Secret Triplets(11)

 

“Great meeting you,” I said. Then walked away, my face burning, back to my car.

 

Though I grabbed the handle, I stopped at the door for a minute.

 

Somehow, I couldn’t bear getting in, stepping into the stuffy car and sinking into the worn seats, into the full realization of my failure.

 

The click of the cabin door behind me indicated that it was finished now. I had left, and there was no going back. I had failed. My hand gripped the car handle tighter. Had I failed though? I was still here, wasn’t I? There must have been something I could do. My gaze ran over my car once more. Right under the window was the scratch from when Charlie had driven it.

 

Charlie.

 

Hadn’t he stayed over one night by faking that his car wouldn’t start?

 

The next morning, when I’d been draped in his T-shirt and his lies, he’d even taken me out to it, shown me the little cylinder he’d called the fuel pump. We had lain down on my cracked, mossy driveway tiles, and he’d put it back in right in front of me. We’d laughed about it, like it was this silly, charming thing, the way there was no lie too small for him to tell to get what he wanted. Love did that to you. But now, on my own, with a screwdriver that might or might not have been in my glove compartment, would I still be able to find the fuel pump? I inserted my key in the door and turned. The only way to find out was to try.

 

Once I had gotten the screwdriver that was in my glove compartment and quickly unscrewed the bottom of my car, it didn’t take long for me to locate the fuel pump. I quickly took it out and screwed the bottom of my car back on before I scrambled out from under my car.

 

Now standing there innocently, I cast a wary glance toward the front cabin door, sure that Brock must have seen me, must have suspected something after hearing no car sounds for what had to have been at least five minutes. But the door was closed, the window curtains shut; there was no sign of activity in the little place.

 

Good. If Brock hadn’t seen what I’d just done, I might have a chance. After one last look at my car and with a deep breath, I headed toward the cabin.

 

Who would’ve ever thought that Charlie and his numerous and various lies would have had any practical use in my life? And yet here I was, fuel pump tucked in my pocket, striding back to the criminal I was going to nab with evidence I was going to find tonight.

 

Here went nothing.

 

I knocked on the door, and a few seconds later, it opened. Brock looked surprised to see me and—was I imagining it?—a bit pleased.

 

“My car won’t start. I have no idea what’s going on,” I said, with what I hoped was a convincing pout.

 

His face grew concerned.

 

“Let me have a look,” he said, walking past me.

 

By now the snow was coming down in big wispy fluffs, while the wind had grown into an icy slap.

 

Stopping at my car in much the same position I had been, Brock turned to me.

 

“I think the storm’s hit.”

 

As if eager to confirm him, a huge gust of wind flung a swoop of snow into his face.

 

Striding past me, he said, “I’ll have to check it later.”

 

I followed Brock inside, where there was a painting laid out on the table. It was only a wispy outline, but at my glance, he grabbed it and stowed it in the cupboard.

 

“Looks like you may be stuck here after all,” he said, a strange tone to his voice.

 

I nodded, standing awkwardly at the door until he gestured to the couch.

 

“Are you hungry? I could make something.”

 

As I sat down, I shook my head.

 

“No. I…actually, why don’t we have those cookies I brought?”

 

He sat down beside me, noticeably farther away than last time.

 

“Okay. Why not?”

 

And so I placed the bag between us, reached in, and grabbed one. He waited until my arm was completely out before he reached in and grabbed one himself.

 

After a few bites, he voiced my thoughts. “They’re…really good.”

 

“After I had one, I knew I needed more,” I said.

 

Another rueful smile slunk onto his face as he cast me a sidelong glance.

 

“So really, you just got these for yourself.”

 

We laughed.

 

“Not exactly. I mean…if you had sent me away at the start, I certainly wouldn’t have not eaten them, though.”

 

“So this whole coming out here thing was an excuse for you to buy cookies. It was a win-win. If I said yes, we shared the cookies. If I said no, you got all the cookies for yourself.”

 

More laughing, and then I snatched the bag away.

 

“I can still take them away, you know.”