Fender Bender Blues (21 page)

She was about to let Craig in on where they were dining that evening, hoping to spark panic in those blue eyes of his, when the front door of her parents’ house banged open. Her dad came swooping out with eyes as big as a puppy dog’s and an awed expression on his age-lined face.

“That’s a ‘53 Corvette!” Her dad looked like he might start hyperventilating, standing only a body width away from Craig’s black beauty.

Craig beamed. “I restored this car with my dad when I was in high school. She’s my baby.”

Oh God, what have I done?
Before her eyes, a forever-bond was forged between two car enthusiasts. Her dad grasped Craig’s hand in a firm shake.

“Craig, this is my dad, Glen. Dad, this is Craig,” Rach introduced, forgoing the smack to the forehead she wanted to give herself. Her plan had majorly backfired. Craig fell into step beside her dad so they could talk cars, not at all frightened by the man with the red curly hair wearing a porkpie hat and drooling over his ride.

“She’s a beauty—a real beauty. You and your dad did this? You must be a good body man,” Glen praised, walking around the car and admiring the perfect metal all around. Craig’s chest was puffed up and his eyes were gleaming and he looked just like all the members of her dad’s car club. How the hell had she not seen this coming?

“I’m not too bad. My dad taught me everything I know,” Craig said modestly. Her dad circled the car to the passenger side where he stared in at the immaculate black interior.

“Who did your interior?”

This was about the time Rach tuned them out and leaned against the Toronado to wave at a neighbor carrying in groceries. When there seemed to be a good break in the conversation, she interrupted, “We better go in. Mom will be pissed if supper gets cold.”

She reached through the driver’s door of the Toronado and took out the Pinot Grigio she’d picked up before going to the car wash. She hadn’t been sure what the correct wine choice for fried chicken should be so she’d picked her favorite.

Glen had been so distracted by the ‘Vette in his driveway he hadn’t even inspected his own car. He paused beside the fender and said in a panicked voice, “Is that a dent?”

Rach sucked in a worried breath and waited while he trailed his hand along the fender. When he sighed in relief, Rach did as well. “Not a dent, just a bad wash job.”

She nudged her dad toward the house. “I paid a lot of money for that bad wash job.”

“That’s why you should do it yourself. You can’t trust those chumps at a car wash. They’re thieves, that’s what they are. Take your money and leave spots. Excuse me, Craig.” Her dad was already on his way to the garage and his auto detailing kit. He’d have the interior spic and span and gleaming by the time Rach left for home later.

When he was out of earshot, Craig leaned in to whisper against her neck, “You brought me home to meet the parents?”

She gave him a sideways glance and ignored the flutter in her chest. “I thought it would scare you away.”

“Not a chance.” The boyish grin on his lips seemed to dare her to kiss him. “I’m always up for a challenge.”

Rach could feel the heat of his breath as he leaned in close behind her to walk up the steps, and whispered, “This is going to be fun.” She nearly jumped out of her skin when he gave her butt a soft brush with his fingertips. No accident—he was toying with her. Instead of infuriating, it was electrifying. She turned and swatted his hand away. He grinned at her and Rach’s heart beat quickened.

The smell of fresh baked bread and chicken gravy wafted through the air and Rach almost dropped to her knees in sheer pleasure. Her mom was the Betty Crocker of Nebraska. There wasn’t anything she couldn’t make, and most of it from scratch. You would find no pre-packaged dinners in the Bennett household.

“Hey mom,” Rach greeted.

Susan Bennett was six inches shorter than Rach and she’d been plump for as long as Rach could remember. Her hair was thin and sandy blonde and Rach had grown up wishing she’d gotten her mom’s coloring instead of her dad’s. The only time her mom was rosy cheeked was in a hot kitchen.

Her eyes flitted from Rach to Craig, confused why there was a stranger in her kitchen. She shut off the mixer she was using to whip potatoes and wiped her hands on her stained apron. She kept her gaze on Craig, but asked Rach, “Hi dear, how was work?”

She’d been hoping to avoid this very conversation. It had crossed her mind that if she brought Craig home, all the attention would be on him. She’d been avoiding her parents since quitting Copy Masters weeks ago, and she’d cut most conversations short when the subject turned to her job, or lack thereof.

“Fine,” Rach answered vaguely. It was time to put Craig to use. Rach stepped aside so her mom could get a full peek at him. “Mom, this is Craig Larsen. Craig, this is my mom, Susan. He’s joining us for supper.”

“Rachel hasn’t mentioned you at all, but that’s just like her. She’s been avoiding me lately and I thought for certain it was because she was already looking for a new job,” her mom accused, giving Rach a pointed stare. But then she turned a smile on Craig. “But now I see it’s because of you.”

Craig’s eyes twinkled. “It certainly is. She’s crazy for me.”

“
Yeah
, he’s a real gentleman.” Rach rolled her eyes.

Her mom beamed and shooed them out of the kitchen. “Take your boyfriend to the living room, then go set the dining room table. Oh, and make sure you get Craig a glass of wine.”

“That’d be wonderful, Rachel Dear,” Craig teased when they were out of her mom’s earshot. “So you thought you’d scare me with this? Very lame.”

She stepped into the living room and shoved the wine glass and bottle at him. “I realize this. Fill your cup, I’m gonna need the bottle.”

He laughed and filled his glass, handing it back with a sexy grin. It would’ve been less annoying if he didn’t know how affective his smile was. She yanked the bottle from his hand then spun on her heel to escape to the kitchen.

Her mom was spooning the mashed potatoes into a cream colored ceramic bowl while humming under her breath. She plopped a dollop of butter on top of the already buttery whipped potatoes and the butter made a slow slide to the rim as it melted from the heat.

“You must really like this one,” Susan sing-songed. “You never bring men home.”

What was she supposed to say? No, I was actually hoping to scare him away? The comment wouldn’t go over well. Instead, she replied, “We’re just hungry.”

The explanation fell on deaf ears and Rach could tell there were images of chubby-cheeked grandkids dancing through her head.

“Well, I’m happy for you. You have a great job and such a handsome boyfriend. Things are really going well in your life. I’m so proud of you, Sweetie.”

None of it was true and Rach stressed about the hole she’d dug for herself. How could she tell her mom she didn’t have the same job she’d bragged about a few weeks ago? She downed the wine in her glass in one swallow, every last drop.

Her mom’s quiet stare said she wasn’t impressed. Then her face paled as the truth hit home. She grabbed at her stomach and moaned, “You don’t have a job, do you.”

No question there, only a statement. Rach filled an empty glass to the brim for her mom, who finished it off quicker than Rach thought her capable of. She refilled her own glass and set the empty bottle on the counter. “About that, it seems the copy machine business wasn’t right for me. I’m, uh, working as a…” Rach racked her brain for something that sounded interesting. When nothing came to mind she stuck with the truth. “I’ve got a lot of résumés out and there’s a staffing agency looking for somewhere to place me.”

Her mom didn’t look at all reassured. She stared at the empty bottle of wine as if willing it to refill itself. She turned back to the chicken frying in oil in a large cast iron pot and said, “I don’t know why you don’t just go back to social work.”

Susan wasn’t the most sympathetic to her daughter’s plight. She’d been there to pat Rach’s back for the first month after she’d left her job, but then she’d turned off the compassion and started on the, “What’s your problem?” and, “Get back to it, you didn’t waste all that money on a degree for nothing,” and, “Things happen, you’ll get over it eventually.”

Her mom was hardly ever wrong. Except Rach couldn’t be sure of that yet.

Rach shook her head. “Not yet. Maybe in a few months.”

She looked suspicious. “You’ve been saying that for months now.”

Rach shrugged and waved the wine glass in the air. “Just a few more months, Mom.” Needing a change of subject, she asked, “Do you think I should get Craig a glass of water with his dinner?”

Susan gave a short nod and went back to stirring the gravy simmering on the stove. Nothing interfered with her mom’s gravy and that included boyfriends or Rach’s inability to return to the career she’d spent a small fortune to pursue. Rach picked up the plates her mom had set out on the counter and she went to the dining room to set the table.

Ten minutes later she found Craig and her dad sequestered inside the Toronado. Craig was using a rag to wipe down the passenger side door panel while Glen cleaned the driver’s side. Glen hummed along to the oldies playing on the radio and Craig tapped his foot in beat to the song. Rach bent to look into the car.

“You guys coming in to eat or you want me to eat it all?”

Glen
harrumphed
and readjusted the porkpie hat on top of his fuzzy red hair. “You can’t eat a whole chicken.”

Rach raised her brows. The two men considered for a second before scrambling out of the car. She fell into step beside her dad. “Did you get it cleaned out?’

“You haven’t been eating fast food in my car, have you?” Glen asked. Rach avoided his stare and stepped through the front door he held open for her.

Craig coughed at her back and she ignored him. In order to save their father/daughter relationship, she lied, “Nope, of course not.”

He gave a sharp nod and huffed, “Good. Craig said he’d never let you eat in a classic.”

“Of course he wouldn’t,” Rach replied and Craig winked at her from behind her dad’s back.

“I was sure there was salt on the seat, but I must have been mistaken.”

She hurried to the dining room and called over her shoulder, “We don’t want it to get cold, Mom’ll scalp us.”

They sat down at the table, set with platters of fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, corn and fresh baked buns. Susan smiled and signaled her husband to say Grace. When the amens were said, her mother added, “And thank you, Lord, for finally bringing our Rachel a fine young man. Amen.”

Craig grinned at her from across the table and Rach smiled tightly back. No, her plan had not been well thought through. She waited patiently for her dad to load up his plate with fried chicken. He preferred the dark meat which left all the yummy breast meat up for grabs. She forked a breast and passed the platter to Craig, who winked at her as he took the platter. Rach almost stuck her tongue out at him.

Susan turned a smile on Craig. “How did you meet my daughter?”

Craig reached across the table and grasped Rach’s hand, giving it a little pat and a squeeze for theatrical effect. “It’s really quite romantic. I was on my way to work one day when a red car pulled out and wrecked my brand new Camaro.”

Her dad’s eyes widened and he slapped the table. “She drives like her mother.”

Susan gasped and threw her napkin at him and he wisely zipped it. Susan smiled back at Craig. “You know, you’re the first man Rach has brought home in six years.”

Craig took back his hand to pick up his fork. His plate was heaping over with food, a detail her mom beamed over. “She tells me I’m pretty special.”

“Of the handicapped sort,” Rach mumbled, stuffing a large piece of chicken into her mouth.

“So what is it you do for a living?” Glen asked. He handed Craig the bun basket and Craig grabbed one.

“He sells cars,” Rach jumped in, hoping to ruin her dad’s high opinion of Craig.

Craig grinned. “Sort of. I own American Dream Autos.”

Rach spent the next few minutes coughing up a piece of chicken while her mom patted her back. After she caught her breath she wiped at her watering eyes and reached for her glass of water.

“Are you all right, Dear?” Susan worried, rubbing her hand in circles now on Rach’s back. She grabbed a napkin with her other hand and gestured for Rach to wipe her chin.

Rach took the napkin and ran it across her chin. She glared at Craig who was busy slathering butter on his bun. No wonder he had an ego, he was loaded. To him, she was probably the biggest loser he’d ever met, drifting from job to job. Before, when he’d just been a car salesman, she hadn’t cared about him knowing she’d failed at the copier business. Now she was mortified she’d asked a cashier at Spetzer-Mart about a job in front of a man who owned the largest car dealership in town. Rach could not believe Leah hadn’t clarified that ginormous detail.

Rach stood and said, “I’ll be back, excuse me.”

She stalked to the bathroom down the hall and shut herself inside. The reflection staring back at her in the mirror had raccoon eyes. She dug in the cabinet for eye makeup remover and a cotton pad then set to taking off the rest of her makeup. If her parents hadn’t scared him away, surely her face without makeup would. Her freckles winked back at her, much more visible now that the foundation was gone.