Page 48 of Missile Tow
I spun around in disbelief. “No way!” I exclaimed. “Of course you have.”
He raised his hand like a Boy Scout at a badge award banquet. “Honest,” he confirmed. “I’ve walked by Grampa’s tow truck a thousand times and never put that together until now.”
I moved to the tailgate, brushing off dust as I took my time admiring the vehicle. The truck had a black tow hitch mounted in the center of the bed. There was a worn-out cable that had seen better days attached to the hitch, but the overall appearance was nearly flawless. The closed tailgate, made of stamped steel, displayed FORD in bold white letters.
“Fifty-five, maybe a fifty-six,” I muttered, still walking around the incredible find.
“You think that’s the year of the truck?”
“I think so.”
I continued my tour, pressing my face against the passenger side window and peering inside. The black, heavily creased from use, leather bench seat needed professional treatment to restore the interior’s look. A long stick shift coming out of the floor had a stained ivory knob on top.
Chip’s vacant stare alerted me to the possibility that he was experiencing a memory from his past. Before I could ask, he headed toward the back of the old building’s interior. “These boxes over here have the lights,” he said, his back to me. “We have some plastic figurines and a couple of inflatable reindeer as well.”
After a minute, he turned around and caught me still drooling over the vehicle. “What?” I asked, noticing him cross his arms.
“Walk away from the tow truck,” he added, laughing.
“I think I’ve just found the best decoration ever,” I declared. “To start, I say we decorate a real tree and place it in the truck’s bed. Maybe a Santa inside, like he’s driving.”
“Are you serious?”
“Dead serious,” I stated. “And then we park the truck right in front of the mercantile until New Year’s.”
“I suppose I can put a battery in it, or if need be, we could pull it out of here with my truck if you think it’ll look good.”
I hurried over to him, grabbing both of his hands and pleading with my eyes. “Just think about it,” I began. “Missile Tow. How much better could it be? I’m still shocked you’ve never noticed that.”
“You’re… right. It could look good,” he solemnly agreed, unexpectedly sounding like he wasn’t totally sold on my idea.
“I’m hearing a but in that response.”
“I guess I never noticed the name coincidence because the tow truck only comes out one time a year during the summer.” His voice quieted noticeably. “John used to drive it in the Fourth of July parade every year…”
“Ohhhh… I see,” I replied, nodding and whispering my response. “And you think people would associate it with John driving the truck, and that upsets you somehow?”
“Maybe,” he admitted. “I’m not sure how I feel.”
I understood his confused thoughts. My past year was fraught with worry as well. What were friends saying about my breakup? What would special occasions be like without Evan? What about Christmas and my birthday? Like Chip, I’d been dumped just before both special days. And it sucked. But I didn’t want this season to be the same or feel like last year’s.
“It sucked last Christmas, didn’t it?” I asked, moving closer to him. “All alone. Missing what you had with John. The lowest of lows, as you probably thought about how you could possibly survive the hurt. Does any of that sound familiar?”
“All of it sounds too familiar,” he confirmed, his head tilting toward the concrete floor. “I’m amazed I got through it.”
I lifted his chin so he could see I recognized his pain. “Me too,” I said. “That’s why I’m moving forward, Chip. Ido notwant to live in that headspace any longer.”
He sighed and swiped at his eyes. “So you’re moving to get away?” I nodded. “I’m not moving away, though,” he explained.
“I know that,” I acknowledged. “So, your challenge is harder. Everyone around you connects John to you, to the mercantile, and even to this old tow truck.”
“Exactly.”
“So you’re stuck?” I asked. “Living with his ghost while the rest of the world moves forward? Is that about right?”
The look on his face concerned me. I’d hit a nerve, or he was pissed about my observation. Or worse, I’d uncovered a truth I’d been afraid of since meeting him. He wasn’t over his ex.
Chip turned away and began moving boxes of decorations from a wooden shelf and stacking them on the floor, completely disregarding my question. Stepping closer, I placed a hand on his shoulder while his back was to me. He froze.
