“Hey, you Wyatt?” I ask as I approach, loud enough to get his attention, but somehow retaining the hostility I’m feeling inside.  If I didn’t have an audience, I’d jam this knife down his fucking throat.

“Yeah, do I know you?”

“I’m here for Tatum’s car,” I reply, ignoring his question.  If he doesn’t recognize me, then it’s best we keep it that way.

He’s surveying my appearance when he scoffs.  “Seriously dude?  All she has to do is call and I’ll bring it right back over to her.  I’m not giving it to you.”  He plasters a smug grin on his face, crosses his scrawny arms over his chest, and leans back against her car.

“You’re going to give me her fucking car, and you’re never going to talk to her again,” I threaten through clenched teeth.  My anger is rising at an alarming rate.

“Oh yeah?  And why should I listen to you?” he asks, taking a step towards me.  I reciprocate with a step forward of my own.  We’re now standing toe to toe, face to face, and I wish I could beat that smug look off his face.

“You might not remember because you were too busy getting your ass kicked, but I. Saw. Everything. yesterday, you punk ass little bitch.”  I step even closer, our chests bumping, and I bite out, “I wasn’t done beating the shit out of you for what you did, so you’re going to give me her car and never speak to her again, or I’m calling the cops and your ass will be sitting in jail.”

He stares at me, and I stare back, not going to be the first to break contact.  Suddenly, one of the other men approaches us, probably noticing the tension from across the room.

“Hi there, I’m the owner here.  Can I help you with something?” he asks, his voice stern and bordering on impolite.  I can tell he’s the type of boss who protects his own.

“I’m just here for my girlfriend’s car.  This guy said it’d be ready yesterday,” I reply coolly.

“What car is it, Wyatt?” the boss man asks him, and Wyatt’s face turns an unbelievable shade of red.

“The Honda,” is all he says.

I watch as the owner walks to a peg board with several sets of keys hanging on it and plucks one off the rack.  He leans over the counter to consult a record log and walks back over to where Wyatt and I continue our staring match.

“Here you go, sir.  Looks like she’s all paid for.”

I take the keys, realizing when I check the key tag with the license plate her car is this beater of a Honda right next to me.  Wow.  I can’t even be sure this thing is street legal.

Praying I don’t die a fiery death in this beater mobile, especially with the knowledge that stupid fucker worked on it, I climb into the car without another word.  My house is only a few minutes’ drive so I take the car there and walk back to the service station to retrieve my own car.

With Tatum’s car back in possession, I decide to pick up some groceries so she has something substantial to eat after work.  In this morning’s awkwardness, I failed to get her some breakfast.  She probably doesn’t feel that great with an empty stomach after a night of drinking.

The supermarket is packed on a Saturday afternoon, so I try my best to hurry through.  I gather the ingredients for homemade spaghetti sauce, pasta, and garlic bread.  Lettuce, cucumbers, and tomatoes end up in the cart as well for a toss salad.  Italian is quick and easy.  Seems like a safe option considering I don’t know anything about her.

As I walk through the pantry type aisles, I end up grabbing more than is necessary, filling the cart with different kinds of cereals, granola bars, canned soups, chips, cookies, Pop tarts, and a couple 88 cent boxes of mac ‘n cheese.  I want to be prepared since I don’t know how long she’s staying.

How long do I want her to stay?

As I’m pondering that question, while staring at the assortment of fruit cups, my thoughts are cut short by the vibrating coming from my pocket.  Extracting the device, Trey flashes on the caller ID.  Damn, I never called him yesterday.

“Hey man, what’s up?” I answer, ready to launch into an apology.

“Why’d ya bail on me yesterday?”  Always cutting right to the shit.  That’s Trey.  I met him at the gym two years ago when I first moved into town.  He’s a big guy, with bulging muscles from practically living at the gym.  He’s also military.  With his nearly bald shaved head and darkly tanned skin, he makes a good wingman.  Where I’m clean and fit, he’s massive and rugged.

I’m struck speechless momentarily.  Do I tell him about Tatum?  Maybe I should lie.  Scanning the people milling about the aisle, I decide to lie.  I’m not talking about her assault in the damn canned fruit aisle in the only grocery story in town.  A town where everybody knows everybody.

“Sorry, man.  I got caught up in some shit after school, and once it was all sorted out, I ended up at home nursing a couple beers.”

“Well shit.  You missed out on a good time last night.  I ran into that Melissa girl you’ve been seein’, and she was all up on some other guy.  Hope you’re covering your shit when you hit that, man.”  He laughs into the phone, and I can’t help but chuckle with him.

“She sure moved on quick for seeming so broken up the other day.”

“Yeah, or maybe she’s been double dippin’ this whole time.”

“Or triple.”

“Anyway, man, besides checkin’ why you dipped out on me, I wanted to see if you were up for going out tonight since you left me hanging yesterday.  Beer and pool at Old Willow?”

I open my mouth to reply, but then I remember Tatum.  I can’t leave her at my house all alone.  I run my hands through my messy hair while I contemplate what to do.

“Sounds great, but see, uh, I have this girl staying with me for a few days—ˮ

“You have a girl staying with you?” he blasts, making my eardrums ring.

“Dude, it’s not like that.  I’m at the fuckin’ grocery store so I can’t talk about it right now.  But it’s not what you’re thinking.”

“Alright. Bring her with then.”

“I’ll ask her.  Let me text you, she gets off work this afternoon.”

We disconnect, and I step into the checkout line, replaying the conversation in my head.  Shit.  She can’t come with to the bar, she’s only eighteen.  At least, I hope she’s eighteen.  My stomach plummets to the floor.  What if she’s only seventeen?  What the fuck am I doing?

I add her age to the long list of questions I need to ask her about, and start piling my groceries on the conveyor belt at top speed.  I need to get out of here.

After unloading the groceries, I begin a pot of spaghetti sauce to simmer throughout the afternoon.  After adding tomatoes, garlic, onion and some seasonings to a large pot, I start another pan to brown some beef.  I wonder if she’s a vegetarian.  After the beef is browned, I pop it into the fridge instead of adding it to the sauce in case she doesn’t eat meat.  After the sauce is at a rolling boil, I turn it down to a simmer, and begin chopping some vegetables for a salad.

At 6:15 I turn the sauce off before I leave to pick up Tatum.  She’s already waiting outside when I arrive and she gives me a little wave when I pull up.

“Hi,” she says as she buckles her seatbelt.  Her mood seems to have improved dramatically since this morning.

“How was work?” I ask as I pull onto Main Street towards home.

“It was fine.  I like working the day shift on Saturdays.  It’s nice to see all my residents fully awake for once.”

I can’t miss the happiness in her voice, and it makes me smile.  I wasn’t sure how long it would take for her to recover from yesterday, but this is a start.

“I bet.  Do you work a lot?”

“I put in 40 hours a week.  Once in a while I’ll get some overtime if they need me to fill in for someone.”

“Why the hell do you work fulltime?” My shocked voice fills the car.  “When do you have time for homework?”

“I need to work to live,” she responds simply, ignoring my second question.