“Do you feel better?” Cami’s big blue eyes look up at me.
“Absolutely. I’m starting to feel better already.” Although the headache and nausea might take some time to wear off, the heaviness pressing against my chest since I woke up feels less intense.
Cami squeals as she clutches the card to her chest, crinkling the paper in the process. “I knew it would work!”
My eye twitches from the high-pitched tone. I discreetly rub my temple, trying to make the pressure go away.
“Why don’t we go swimming and leave Cal alone?”
Cami runs out of my room, squealing with excitement.
“Thanks.” I stand.
“I didn’t do it for you,” Lana spits out before following Cami, leaving me to stew in the silence. I try to busy myself with organizing the rest of the stuff in the attic. It’s a failed attempt, with me easily becoming distracted by all the noise happening outside the window.
The tightness in my chest intensifies at Cami and Lana hanging out by the lake. I’m hit with a hundred memories of Lana and me doing the same thing, although Lana actually spent time inside the water rather than out of it.
The sun beats down on her, casting a warm glow over her tan skin from where she sits on the dock. She shields her eyes as she looks over at Cami with a big, beaming smile I haven’t seen in years.
The feeling of longing from yesterday returns, this time much more intense than the last. I want to be down there with them.
Look what happened the last time you wanted something you shouldn’t have.
The thought sobers me, and I escape, choosing to return to the guesthouse. Except as soon as I walk outside, I find Lana’s car still in the driveway, the tire flatter than a pancake. Before I decide against it, I swipe Lana’s keys off the counter and get to changing her flat tire. It’s a bold idea, especially given that my experience with tires is limited to spending Sundays watching Formula 1 with Declan and Iris.
It only takes me five minutes in the baking sun to realize the mechanics on TV have it easy with their power drills and quick lift jacks. Unlike the guys on the live camera, the real deal is far less sexy and fast.
My start was shaky, but thanks to YouTube, Adderall, and my inability to be bested by a shitty tire, I replace the flat with the dummy tire I found in Lana’s trunk.
Although my head pounds and my stomach is feeling extra queasy after spending the last hour in the sun, I decide to take Lana’s car to the mechanic. Since I don’t want to leave her without a working vehicle for safety reasons, I take a rideshare back into town to grab my DBS before returning to the lake house. I leave her a note, my keys, and Cami’s booster seat just in case she needs a car before driving off into town.
I walk into the car shop. “Hi. I’m looking to get a tire changed.”
The mechanic takes one look at me before returning to the episode of a Korean drama playing on the TV in the corner.
“Do you think you can help me?” I stop in front of the counter.
“Sure. We’re all booked today but if you want, come in tomorrow morning. Early.” His eyes don’t stray from the TV this time.
One glance at the store hours printed on a paper behind him makes my eyes narrow. “Are you even open tomorrow?”
“Yup.”
I point to the sign behind him. He has the audacity to rip it down and crumple it in a ball before chucking it in the trash.
My molars grind together. “I’m willing to pay whatever you want to get it done today.”
He glances at me, the wheels obviously turning in his head before he shakes it. “Sorry, Sal. Wish I could help you out.”
“But you won’t.”
I place Lana’s keys on the counter. “The car outside that needs fixing is Alana’s. Take a look if you don’t believe me.”
His graying brows pull together. “It is? Why didn’t you start with that?”
I roll my eyes and tell him to pick the best tire. He disappears with Lana’s keys before coming back ten minutes later to let me know that her other three tires are bald and her oil needs to be changed. I give him the go-ahead to fix whatever he thinks is necessary for her and Cami to be safe. He gives me a weird look before disappearing back into the garage.
Two hours later, I drive away from the shop with a bill that’s a mile long and a lightness in my chest that hasn’t been present for days. The drive back to the house is quick. I pull into the driveway and park Lana’s car in her usual spot before ringing the doorbell.
She steps out, clutching my keys with a tight fist. Based on her clenched jaw and crossed arms, things aren’t going well for me, regardless of the fixed car.
She takes a deep breath. “I got your note. You didn’t have to do that.”
“It was the least I could do after yesterday.”
“Well, thank you.” She says it low, as if admitting her appreciation aloud would have a greater impact.
“It’s fine. I had the mechanic change the other three to match because I didn’t want you driving around in the rain with stripped tires.”
“You did?” Her eyes flicker from the car to my face.
“Yup. Also, he went ahead and changed your oil and swapped your wipers out for new ones too.”
She covers her mouth.
Uncertainty drives me to ask, “Is that fine?”
She nods, her glassy gaze still fixated on the car.
I hand her the keys. “Well, I’ve taken up enough of your day.”
We swap keys. Her fingertips brush across the palm of my hand, and electricity passes over my skin.
“Thanks. That was kind of you to help me with the car.” She disappears behind the door before I have a chance to answer her.
I didn’t expect much from her after last night’s incident, but part of me still wished for more. More what exactly, I’m not too sure. All I know is that my confidence from earlier is replaced by a new wave of emptiness. Except this time, I choose not to drown it with alcohol. It’s a self-induced punishment I accept wholeheartedly, knowing it is my fault Lana is upset in the first place.
That night I don’t go to bed drunk and numb. Instead, I go to bed alive and angry at my grandfather for putting me in the exact situation I knew would happen if I stuck around the last time.
I can’t replace the vase I broke. It’s a useless effort to even try, but I head out Sunday morning to the local mall an hour away from the lake with the hope of finding something to make up for my drunken accident.
Finding a vase is easy. The selection is endless, and I choose the nicest, most expensive one. Lana won’t care about the price tag, but maybe my effort won’t go unnoticed.
While the cashier is carefully wrapping my purchase so it won’t break, I walk around the rest of the store. A bright cherry-red standing mixer on a high shelf catches my eye. I think of Lana and her rickety old hand mixer that is on its ninth life before calling over the associate and asking her to charge the item to my card.
I’m not looking to buy Lana’s forgiveness.
I’m looking to buy into her dream, even if she doesn’t anymore.