She smiled, but didn’t say anything else and we stood there looking at each other for a minute.
“Hey, Van, we close at four,” her dad shouted from the back of the garage where he and the other guy were watching us.
I looked at my watch; it was still morning.
“He means hurry the hell up,” she said, laughing at me. “He’s giving you shit.”
I didn’t want any shit from her dad, and I had a lot to do. So I nodded and went outside to pull in my Escalade.
When I walked into the waiting area, O’Fallon was telling Kenny he needed to quit bothering the customers. I could tell by the way she was tilting her head at him that she was only mostly joking.
“You tell your customers,” he fired back, giving me a glare, “that I’ve been reading my morning paper in here—in beautiful silence—since before the turn of the century.”
“Kenny,” she warned.
“What? You know what my wife is like. If I wanted to hear someone yappin’ and a hollerin’ at me, I’d go home and read it.”
She laughed and I took a seat by the vending machine, captivated by their conversation. I liked the way she looked just as ornery as he did, and there was a facetious glimmer in her pretty hazel eyes.
“Your wife needs to bring me some more strawberry jam, I’m almost out again.”
“She isn’t giving you any more. She said you were an ungrateful brat.”
O’Fallon’s mouth hung open, shocked at what he’d said.
“Kenny! She did not.”
“She did so. She said you could shove her jam right up your ass for all she cared.” He pretended what he was saying wasn’t too interesting to him as he licked his finger and turned the page.
“Well, why’d she say that?” she asked, actually looking a little worried. “I didn’t do anything.”
“She’s just mad because I told her you said the last strawberry batch she made tasted like shit.” From behind his paper I could see his face, and he shook his head, letting me know he was pulling her leg.
“Kenneth Bennet, I didn’t say that!” Her tone was the same as when she’d gotten angry about me asking if she had a boyfriend.
I liked her fiery temper.
He was winding her up on purpose, I could only assume it was because he liked it, too.
“You didn’t?” He played innocent. “I coulda swore…”
“You know good goddamn well I didn’t say that. Why did you tell her that? I love her strawberry jam. It’s my favorite. I eat it for lunch.” Then she stomped her foot and cocked her head to the side.
“I had to.”
“Had to? Why?”
“It was an emergency, she was about to make more strawberry … but I like peach.”
“You rotten bastard.”
He snickered and snorted at his own joke, then declared, “All is fair in love and war … and Momma’s peach jam.”
“I think I’m sick of your shit for the day,” she said, sighing and straightening the flyers and pamphlets on the counter.
I had to concentrate on not laughing. What a pair.
About that time, he folded the paper, tossed back the last of the coffee he was drinking, and stood.
“I was just leaving anyway,” he said as he opened the door. Then he spun and said, “See you tomorrow, Mutt.”
To which she replied, “See you tomorrow, Kenny. Bring me some jam.”
“Okay, okay,” he said as he walked away.
“He’s a character.”
“Yeah, he’s something all right,” she agreed without missing a beat.
I didn’t want to bother her while she was working, so I sat there quietly and waited.
Soon enough, her dad came back in and I stood to talk to him.
“So I called down to the Cad-o-lac dealership, Van, because I didn’t know what that code meant. Turns out, your timing is off. That ain’t good. I can tear into her tomorrow if you want, but you probably shouldn’t be driving it around.”
Just what I needed.
“Okay, is there anywhere I can rent something to drive until it’s fixed?”
“Well, as long as I can get the parts and you didn’t completely tear it up, I should be able to have it back to you in a few days. I might be able to find something for you to drive.”
I looked behind me to O’Fallon, who was listening to the prognosis. She gave me a phony smile full of teeth.
Really nice teeth, to be honest.
I’d love to get a closer look at them.
“How about you walk around back and I’ll show you my rental. You’re going to love it.”
I had a suspicion that he was still giving me shit.
“Now, Van, this is no Cadillac, but she does turn heads,” he said as I walked around back with him. O’Fallon, hot on our heels. “There she is.”
I couldn’t help myself that time. I laughed. And then I laughed a little more. There sat a red and orange, nineteen eighty-something piece of suburban history.
“The Astro Van?” I asked.
He answered, “The Astro Vaughn.”
Perfect. It was too funny, too ugly, and too awesome to say no to. What choice did I have anyway?
“You’ll rent me that?”