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part 1 of the story
Car Trouble

Denise McCabe

    It all started with the rat in the parking lot. I hear someone scream and before I can turn around to see what’s happening, this gray rat as big as a tomcat with a long tail comes scurrying across the concrete in the direction of my car. He misses me by inches; it happens too fast for me to even react. I have the trunk open to put away my gym bag and all I can think of on the way home is what if he would have jumped into the trunk? I’d never be able to open it again. I’d probably have to sell the car. I’d have to change gyms. All these thoughts race through my head like, well like rats I guess, until I am safely out of the parking lot and on my way home.
    I text my boyfriend Leo: Saw a rat at the gym! Yikes!!!
    He texts back: Gym rat LOL
    No, a real rat! Disgusting. I fill him in on the details and he seems pretty blasé about the whole thing but I decide to let it go until he gets home from work, about another three hours.
    I take a shower and dress in my home uniform of extra baggy T shirt, shorts, and socks. I try to concentrate on the book I’m reading but the rat’s alarming appearance keeps cropping up in my mind and I can’t focus. The irony is that I usually only go to the gym with Leo. I am not naturally inclined to work out, in fact I do it only because I know it’s good for me and Leo won’t stop reminding me of that fact. So I felt rather virtuous going by myself on the rare Saturday that Leo had to work. No virtuous deed goes unpunished.
    The following Monday, I take my car in to be serviced before going to work. Just a simple oil change, tune up, check the tires. One of the mechanics, Dave, has a crush on me so he usually gives me a slight discount. I make sure to wear something cute and spray on some of my best perfume. I know, I know, I should be ashamed. There are cars crammed into every bit of available space so I pull up into a red zone outside the shop and tap the horn. One of the other mechanics, Barry I think his name is, sees me and nods. He calls out to Dave, who comes out to greet me and takes the wheel. We chat for a few minutes, he writes up the order and hands me a copy.
    “I’ll give you a ring when she’s done,” he says, and somehow manages to squeeze her in between two other cars in the lot. I could never maneuver like that, can’t even back into a parking space between cars. Leo says I just lack confidence and he’s probably right, but why tempt fate? I walk to work, a luxury in Southern California, and spend the morning catching up on emails and paperwork. Dave calls my cell as I’m starting to think about lunch.
    “Mechanically she’s in good shape, but did you know you’ve got a nail in your right front tire?”
    “No!”
    “Yeah, it’s a good thing I caught it now. These tires can go for 50 miles with a puncture but I’d say you’re reaching that now. The outer layer is shredding. You don’t remember running over anything?”
    “No. How much will this cost me?”
    “Well, it depends. Also, I’d recommend replacing all four to be honest. The tread is getting thin on all of them.”
    I let this sink in. Not happy.
    “I can probably give you a break on the oil change and tune-up if that’ll help.”
    “Let me talk to Leo. I’ll call you back.”
    Leo picks up on the first ring, sounding chipper as always. I tell him the situation.
    “Get the four tires.”
    “They’re expensive.”
    “Everything’s expensive these days.”
    I have never met a more easygoing person than Leo. He makes Buddhist monks look agitated. It can be annoying sometimes, but mostly it’s a comfort.
    I call Dave and tell him I’ll go with the four tires.
*****
    I wish I could say this was the end of it, but before my credit card even cools off in my wallet, I am T-boned by a woman in an ancient Hyundai. She gets out of her car and comes over to me, her attitude irritatingly hostile for someone clearly at fault. She acts as if I am an irritation to her, as if my very being behind the wheel is what caused her to plow into me.
    Some bystander must have called 911, because the cops and a tow truck driver show up within minutes. One of the cops takes my statement and asks if I’m okay. I tell him yes. It turns out that the other driver is not only hostile but also uninsured. My airbags went off, and according to the insurance company, that means the car is totaled. The first thought that comes to mind was that I wish it had happened before I bought the tires.
    A paramedic appears from somewhere and tells me to have a seat on the curb. He sits next to me and takes my blood pressure, which he tells me is a little high but understandable in the circumstances. He asks if there is anyone he can call on my behalf. I realize I haven’t yet told Leo. My phone is still in the car along with my keys and my shoulder bag. He goes to get them for me and sits down beside me again. I’m still in shock, and stare at my phone like I don’t remember what to do, then I tell Siri to call Leo’s cell. He sounds so normal and happy that I immediately start crying; the paramedic takes the phone out of my hands and explains to Leo what just happened. He ends the call and hands the phone back to me, pats me on the shoulder sympathetically, and tells me Leo is on his way.
    “You’ve got a good husband,” he says.
    “We’re not married,” I say, as if that detail is somehow important.
    He tells me his name is Earl, and it reminds me of a song or a TV show or something, but I can’t put it together. He’s nice, young, perfect for the job it seems. He sits with me until Leo arrives, talking to me the whole time, calming me down. Leo is there within a few minutes, his sweet face worried for me until he sees that I am fine. He hugs me hard, walks me over to his car, and settles me in the passenger seat.
    “Let me talk to these guys. I’ll be right back.”
    I see him walk over to Earl and they have a conversation, then he goes over to speak to one of the cops. It’s like watching a TV show. I am suddenly so tired I can’t even focus. I close my eyes for a minute and soon Leo is in the car next to me, taking me home.
    I’ve always been a believer in omens, I can’t help myself. My mother fancies herself a seer of sorts, not quite a gypsy but she has the looks to pull off faking it when it works in her favor. I used to hate it when she tried to read cards for my friends, or warn them of some dire event that they needed to avoid in future. They believed she was the real deal; I am more of a cynic. She is sincere, and really believes what she’s saying to be true. Leo has a soft spot for her and she likes to read his cards over the phone when she gets what she calls a “sense” that something is going on that he should be aware of. She tends to call him more than she calls me, and I’m fine with that.
    When we get home after the accident, I take a hot bubble bath while Leo is in the kitchen making a pot of Earl Grey. I hear his phone ring, the theme song from Game of Thrones, and I can tell by his end of the conversation that it’s my mother calling. I hurry out of the water and wrap a bath towel around me so I can catch him before he mentions anything about the accident - I want to see if she brings it up on her own; test her so-called powers. Leo is in the kitchen, pouring hot water from the kettle into the teapot with one hand, holding the phone with the other. I give him what he calls the look, and he nods, reading my thoughts as he always does (he’s the true psychic here, not my mother). I motion for him to sit at the table and I take care of pouring the tea for us. I can’t hear what my mother is saying; she speaks very softly for someone with such a large personality, but Leo seems to be listening intently. He shoots a look my way, and then says She’s right here. I’ll put her on, then mouths Sorry to me as I take his phone.
    “Hi ma.”
    “You’ll think me crazy, but I had a dream last night that Aunt Millie died and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
    “Why didn’t you just call Aunt Millie? Presuming she’s still alive.”
    “I did. She’s fine.”
    “Glad to hear it. So what’s it got to do with me?”
    “In dreams, people can be mixed up with other people. It’s not always obvious who the dream is about.”
    “How did she die? In the dream I mean.”
    “It wasn’t clear. You know how it is in dreams. More of a feeling than an actual event.”
    “I was in a car accident this afternoon.”
    “You’re okay?”
    “Shaken, but other than that...”
    “What about the car?”
    “Totaled.”
    “Oh boy. I’m sorry.”
    “Thanks.”
    I give her the details, including the fact of the four new tires, and wait for it.
    “You should let me read your cards.”
    “A little late now, don’t you think?”
    She gives me the usual spiel, how sometimes an event can trigger a string of events, and how they can often be prevented if you know what to expect.
    “Play the cards right in other words?”
    She ignores my witticism, and against my better judgment, I agree to let her read my cards the next day. She lives over the hill, in the San Fernando Valley, in the house that I grew up in. She’s alone now since my father died almost five years ago and seems to have adjusted, even thrived, in her solitary life. People always say what a great couple my parents were, how lucky I was to grow up in a functional home. I am an only child, which suits my introverted nature, and I guess I was a happy kid. I can’t remember any trauma. If I had to describe my childhood in one word it would be quiet. My dad worked, mom stayed home and did the usual things wives of that generation did. I was not ignored, nor was I spoiled. I have no cause for complaint, and yet I struggle with a sense of something missing, of being incomplete. Maybe there’s a reason the experts say only children are more at risk for loneliness. Thanks to Leo, I no longer feel lonely, and yet I have as yet been unable to commit to marriage. He has asked me several times, and probably will ask again. I have nothing against marriage, per se, but there’s a persistent sense in my mind that the status quo is too fragile to mess with. I don’t feel the pull of motherhood, nor the fantasy of the white dress and diamond ring. I am self-sufficient, and don’t want to become dependent. None of this makes sense of course. Logic doesn’t enter into it.
    All these complicated thoughts come into my head whenever I cross the threshold of that house. I’m back to being a daughter, and it feels momentarily surreal. I go to the fridge, always my first stop, and take out a bottle of water.
    “There’s coffee,” my mother says.
    “I’m good with the water. Thanks.”
    We sit at the kitchen table, and as always, I look to my father’s empty chair. I don’t know how my mother does it, seeing his ghost everywhere, but I guess she’s used to it by now. She has a shelf full of knick-knacks in the corner that seems to keep getting more crowded each time I visit. I don’t know how (or why) she would want to take the time to dust everything. It would make me crazy. I have asked her more than once, and her answer is always the same. They have meaning for her, and she has plenty of time.
    I finish my water and get up to toss the bottle into the recycling bin. She pours herself a refill of her coffee and sets it on the table before going to get her cards. There’s nothing supernatural about her readings. No incense or dimmed lights, no velvet bag holding the tarot deck. She keeps hers in a small cigar box and lets the sun stream through the windows as she wipes down the table and gets ready. It’s been a while since she read for me and for some reason I am more anxious about the outcome than I should be. She has me cut the cards and then shuffle them. Before she lays them out in the usual formation, she reaches for a non-existent ashtray, a throwback to when she used to smoke. The movement is automatic, and she stops herself without making any comment. The gesture makes me warm to her, and is another reminder of how things used to be in this house.
    Her concentration is fierce; she barely knows I am in the room. I wait, not believing in the cards and yet, what if I’m wrong? After a minute or so, she looks up at me.
    “The wheel of fortune card is reversed. which can mean a lack of control, or bad luck of some sort.”
    “I could have told you that without the reading.”
    She ignores me and goes back to examining the cards. I notice the death card and it makes my stomach tighten. I point to it.
    “This doesn’t look good.”
    She shakes her head.
    “It’s not what people think. It’s not a literal death. When it’s reversed, it represents stagnation, or fear of change, sometimes holding on to something or someone too long. But when it’s upright like this, it represents the end of a cycle, change, beginnings, metamorphosis. Ring any bells?”
    “Other than new tires which turned out to be a complete waste, and having to buy a new car, nothing comes to mind.”
    She gathers up the cards and puts them back in the cigar box.
    “Maybe Leo is going to ask you to marry him.”
    “He’s already asked, several times in fact.”
    “Maybe this time you’ll say yes.”
    There is a lot I could say, but I keep quiet. I guess most mothers want their children, daughters especially, settled with a mate. I’m not saying it won’t ever happen, and definitely not saying it won’t be Leo, but I have too much inner turmoil to take that step. It bothers me, and if I’m feeling pressured by my mother, it is probably because it shines a light on that turmoil.
    “I sometimes regret that your dad and I didn’t have a sibling for you.”
    “Why? I was happy.”
    “I just think you may have been a bit lonely sometimes, not having anyone close to your own age to argue with or commiserate with.”
    This stings, maybe because it feels as if she’s been reading my thoughts.
    “I had friends.”
    “You also tend to live inside your own head too much sometimes. Nothing wrong with being an introvert, but I think sometimes it’s hard for people to approach you.”
    I am starting to feel a little agitated, trying not to show it. But she reads me as easily as the tarot.
    “You were an easy child to raise. I guess we just didn’t want to press our luck.”
    She says it with a smile and I know she means it, but I still leave her house feeling unsettled.
*****
    The insurance company gives me credit for the new tires, but just a fraction of what they actually cost. My car was not new, but it was in good shape with low mileage, and I am not happy with the offer being made to me. All this, and they raise my rates besides. I have never understood the concept of paying exorbitant amounts for insurance and not being able to use it. I mention this to Leo and he says something intended to cheer me up but all it does is annoy me. I start shopping around for cars in the price range of the insurance payout and am not happy with the choices. We could get by on one car, Leo says, and it’s not a bad idea. We decide to try it for a while and see how it goes.
    He drives me to work the next day and I’m still brooding about what my mother said.
    “Do you think I’m unapproachable?” I ask Leo.
    He doesn’t answer right away, which is his usual style; he likes to think before he blurts.
    “Not to me,” he says.
    “My mother thinks I live too much in my own head.”
    “Well, it’s pretty hard to live in someone else’s head,” he says.
    Somehow it makes me feel better. He does have a knack for healing my dark thoughts.
    “What else did she say?”
    “That she and my dad should have had more kids so I wouldn’t be lonely.”
    He glances over at me.
    “Are you lonely?”
    “Sometimes. Never when I’m with you.”
    He squeezes my knee, eyes on the road.
    “She also said you might ask me to marry you. I told her you’ve already asked me.”
    “Numerous times.”
    “I hope you haven’t given up.”
    He shakes his head side to side, as if undecided.
    “I don’t know. A guy can only take so much rejection. Out you go.”
    He waits to make sure I’m inside the building before pulling out with a quick honk and a wave.
    My coworker Felice arrives just as I’m starting to go through my emails.
    “Where’s your car?’ she says.
    I tell her the story. She’s sympathetic but what can she do? I’m left with four tires with nowhere to go, and a very patient boyfriend. I think about what my mother said about the wheel of fortune. It’s like Mercury in Retrograde. I may not believe in it, but once the thought is in my head I keep finding proof of its existence.
    My mother calls the next day and asks if we want to come for Thanksgiving dinner. This is a surprise - she hasn’t cooked a holiday meal since my dad died. We usually take her out to a local restaurant or sometimes we order in. I’m not much of a cook, which is another reason I don’t think marriage is for me. I know this isn’t the Mad Men era anymore and women are not necessarily expected to be great cooks but let’s face it, the stereotypes still linger.
    “Oh, and I also invited Mordechai. He’s recently divorced and I know how it feels to spend that first holiday alone.”
    Mordechai was a protege of my father’s. They worked for the same company and dad trained him for the job. They became fast friends, despite the fact that Mordechai was a good fifteen years younger than my father, and his wife Evelyn even younger. I am surprised to hear about the divorce. They seemed happy, but I guess you never know with couples what goes on in private. Interesting though that mom doesn’t seem too concerned with Evelyn spending the holiday alone.
    I ask her what happened, and I can practically hear her shrug over the phone.
    “To each his own,” she says, which means she either doesn’t know or isn’t telling. It doesn’t really matter anyway. I like Mordechai, and if he feels like opening up, he will. If not, I’ve got bigger concerns at the moment.
    I tell her I’ll check with Leo but I’m pretty sure he’ll be fine with Thanksgiving, and we’ll bring dessert.
*****

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