17.
 In the morning, there was a spot she dropped him off where nobody could see him get out of her car. He understood this, as he got out and shut the door and leaned in. "Thank you."
"That was wonderful," she said, kissing her fingertip and pressing it against his lips.
He kissed her fingertip. "I'd like to see you again."
"Hmmm," she deliberated, making him think for a moment the answer was going to be no. Then she brightened. "Okay. In a few days."
He waved as he watched the Mercedes slip away. She waved once, a flex of the hand, as she looked in the rearview mirror. He waved again. Then he walked the three or four country blocks to Antonio's house.
Antonio, if he even knew Tom hadn't spent the night, said nothing. Later that day, when Tom had the van, he stopped on his way into town. He pulled into the junkyard and inquired his way toward the real bad wrecks they kept in the back. There were a few burned out hulks like his station wagon, but most of the cars had been sheared apart in really bad wrecks. There was a hose to one side for washing blood away, but one car smelled like bad meat and its seats were all stained with serum. Tom's station wagon was the one above it in a stack of five wrecks. Tom held his nose as he poked around his old vehicle. It was the first time he'd seen it since hitting the tree. Had he done this a day earlier, it would have grieved him to see what was left of his former life. Now he could have thanked that tree, maybe bought it a six-pack of plant food. He recognized charred scraps of his old clothing; no big loss there. Pulling out some brownish foam rubber someone had stuffed in there from another car, he found the glove compartment. The plastic knob crumbled to the touch, and he had to use a pencil to push the remaining metal stud in. The little door fell open. The cardboard backing inside was mostly gone, leaving a charcoal skeleton. Papers inside had turned to dust. But the lump there, hard and brittle and about the size of a mouse, was what he was after. His spare wallet, the old one where he put his registration and other papers. He thanked the attendant on the way out, tipping him a few bucks. His other chore, on the way back from town, was to bring a pot of flowers to the library. "For the children," he lied to the sour assistants. He placed the flowers on the little table where he read stories to the children and walked out. Secretly, from the back office, Eve cast a glowing smile (the silent grinning version of her cutting laugh) and then turned away so only he would know she understood the little gesture of thanks.
He and Eve started seeing each other every chance they got. She introduced him to her friends, mostly young couples, Dr. This and Mrs. This, Lawyer That and Mrs. That. Tom knew he was being checked out and for once he didn't mind. He walked gingerly, keeping Antonio happy, reading stories to the children, helping Eve replant her garden. She had horses, too, and they rode together.
They were on the horses one day, side by side, he casually holding his hand on her thigh, when she said: "Tom, you're a smart man. How much education have you really had?"
"I seem to remember I have a B.S. in Engineering, but it's been years since I even thought about it."
"We could make a swell team together if you'd sort of pick up where you left off. I mean, I love you just as you are, and if you want to work for Antonio, that's okay, but for heaven's sake, you're a smart man."
"Let's talk about that some other time." He spurred his Arabian and pulled ahead. Seeing that she looked a bit hurt or confused or both, he added: "It will all work out, Eve."
"Why, because you shine it on? Because you're in a rut?"
"No, because it has to." He waited for her.
She spurred her horse and came along side. “I’m sorry, I didn't mean that."
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Copyright © 2018 by Jean-Thomas Cullen, Clocktower Books. All Rights Reserved.
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