Jase: I didn’t look at it that way.
I stared at his text, unsure how to respond. I wasn’t angry, but I wasn’t at peace with the news either. Everything about that fateful night with Jase had been out of my hands from the very beginning.
Twenty minutes went by and then he texted me again.
Jase: Did you finish the book?
Me: No. Quit being such an egomaniac. Don’t worry, I’ll finish it . . . and I’ll tell you exactly what I think of your sloppy prose.
Jase: I’m shaking in my proverbial boots.
Me: You should be.
Jase: Ooh, feisty, Em. I like it. What are you wearing?
Me: Good night, Jase.
Jase: Do you want me to send you a pic of what I’m wearing? ;) ;)
Me: Good night, Jase.
Jase: Not into sexting?
Me: GOOD NIGHT!
Jase: Night, Em. Kisses.
The word “kisses” made me blush. I looked around at the other travelers, but everyone’s eyes were trained on their own smartphones.
I searched for Jase’s author website to see which states he would be traveling through. He was hitting major cities on the East and West Coasts, along with Nashville and New Orleans. I looked at past dates and saw that he had already been to Ohio. I didn’t know why it mattered. I guess I was just wondering if we were on the same journey.
When my plane touched down at eight in the morning in Dayton, I was wide-awake and full of adrenaline. I’d only gotten a couple of hours of sleep. My mind had been full of Jase, my father, random memories from the past, Trevor, and those ten thousand words I would owe the professor at the end of this trip.
I rented a Hyundai Accent, labeled as a subcompact car, from Avis. It was tiny but got me zipping out of the airport and along the interstate in no time.
By eleven a.m., I was at the check-in desk in the lobby of a Holiday Inn. My room was ready, so I freshened up, texted Cara and my aunts to let them know I had arrived safely, plugged my father’s work address into my phone’s map app, and headed back out.
Pulling onto a residential road, I spotted the mechanic’s garage at the end of the street, on the corner of a main thoroughfare. I crept down the street in the Accent, trying to stay out of view, like I was casing the place, even though I was driving a bright red jelly bean of a car. I parked down the street, under a tree, and then watched. I didn’t know what I expected to see.
After half an hour of staring at nothing at all but a few passing cars and a stray cat eating something out of an aluminum can in the alley next to the shop, I finally worked up the courage to approach.
It was a standard mechanic’s garage with two open bays. The sign said, BENNY’S CAR REPAIR. There was an old Toyota sedan in the lifts on one side, and the other side was empty except for Benny. My father.
He was standing there in his blue mechanic’s coveralls, trying to rub the grease off his hands with a towel. I wasn’t used to seeing his hair cropped close and his face clean-shaven. He rarely looked that way when I was growing up.
He looked up and spotted me, his face impassive at first and then shocked as recognition dawned on him. But he didn’t make a move. I could feel another rush of adrenaline through my veins, but there was no turning back now.
“Hello, baby girl.” His voice was husky from decades of smoking, and the sound of it triggered sense memories of smoke-filled rooms. I shook my head, desperately wanting to tell him not to call me that, but I couldn’t find the words. He seemed weary, apprehensive, as he walked toward me. Throwing the towel off to the side, he looked me up and down. “Look at you, all grown-up and beautiful, like your mom. I’m glad you came. I’m surprised, but so glad you’re here.”
They were the kindest words I had ever heard him say about my mother to me. “You look good too,” I told him.
“I’m a mess right now. Been working all day . . . but I’m sober.” He was looking right into my eyes with sincerity. “A hundred percent. Have been for a year and a half.”
“Congratulations, that’s great.” I nodded and smiled stiffly. It felt like we were strangers. In the fifteen years I’d lived with him, I had never really witnessed him sober. He was drinking even when he was working at the paper mill. But the man who stood before me, in front of that garage, was different somehow. I could feel it.
“I told your aunt not to pressure you. She didn’t think you were ready when I got cleaned up. I told her that if you ever were . . . ready or willing, I’d like to see you. I’m glad to know she gave you the message. Thank you for coming here.” He started to choke up.
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. Listen, there’s a diner a half a block down. Let me just wash up and close the shop. I want to do this right for once. Will you let me buy you lunch?”