Unexpected Wedding (4 page)

“Said the man who pulled a pizza out of the oven and didn’t realize he’d given himself second degree burns because he couldn’t feel the sliding sauce and melted cheese land on his thighs.”

Well, that was true. “Can we get this done?”

“Sure. Whose turn is it to get under the car?”

“I got it,” Rocky said as he gathered his supplies and prepared to transfer to the creeper.

“That’s cool.” Max grabbed the jack and started to lift the car. “But I’d make sure you line up the drain pan in the right place this time. My dad said it took a twenty-five pound bag of cat litter to soak up that mess you made.”

“You ever gonna let that go, man? It wasn’t that bad.”

“Just sayin’. Dad made a special trip to Wal-Mart for that cat litter. And we don’t have a cat.”

“Yeah, keep talkin’. And when you’re done we’ll revisit that time you didn’t tighten the lug nuts on the front tractor wheel. Pretty awesome the way it rolled right off into the pasture when you took off down the drive.”

That shut him up.

Rocky positioned himself near the passenger door. He found it worked well if he slid head first under the car on one side and, when finished, slid on out the other. Provided Max got the car high enough, he could easily pull everything he needed along with him.

The clunk of a heavy stand followed the hiss and rumble of the jack as Max moved around the car. “All set,” he said. “Go for it.”

Rocky started forward and then stopped. “Toss me that rag, will ya? Everything’s still hot.”

Max did as he asked and sat on the ground nearby. “You ready for tomorrow?”

Rocky loosened the drain bolt. “As I’ll ever be I guess. I’m still nervous. I don’t remember what I said last week. I’ve been practicing my talk and trying to relax and—”

“Yeah, OK, that’s nice, but I mean the other part. The Gia part. That’s her name, right? And you’re going to ask her out tomorrow?”

Rocky double-checked the position of the drain pan and released a steady stream of hot, dirty oil. “You hear that, Max? It’s the oil hitting the pan and not the ground.”

“Don’t change the subject. And if you’re gonna be rehearsing lines, they should be about asking for dates. You’re way out of practice.”

“I’ve had dates.”

“Yes, who could forget you and your mom and grandma at the Golden Corral? It was a night to remember.”

Rocky held in a snort of laughter. He wouldn’t give Max the satisfaction.

Max made dating sound easy. His best friend yes, but more like an annoying younger brother who got all the girls. He was the drummer in their church worship band and the leader of the new youth service. Like catnip to kittens, the package was irresistible to all women who sought a decent, church-going guy. They flocked first to his goofy, charming side and then fell in love when they discovered his deeper, educated, and truly Christ like life. Some guys had it all.

“I’m thinking on it, Max. I’m not sure she’s interested.”

“Only one way to find out. Ask her out. From what you said about last week, it sounds like there’s interest.”

“Last week was embarrassing, remember? I fell out of my chair and had to slide down a hill. Pretty sure she saw every second of that disaster. And I’m still trying to get the hang of being a motivational speak—”

“Will you stop it already? You sound like my teenaged sister when you whine like that. Yap, yap, yap.”

“Yeah, well, you sound like a pushy girlfriend I once had.”

“How many years ago was that?”

Rocky would have continued to trade barbs with his friend except that he had to stop and think about how long ago he actually did have a girlfriend. He’d dated around after his injury when he’d returned to college. After that, numerous friends and relatives had made it their business to keep him busy with blind dates. Nothing stuck. On one occasion, he signed up for a disabled dating service. While the women were sweet and often beautiful, many remained too angry to get past their own misfortune to begin to deal with his. At the other extreme, many had blown past acceptance and straight into a world where they moved at the speed of light to prove they could still do the same things everyone else could do. He was in awe of them, but had not yet been ready for wheelchair basketball or the Paralympics. At that point, he hadn’t been introduced to hand cycling.

Then there were the church ladies. The ever-present and determined bless-your-heart-and-please-have-a-biscuit task force that had taken him under their ample wings when he first found Jesus and Cornerstone Fellowship. There’d been a steady stream of nieces, granddaughters, and other assorted single females that each well-meaning matchmaker thought sweet and longsuffering enough to meet his “special” needs and understand his “unconventional” circumstances. As if any of them really understood what those things were in his world. If not for their hearts of gold and good intentions, he was sure there was something in there he should find enormously offensive.

Then everything changed last week when he met Gia. She’d effervesced and exploded into his world with gauze and sarcasm and left him tied in knots of longing and curiosity. For the first time—in a long time—he wondered if there was actually a chance for companionship in his future. But had she given him a second thought? His stomach churned at the idea of reaching out and being rejected. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea. What was he thinking? Beautiful Gia on a date with him? She probably already had someone anyway.

“So you’re asking her out tomorrow, right?”

Rocky grasped the oil filter and glanced out in time to see Max bend and cock his head to rest it on his bony knee as he stared him down and waited for an answer.

“Still thinking on it.”

Max screwed his face into a determined grimace. “Epic battles call for epic warriors, Rock. And you, my friend are an epic warrior.”

“Are you kidding me with that? What does that even mean or have to do with anything?”

“All’s I’m sayin’ is you’ve been through a lot and survived, so I don’t want to hear any more about you not being able to share your testimony at camp, or not being able to get the girl because I know God is working in your life and you can accomplish both.”

“And all’s I’m sayin’ is... wow... and it sounds like somebody’s been watching preachers on cable TV again and practicing their own sermons in front of a mirror. Seriously, bro, you need to make it official and get on to seminary so you’ll have someone to preach to besides me and your bedroom furniture.”

There was a scrape and spray of gravel dust as Max scrambled to his feet. “I know what we need to do while you’re here. You OK there for a minute? I have to get something out of the shed.”

“I’m good. But, hey, can you bring my chair around to this other side? I’m almost done.”

“Sure.”

Rocky finished his work and prepared to glide out from under the car while Max rooted around in the shed like a hungry bear. Whatever he was looking for was apparently buried pretty deep.

He pushed the drain pan ahead of him and out of the way and set his tools on the shop rag across his chest. “You know, Max,” he shouted, “this will be much easier when your dad puts in a lift out here.”

A loud thud came after Max’s muddled response. That was followed by what sounded like him dragging a bag of stones across the concrete pad.

“What are you doing in there?” Rocky took a quick glance around to make sure his path was clear before propelling himself toward daylight. The next thing he heard was the
thwack
of the jack stand against the top of his head. And because he’d pushed himself with such force, he didn’t stop until the wicked corner sliced through his flesh somewhere on the right side of his forehead. The searing flash of pain took his breath.

His ensuing shriek was not manly.

“Dude! What happened? I heard that crash all the way in the shed.”

Rocky grabbed his head as tools hit the ground all around him and he maneuvered to get free. “Man, that hurts!”

Max kicked a wrench out of the way and rushed closer with the wheelchair. “C’mon. Let’s get you upright and see what you’ve done.”

“I know what I’ve done,” Rocky snapped. “I hit my head on the jack stand.”

“Sorry, buddy. I thought it was in the exact same place we always put it.”

“It is. I was going too fast.”

Max offered his arm. “You must’ve veered off course somehow.”

“Really, Captain Obvious? Ya think I veered off course? ‘Cause I’d hate to think I was aiming to bash my own head in.”

Max darted into the shed and returned with a roll of paper towels. He pushed a wad against Rocky’s wound. “Quit yer girl-whining and hold this. We’ll go in and take a look when we’re done here.”

Rocky started to pick up what he could reach of the mess he’d made. “I’ll clean it up when I get home. Drop the car and pour in that jug of oil.”

“Sure, but I need to do one more thing to your car.”

Max trotted into the shed again and this time returned with the dusty passenger seat from Rocky’s car.

Rocky did a double-take. He hadn’t seen that thing in a couple years, even though he knew it was past time it was back in his car. “I wondered where that was.”

Max’s smile was ear to ear. “I told you it was here. I spotted it at your parent’s house and brought it here for one day when we had a chance to re-install it. Since you’re going to be dating more, we better get it back in the car. I still think it’s funny how your parents took it out.”

“They meant well. They read somewhere it would be easier to get in and out of the car if I could pull my chair inside and store it right there beside me.”

Max dragged the seat toward the passenger door. “Sounds logical to me.”

“Logical, yes, but my therapist at rehab had a fit. Said I didn’t need to be lazy. Said I needed to drive with a passenger like everyone else.”

“You do. And that passenger needs to be a woman.”

Once again, easier said than done.

Max parked the seat in the shade while he quickly lowered the car and chunked the stands onto the grass nearby. “Guess I’ll have to hose your blood, hair, and skin off those.”

“Funny.” Rocky squirmed in his chair and blotted his still-bleeding head. Putting that seat back meant no excuses. “Uh... Hey, don’t worry about that seat today, Max. I have work, you have a nap. I’ve been without it this long, one more week won’t matter.”

Max shoved the awkward seat in the door and struggled to get it into position. “Nope. This is happening.” He paused to drop two sockets on the ground and carefully choose the right size. “But you know what the real problem is with you and women don’t you? It’s this car. Women see this and think you’re somebody’s grandpa. Buy the truck, man. Way cooler.”

Ah, yes, the truck. The deep blue Ram 1500 crew cab he told Max he’d almost bought. He’d considered the major purchase for while—especially when he was still a member of the Southeast Texas Hand Cycling Club. A truck made more sense for hauling equipment. Not to mention it was new and sharp and, as Max said, way cooler than the older car his mom and dad had purchased from an auction when they weren’t sure what was best for him. It had been years, but it seemed like yesterday that his parents, in their over-protective zeal, stood wringing their hands and talking about him as if he wasn’t there.
“Should we take him back to college? Should we let him drive? Should we hire a full time companion to help him?”

Rocky dropped the paper towel wad into his lap so he could grab the jack handle and push the heavy contraption back to its corner. Fresh blood streamed down the side of his face and dotted his shirt. “Aw, man...”

“What’s that?” Max scooted out of the car and jiggled the seat.

“Nothing.”

“I’ll get all that stuff, Rock. You try to stop bleeding. We’re out of kitty litter.” Max yanked up his shorts and went in from the other side. “Anyway, back to the truck. Let’s go drive around the lot Sunday after church and take a look.”

“Can’t. Lunch at my parents’ house.”

“Dude. This can’t wait. You need to be in a new ride now.”

“Well,
dude
, I’m not buying a truck on Sunday.”

Max stretched to reach more bolts. “Whenever.” Leonardo came around to stick his head in the door as if to monitor the situation. Max absently gave the dog a scratch. “How does that work with the hand controls? You have to order it and wait several weeks?”

“No, I have a buddy from my old cycling club who does his own work and he said it’s no big deal. Said he’d be glad to supervise if I wanted to do it myself. You might as well plan to help ‘cause we’ll be over here using your dad’s tools and consuming whatever’s in his garage refrigerator, of course.”

“Of course.” Max slid out of the car and took off toward the house. “Speaking of that, I need water.” He disappeared into the garage and returned with an armful of plastic bottles. He tossed two icy containers to Rocky. “You’ve mentioned that cycling club before. Was that something you did before your injury?”

Rocky drained the first bottle in nearly one gulp. He shouldn’t have referred to the cycling club. He should have said he had a friend of a friend or something since he didn’t much like to talk about hand cycling anymore—let alone participate in the sport.

“It’s not that kind of cycling. It’s hand cycling. With a special kind of bike.”

“Yeah, yeah, I think I know what you mean. I’ve seen those on TV. Looks like a mini dragster without an engine. Low to the ground, long front end, you strap yourself in and pedal with your hands, right?” He tossed an empty bottle aside. “When did you do that?”

“It’s been a while. It was no big deal.”

Max looked like the proverbial light bulb had brightened over his head. “Dude. Seriously. We need to start training and sign up for the Houston to Austin MS 150 next spring.”

Rocky couldn’t even pretend that wasn’t the worst idea he’d heard all week. “No, thanks. I don’t ride anymore, and I haven’t seen you on your bike in a year. We’d be curled up on the roadside—you with leg cramps and me with chest pains. And we’d be puking our guts out.”

“Really, Rock? I didn’t think I could have a more appealing image in my head than that of you in tight-fitting spandex bicycle shorts. I was wrong.”