Page 21 of Cross To Bear

Jesse slopping the rag across the surface in a fit of pique, wrecking everything that the others had already done, just to prove a point. And the three guys working so hard to fix the place. Scraping out pots then leaving them to soak, picking up all the remaining potato residue from the floor then mopping it clean. Scrubbing away the scorch marks on the stove top. Wiping every scrap of potato off the kitchen doors. They’d done their damnedest to eradicate all evidence of what had happened that morning, and as I stood there, staring at their handiwork, I didn’t know what to think about that. Grateful, of course I was grateful, but… I couldn’t help feel the whole thing was transactional.

If they did this, then maybe I’d look their way instead of Jesse’s. I’d choose them and not him. I sucked in a breath, then another, a complex mix of emotions rising at that thought, ones I quickly shoved down. I had a house inspection in a day, and we’d failed the last one, so I needed to show the real estate agent I was still worth renting to. I grabbed the scourer and the cloth and a cleaning brush and got to work.

By the end, I felt that curious feeling of satisfaction. That my space was clean and likely to stay that way, that I had control over when and if it got messed up again. I was sweaty, headachy, but also, happy.

And I still didn’t miss Jesse.

I passed the inspection with flying colours. The agent looked visibly impressed with the progress I’d made, which after a long day at work, was what I needed. She did raise her eyebrows at the stack of boxes in the lounge room. I explained my change in relationship status and that I needed to change the lease to be in my name only and she readily agreed. If only because the big rusty bucket that sat on the balcony, full of cigarette butts, was gone.

Jesse didn’t call, text, come by for the inspection, or write. One day then another went past, and he made no attempt to contact me. Nelly and the dads hadn’t come for his stuff, and I didn’t let them know that they could. If it hadn’t been for the boxes in the lounge room, it’d have been like we never existed as a couple.

And I still didn’t miss him.

I asked Mal about it one day at lunchtime, and she said, “Sometimes we’ve been breaking up with someone for months.” She shrugged as her sandwich was held mid-air, ready for another bite. “And when we finally say goodbye?” She shrugged. “It’s done. Must be a weird feeling, but… Give yourself space. Don’t fill your days with a million things you can now do, though don’t schlub around on the couch either. Actually, you could come out with me to this cute restaurant…”

So I did. For three weeks, I went out or stayed home, catching up on movies I liked. I went to work every day and spoke to clients, wrangled conversations with the Australian Tax Office and somehow my life found a rhythm, a newer, calmer one without Jesse. I woke up one morning and realised I hadn’t thought about him in days, the boxes in the lounge room my unofficial flatmate, taking his place. But them… That I was the sleuth’s fated mate. That kept popping up like one of those calendar reminders, insisting it be dealt with, and I just deferred that over and over, until fate decided it had other ideas.

Is there a sound that strikes fear more into the heart of non-mechanically minded women than a rattle from the engine?

It’d been a long day at work, and I was glad to be heading home. I had a hot bath waiting for me, along with a tall gin and tonic. I was partway through a book that had me sitting up way too late last night, only the time on my iPad stopping me mid chapter, making it clear I needed to sleep now or be a mess for work. But as I yawned, I heard it.

The rattle.

It could be anything, literally. I was woefully ignorant about the workings of my car, though it couldn’t be anything good. That’s when I saw the second harbinger of doom. The check engine light was glowing on the dashboard and had it been lit up the entire time, I didn’t know. I was whizzing down the freeway at 100km/ph in peak hour traffic, and while freeways were amazing for getting from A to B fast, they were also wastelands. There were cars, multiple lanes and salt pans beyond the road and that was it. I checked my GPS and saw there was a petrol station on an off ramp fifteen minutes away and surely I could—

Another rattle. Was that louder than the last one? My hands gripped the steering wheel tight. What the hell was I supposed to do? I didn’t know what that sound was and whether or not it was a small problem or a big one? In my mind, I saw catastrophic failures, my car exploding, taking me out and everyone in a five kilometre radius, though right as I was madly ruminating, I heard a strange groan, then a protracted sound, a bit like a fart and the last harbinger arrived.

Smoke started to curl from underneath the bonnet.

“Fuck!” I snapped, changing lanes abruptly, excusing this with a wave that seemed to grant fellow Australians the ability to do anything they liked. I pulled over into the hazard lane on the side of the road and killed the engine. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” I leapt out of the car and walked around it, which only seemed to make more smoke come curling out. I looked around me wildly, as if a mechanic would appear from nowhere, and that had me seeing things.

Crash rushing forward with a fire extinguisher. Hawk sweeping me up into his arms and carrying me to safety, then Razor backing the tow truck up with a sharp smile as Bjorn told me everything would be OK. I wanted that fantasy to come to life right now with a fierceness that took my breath away, but that’s not how it worked. I was a strong, independent woman and I didn’t need them. I might not have mechanical expertise, I did have money to pay someone who did. I frantically Googled a local tow and fix company and put through a call.

“Not until tomorrow?”

I tried to keep the frustration from my voice because the poor receptionist on the other end of the phone line wasn’t at fault here. Apparently, peak hour was a peak time for them as well. All of their tow trucks were currently busy picking up other cars that had broken down, and it was the same with the last three places I’d called.

“If you can give us an indication where on the highway you’ve broken down, we can come and pick the car up later. Have you got a friend you can call to come pick you up?”

I did. Mal would come in a heartbeat, but she was based south of the city where I was out in the north. It’d take her hours and… I looked back at my phone, scrolling back through the listings, looking for someone else, when I saw it.

Bearclaw Custom Motorcycles.

I knew they wouldn’t be busy picking up stranded motorists. They used their tow truck to pick up old cars in need of restoration, and that certainty had my thumb moving of its own accord.

But I couldn’t.

It wasn’t fair to them or me to be using the sleuth when I needed them, then saying goodbye once my car was fixed. I was either in or out, and there was no in-between. A fine resolution. One I wanted to stick to, right until I saw a flicker of fire lick up from beneath the bonnet.

“Thanks for your time, but I’ve gotta go,” I said, ending the call.

I didn’t want to do this, but all the fiery explosions I saw in my mind before were now looking like a reality. My hands shook as I navigated over to my contacts. Jesse. I wanted to find another way, though I knew I had to call him about picking up his stuff, so maybe I could kill two birds with one stone… My mind grabbed at that feeble resolution as I tapped on his number, putting through the call.

Only to find that wasn’t an option.

He’d blocked me. I frowned slightly, then shook my head, unable to believe what I was seeing. He’d fucking blocked me? Any thoughts I wanted to have about my ex were quickly supplanted by the growing emergency.

Cars and fire weren’t a good mix, that I did know, so I found the garage number and punched that in.

---