man who owns his own business, especially if they were as cute as I am. Dual emotions of jealousy and gratitude battled inside me thatafternoon.
“Hey,” Ray says, taking a step inside my office. I straighten in my seat and wipe my mouth with the paper towel she’d folded into quarters and nestled between the metal fork and side of the tin. I motion for him to comein.
“We were just wondering if you were planning on joining us next time,” Ray says, clearing his throat. He throws a look to Peach. “We all know she’d like you there. She sat in the corner by herself all last night, poor thing. Asked about you when I dropped her off at home, too. She missed you,Thomas.”
My gaze slides past the calendar on the wall, the Chinese menu someone decided would make good wallpaper, the clock, to Peach. Blue eyes meet me and she glides her teeth against her bottomlip.
“Yeah, I’d like if you came.” She produces a water bottle from her Brooklyn Public Library tote and I watch as her fingers unscrew the cap, as she brings the mouth to her lips, tips it back and licks a drop of water from her lowerlip.
“I’ll see,” Ireply.
