I’m afraid to ask, but I do anyway: “So why’d you leave home?” I know it’s nosy and it might get the question turned around on me. I’m dying to know more about him.
He points to my lap, which holds an opened but uneaten shrimp wrap. “Eat up. Come on. I want to show you what I brought you here for.”
I glance around the back yard. It’s large for such a small house. There’s a big grassy area, some trees along the back, and a covered car that looks like something he must be working on. “If you brought me out here to kill me and bury my remains, I only ask that you dress me in something tasteful before you put me in the ground.” I smile and gesture at my ripped jeans and coffee-stained T-shirt.
The skin around his eyes crinkles when he laughs. He looks like he might finally be relaxing. “You know, you’re kind of nuts.”
“Me? You’re the one who wants to bury me in the yard.”
He laughs harder. The deep, rich, raspiness wraps around me and makes me even warmer than the afternoon sun. I wish every day could feel this good.
“You gonna eat more?” He points to my hardly-consumed food. “I wanna show you something.”
“Maybe later.” I like talking to him too much, and I’m almost giddy with the fact that he seems willing to let bygones be bygones about the kiss and have a normal conversation. I wrap up my leftovers and stuff them in the bag, following the powerful stride of his jean-clad legs through the mowed grass.
We get to the carport with the tarp-covered vehicle parked underneath. He stuffs his hands in his back pockets and nods toward it. “It’s not a perfect solution either, but it occurred to me this could work to handle your car trouble.” He gets fidgety then, scratching at his temple and shuffling his feet like he’s nervous. “I’ve had this sitting around for a long time and I need it gone. It’s not roomy, so you might not like it. It’s in good condition, though.”
I wait while he pulls the tarp off. When I see what’s underneath, I swear to God, I almost stop breathing at the sight of the cherry-red finish. I don’t know whether to look at him or the car once he’s done with the unveiling. They’re both out of my league. “You can’t be serious.”
“I know it’s only a two-seater—”
“You know that isn’t what I mean. There’s no way I can afford this.” The letters on the back say “RX-7.” I don’t know what that means, but this doesn’t look like an inexpensive car.
“Sure you can.” He rubs at the back of his neck.
“Why? What’s wrong with it? Is this one also missing an engine?”
He laughs again. This time the sound is a little less pleasing and more forced. “It’s actually in pretty good condition. Low mileage for the year. There’s some body damage on the rear driver’s side quarter panel, which really needs to be taken care of because it’s starting to rust. You’d wanna fix that before too long.”
I look to see that he’s right, but it’s not bad. I cross my arms over my chest. Embarrassment and discomfort work their way up my throat. I don’t know what he’s doing or why. “Jake, I need a little help. Back at the coffee shop, I told you I couldn’t afford a used Civic, and you’re trying to sell me this... whatever it is. It’s a gorgeous car, but it looks pricey. It also looks like it has a standard transmission. I don’t know how to drive a stick.”
I don’t know how to drive a stick. Yeah, cuz that’s our big problem here.
He’s scratching at his temple again. “Okay, you learn to drive a stick by driving one. Takes a day or two, tops. And you can have the fucking car. Pay me whatever you feel you can afford. It’s fine.”
“I don’t understand.” I can’t even begin to get why someone would give away a car to someone he barely knows. What the hell is this thing worth? I could ask, but I have the feeling he wouldn’t tell me. Part of me doesn’t want to know.
“Like I said, I’ve been wanting to get rid of it for a long damn time. I haven’t been able to. It’s kind of a collector car, which means it has a specific group of buyers, and that group is small. It’s been sitting here for years. I pull it out once in a while to get it inspected and make sure the battery doesn’t die. It’s more work than anything. If you took it, you’d be doing me a favor.”
This all sounded way too good to be true. “A favor? Are you high?”
“Look, why not? I get this hunk of metal off my back lawn so the HOA stops complaining, and you can stop slinging muffins for Delia and move on to wherever it is you’re going. It’s a win-win.”