One Day in Apple Grove(6)

“The best part of Meggie not being here is that I get to drive the pickup.” Eyes gleaming, she opened the passenger door and carefully stowed her tools and supplies.

Sliding behind the wheel, she sighed. Tonight she’d talk to her dad about hiring a part-timer to ease the heavy workload. She started the truck and put it in gear, giving a quick glance to the diner across the street. She wished she had time to stop in and catch up with her friends, Peggy and Kate. But she was already running a little late. Maybe if she pulled a U-turn instead of driving around the block, she could get to Mr. Weatherbee’s faster.

Checking her mirrors, she goosed the gas pedal and cranked the wheel hard, but the pickup’s turning radius wasn’t as tight as she was used to. To her horror, the truck bounced up onto the sidewalk, grazing the bark on the sugar maple across from the Knitting Room—the one on the corner—right next to Mulcahys’ shop! It was early and the Internet café was closed, but what if it was loud enough for her sister to hear? Grace was probably on the phone with their dad right now.

She eased the truck back onto Main Street, shaking like a leaf. When she got out of the cab, she braced herself to see the worst. “Crap!” A trio of nasty-looking scratches on the passenger-side door had gouged the paint all the way down to the metal.

Peggy called her name, and Cait looked up from the evidence that she’d done the unthinkable. “Pop’s gonna kill me.”

Her friend leaned close, then straightened. “Maybe it’s not as bad as it looks. Can you ask Dan to take a look at it? He’s always working on cars or trucks with your dad.”

Cait’s gaze met hers. “Those two are thick as thieves. If I asked him to help, but swore him to secrecy, he’d probably go all Boy Scout on me and tell my dad. He wouldn’t want to take the chance that Pop won’t let him work on the Model A if he found out Dan was covering for me—they’re almost finished with the restoration.”

Peggy gave her a hug as Grace rushed out the front door. “I heard a—” She stopped midsentence and stared. “Whoa. What happened?”

“Door’s scratched.”

Grace shook her head as she looked at the damage Cait pointed to. Grace met her gaze. “I wouldn’t wait to tell him.”

Cait wished she could start the whole day all over again. “I know, I know. This never would’ve happened if I hadn’t stayed up so late out in my woodshop, which I wouldn’t have had to do if you didn’t keeping squeezing in so many jobs into my schedule. I would’ve been up on time and already at Mr. Weatherbee’s.”

“You’re going to blame your crappy driving on me?” Grace yelled. “If it weren’t for me—”

“Girls,” Peggy broke in. “You’re drawing a crowd. If you don’t want someone to take a picture and post it online, Cait, you’d better get moving.”

Caitlin scrubbed her face with her hands and sighed. “Thanks, Peggy.”

Grace glared at her. “Don’t forget to tell Pop.”

“I’ll tell him tonight.”

As Cait turned onto Dog Hollow Road, her phone was ringing, but she ignored it, praying that when she got to Bob’s Gas and Gears, he wouldn’t already know about the damage to the truck—because if he knew, her dad would know. And Cait wanted the chance to tell him in person.

Bob Stewart’s face showed instant concern when she pulled into his shop. “What happened? Did you get the guy’s license plate?”

Cait’s hands were shaking. She didn’t want to lie, so she stalled. “It all happened so fast.”

“Lucky for you, they built these trucks to last. There’s no dent, but still your dad’s gonna be pissed. This old truck is a part of your family, and he treats it like a baby.”

She got out as Bob was gently running a hand along the door. His head shot up and he stared at her—was there any telltale bark on the door? “It was an accident,” she began. Her hands were trembling, so she stuck them in her pockets. “I was pulling a U-ey on Main Street—”

“That was your first mistake—”

“I know,” she told him. “I didn’t realize that the truck’s turning radius wasn’t the same as a car.”

He looked like he was going to say something but ended up shaking his head. “Was there a fire?”

Baffled, she answered, “No.”

“Then where were you in such an all-fired hurry to go?” he asked.

“I was running late and forgot something at the shop—”

“So instead of driving just a little farther where you could turn around, you pull an illegal turn in the middle of town. What did you do, hit the hundred-year-old maple next to your shop?” Bob whistled. “That scratch went through three layers of paint: clear coat, color, and primer—all the way down to the metal.” He looked from the door and back to Cait.