Chapter 18: Gavin
Corabelle and I don’t tell anybody about the baby. It’s not something we talked about or decided on purpose. We just don’t.
She has Jenny and Tina, who know already. And her parents, who figured it out.
There’s no reason it needs to be spread around. She’s so scared, and when she isn’t throwing up or crashing midday out of exhaustion, she wants to think about pretty much anything else. We don’t change anything about our apartment or acknowledge a baby is coming.
It’s weird, but it’s almost as if the baby isn’t real yet. I’m not sure when that will change. Sometimes I pass the sonogram tucked into the corner of the mirror in the bedroom and it seems like a strange dream.
I keep working long days, like this one. It’s a Monday, and cars are starting to come in as people with problems over the weekend limp them over or have them towed. My first job of the morning is a Ford F150 with a bad alternator.
Bud and Mario and my friends at the garage have no idea this pregnancy stuff is going on. After seeing Uncle Ben and thinking about what my grandfather would want, I’m definitely taking at least one class this fall, before the baby comes. After that, who knows what will happen?
At least Corabelle will get a chance to finish her master’s degree. If she ends up with the chance to make more money than I do, I can stay at home and play dad. Why not?
June calls me every Sunday morning when my parents sleep in. She’s kept me updated on Dad’s progress. He’s been in more pain than they expected, so he’s surly. Not that he wasn’t before. But more so. June avoids him as much as she can.
Life feels like we’re marking time. Finish degree. Baby born. Nothing can be decided until we see what happens with him. If he’s healthy. Or she. I picture myself with a little girl, and that is one thought that can make me smile. A smart beautiful one like Corabelle.
But when I imagine losing this precious girl, my hand shakes so bad that I drop my wrench into the engine of the Ford. I let out a curse and try to reach for it. It’s hung near the bottom. I’ll have to slide under.
Mario’s two bays down, diagnosing a Camry that won’t start. Nobody else is around to see my stupidity.
I snag a creeper with my boot and drag it close. I lie back and roll beneath the truck, glad for the extra clearance in the undercarriage.
Damn, I can’t get it from down here either. I roll back out and stare down at the engine, figuring out which hoses I’ll have to pull to get enough room to reach down.
Mario comes up behind me. “I thought this was an alternator switch.”
“Dropped a wrench.” I hate admitting it, but there it is.
Mario laughs and starts rolling up the sleeve of his khaki work shirt. “You need to get yourself together, butterfingers.” He peers down. “You beefy dudes have a real problem.” He snakes an arm down, shifting a hose, until his hand brushes the wrench. He misses, but the move makes it fall all the way through, the metal clanging on the concrete below.
“You’re welcome,” he says, withdrawing his skinny arm and making a fist to show off his rather unspectacular bicep. “That’s why I don’t lift weights. To be the hero.”
I shake my head and kneel down to retrieve the wrench. “Don’t you have something to do?”
“Making fun of your screwups is my favorite pastime,” he says. He shoves his cap more square on a riot of black curls — that boy needs a haircut — and gives me a salute.
For a moment I feel some chagrin that I’ve kept such a big secret from my friend.
But nah, I can’t tell Mario what’s going on. He’s a bachelor and wouldn’t get it.
These long days will pass, one way or another. Everyone will know when it’s time.
My phone buzzes with a text from Corabelle. I sit in the driver’s seat of the Ford like I’m about to fire it up. But it covers for me reading her message and hides my face in case it’s bad.
Feeling really sick. Tina is driving me home. We’ll have to fetch my car from campus later.
Dang. She’s really going through the wringer. But she did last time too. I type out a quick note that I’ll handle it and start up the Ford.
Everything hums along as it should. I hop out and spot my boss Bud with his clipboard, motioning another car to drive into an empty bay. He’s sweating bullets in the heat, his bald head shiny.
I stick my head out the door of the truck. “I’m going to drive this around, make sure the alternator is charging,” I tell him.
He nods.
I check the clock. It’s pretty close to lunch.
“Hey, Mario,” I call out. “When’s your break?”
He shrugs.
Bud motions for the car to stop over the bay with a pit. “You need him for something?” he asks.
“Corabelle had to leave her car on campus. I thought I might take him to drive it back while I test the truck.”
“That’s all right. Just hightail it back. Looks like it’s going to be a busy one.”
Mario drops the lid of the Camry and hurries over. “Call in a pizza and we can grab it on the way back,” he says.
“Sounds like a plan to me,” I say.
He jumps in the passenger seat, and I back out of the bay. Bud rolls my creeper and the toolbox aside. Probably someone else will be in the spot by the time we get back. It’s fine. Despite the mishap with the wrench, I haven’t screwed up an alternator yet. This truck is probably good to go.
Mario calls in his pizza and we head to UCSD. I didn’t ask Corabelle where she parked but I figure it’s her usual lot. If I can’t find it, I’ll check with her.
“So what’s the deal with the car?” Mario asks. “Got a crap mechanic who owns it?”
“You’re a real card,” I say. But I’m not sure I can tell him the real reason. It will lead to questions I’m not sure I want to answer. I just keep driving.
Mario fiddles with the truck’s radio, moving it to a rock station. Thankfully he likes the song he finds, so I’m off the hook for explaining things.
UCSD is quieter during the summer, but parking is still tough. I drive up and down the rows, looking for the nondescript silver SUV her parents traded us. I hope I can recognize it.
“You don’t even know where it is?” Mario asks, his hands drumming the dash to the song.
“She always parks over here somewhere.” I spot a silver SUV and head for it. Mazda. Nope.
Mario keeps mercifully silent as I continue along the rows. I’m about to pull over and text Corabelle when I see another silver SUV near the end. The truck rumbles that way, and yeah, it’s hers.
I pull my own set of keys out. I have the spare. “You want to drive the truck or her SUV?” I ask.
“I have no desire to look like a soccer mom,” he says.
I open my door and hop down.
When he comes around to the driver’s side, I say, “Thanks.”
“No prob,” he says. “Still curious why she left hers.”
“She wasn’t feeling well. Not up to driving.”
“Oh, sorry, man.” He has the sense to look chagrined.
“Not a big deal. See you back at Bud’s.”
He takes off in the truck. Once again I didn’t spill the news.
There’s just enough of that paranoia in me that keeps me from saying anything out loud. I’ve pictured that baby girl now, and I won’t do anything to jinx it.