Page 51 of Forever Christmas
“Hey, Mario,” I call out. “When’s your break?”
He shrugs.
Bud motions for the car to stop over the bay with a pit. “You need him for something?” he asks.
“Corabelle had to leave her car on campus. I thought I might take him to drive it back while I test thetruck.”
“That’s all right. Just hightail it back. Looks like it’s going to be a busy one.”
Mario drops the lid of the Camry and hurries over. “Call in a pizza and we can grab it on the way back,” he says.
“Sounds like a plan to me,” I say.
He jumps in the passenger seat, and I back out of the bay. Bud rolls my creeper and the toolbox aside. Probably someone else will be in the spot by thetime we get back. It’s fine. Despite the mishap with the wrench, I haven’t screwed up an alternator yet. This truck is probably good to go.
Mario calls in his pizza and we head to UCSD. I didn’t ask Corabelle where she parked but I figure it’s her usual lot. If I can’t find it, I’ll check with her.
“So what’s the deal with the car?” Mario asks. “Got a crap mechanic who owns it?”
“You’re a realcard,” I say. But I’m not sure I can tell him the real reason. It will lead to questions I’m not sure I want to answer. I just keep driving.
Mario fiddles with the truck’s radio, moving it to a rock station. Thankfully he likes the song he finds, so I’m off the hook for explaining things.
UCSD is quieter during the summer, but parking is still tough. I drive up and down the rows, looking forthe nondescript silver SUV her parents traded us. I hope I can recognize it.
“You don’t even know where it is?” Mario asks, his hands drumming the dash to the song.
“She always parks over here somewhere.” I spot a silver SUV and head for it. Mazda. Nope.
Mario keeps mercifully silent as I continue along the rows. I’m about to pull over and text Corabelle when I see another silver SUV near theend. The truck rumbles that way, and yeah, it’s hers.
I pull my own set of keys out. I have the spare. “You want to drive the truck or her SUV?” I ask.
“I have no desire to look like a soccer mom,” he says.
I open my door and hop down.
When he comes around to the driver’s side, I say, “Thanks.”
“No prob,” he says. “Still curious why she left hers.”
“She wasn’t feeling well. Not up to driving.”
“Oh, sorry, man.” He has the sense to look chagrined.
“Not a big deal. See you back at Bud’s.”
He takes off in the truck. Once again I didn’t spill the news.
There’s just enough of that paranoia in me that keeps me from saying anything out loud. I’ve pictured that baby girl now, and I won’t do anything to jinx it.
