She brushed a chunk of hair out of her eye. “Old habits die hard.”
“Let me do it this time.”
Corabelle gave me a hard look. “I have to make sure it happens. So I’m going to do it.”
She didn’t trust me. But then, I hadn’t given her much reason to. “All right.”
“I have to stay here. I can’t transfer again, lose more credits, another year. But it’s a big campus, right?”
I nodded. “Plenty big enough for two undergrads to get lost in.”
She went around me and descended the last few stairs. I thought she might look back again, like she had earlier, but this time she pushed through the exit door and was gone.
I sat back down. Hell, I was more wound up than I’d been in a long time. Corabelle was mine. She’d always been mine. Going without her had been easy when she was out of sight, but thinking about crossing campus and spotting her, or worse, running into her on a date with some other jerk undergrad —
I smashed my fist into the metal rail. She hated me enough to avoid me at all costs. I had to get out of here. Had to make sure we didn’t cross paths. I’d just drop out this quarter. Or more. Let her finish the year, and then I could come back.
I reconciled myself to losing the fees I had paid, and the damn textbooks. I’d have to just sell these back and take the loss.
I jumped to my feet. It took me months to save up for each class, and now it’d be lost. More hours at the garage. My life was eternally screwed.
I pushed the exit door too hard and it flew open, startling a couple girls just inside the hall. I yanked my hat from the side pocket of my backpack and pulled it low over my eyes, ignoring their interested expressions. Young and stupid, thinking I was someone they should tangle with. They had no idea what life could deal you. What I could deal them. What I’d been dealt.
The quad seemed full of color, green diamonds of grass cut by white stripes of sidewalk. I knew if I could see past the buildings, the big blue of the Pacific would spread wide like the giant crayoned pictures Corabelle and I used to tack to the wall when we set up our pretend school. Growing up with unrelenting New Mexico dry spells, most kids got into fantasies about the sea.
In high school, we discovered San Diego had a college that overlooked the ocean and decided to apply there. Marriage was a long way off, with miles of growing up to do in between. But we wanted to stay together as long as it made sense.
Then came the baby, and disaster after disaster.
But now she was here and wanted nothing to do with me. Just as well. If she knew what all I’d done since leaving that funeral, she’d hate me even more.
Chapter 4: Gavin
My boss never missed a thing.
“Roll all the tires out to recycling,” Bud said. “They’re filling up the back.”
I stuck my punch card in the sleeve dangling beneath the clock. “You hatin’ on me today?”
“You look like you need a chore that won’t cost me money if you screw it up.” Bud coughed into his elbow. “Class that tough?”
I tossed my backpack beneath a scuffed-up desk by the door. “You have no idea.”
“Don’t need no degree to hold a socket wrench.” Bud wiped his hands on his overalls, leaving a long black smear.
I forced a laugh. “And that’s a good thing, since I’ll be sixty-five before I graduate.”
“You got your schedule? I’ll figure up your hours.”
“Nah. I’m dropping out.”
Bud pulled off his hat and wiped his head with a red rag. “That’s bull.”
“Nope. Not feeling it this year.”
Bud’s meaty hand gripped my shoulder in a vise. “I know I just said you don’t need a degree. But you’re not cut out for this work long-term. I like you, and you’ve got a job here as long as you need one, but I’m not going to stand by and let you quit school.”
I turned away, shrugging off his hand. “Then fire me.”
He spun me back around. “Get out there and roll tires until you change your mind.”
“Not enough tires out there for that.”
“You ain’t been back there in a while.”
Fine. I stormed through the bays where Randy and Carl were changing oil on a couple SUVs. Mario had the guts of a 1997 Camaro spread on a tarp, shaking his head over a gunked-up intake manifold.
I stopped short, seeing the car. Why would this car be in the shop at this very moment?
Mario lifted a gasket and peered through the hole. “People don’t treat their babies right.”
I ran my hand along the roof, shiny and clean. “They kept it waxed and purty on the outside.”
Mario grunted. “The engine is beyond gone. These people should be lined up and executed.”
I thumbed the door handle, unable to resist a look inside. I had saved up and bought a very similar Camaro when I turned eighteen. Corabelle and I had broken it in pretty fast, and just looking at the slope of the passenger seat brought up visions of her, sweaty hair sticking to her forehead, looking down on me as she straddled my lap.
I slammed the door closed.
“Easy, friend. Everything’s loose and hanging.” Mario reached for a rag. “You don’t like the car?”
“I used to have one.”
“Ah, a woman. Always a woman.”
“How did you get from the car to a girl?”
“A man slams a door, it’s always about a woman.” He grinned.