Page 37 of Master Debater

Just when I thought everything in life was looking up, this past week a perfect mix of days spent getting stuff done at work and spending most nights with Nate, my mom called to tell me she’d gotten a phone call from the bank in charge of my auto loan. Evidently, Eric had informed them he no longer owned the vehicle and they needed to transfer the loan to my mom.

My immediate anger remained at a violet boil, the rocking lid one wrong move from flying off completely. He’d promised me that after all the time I’d poured into his business, and if I allowed him to keep the house, he’d pay off my car. Which I’d told him was going to be my mom’s from now on.

“It’s okay,” Mom had said, “I never should’ve accepted the gift in the first place.”

“Mom, you need the car to get around town and make it to your follow-up appointments, as well as physical therapy. It does no good to pay that much for your hip surgery and suffer through the pain and recovery, only to mess it up again. Especially since he promised he’d pay for the fucking car.”

Mom tsked her disapproval. “Language, Willa.”

Yeah, because that was the problem, not my asshole, son-of-a-bitch, no-good cheating ex. Upon first discovering his infidelity, he promised we’d split assets equally, but with each passing week, greed overtook his repentant side. The last few texts we’d exchanged became heated as he demanded more and more of our combined assets, leading me to believe he

was still mad at me for daring to leave Sugar Creek. Not because he loved me so much and wanted to make things work, like he’d originally claimed either. Nope, it was the realization that having to hire three different people to do what I used to in the name of running a business together was going to take a serious bite out of his profit margin.

“Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll get everything ironed out.” She was so used to making do or going without, and after everything she’d done, the car had been my attempt to pay her back for all her sacrifices through the years.

If Eric wanted to fight, he’d find the woman who’d left Sugar River, sad and dejected, had been placed with a version that was confident and happy to be rid of him. I’d poured as much time, money, and effort into running his dental practice as he had, and if he thought I’d cave, he had another thing coming. While he’d done a real number on me when it came to chipping away at my worth, I knew better now. I was stronger. And if he wanted to throw down, I’d gladly kick his ass in court.

I’d barely ended the call when my car’s engine started making an awful noise. As though I was grinding gears and not very good with the clutch, but the vehicle didn’t have one of those.

“Seriously? Et tu, Brute?” The Oldsmobile was both a brute and a beater. I’d found a deal on a used studio-in-a-box kit, with an almost new midi keyboard that’d allow me to do some of my composing at home. As it’d be difficult—i.e., next-to-impossible—for me to balance that, a couple speakers, a microphone, and an audio interface on a bicycle, I’d elected to drive.

The fact that the car was on its last leg, or wheel or whatever, wasn’t news. I was still surprised it’d gotten me to Boston in the first place, and it factored heavily into why I’d been riding bikes as often as possible. I’d just hoped I could make it to winter before I needed new tires, if not an entirely new vehicle.

No matter what I did, the engine would rev but not accelerate, and my dashboard started flashing with a myriad of colorful, various-shaped warnings, and then that was it. My car had died in the middle of the street with a loud cough of smoke that continued to roil. In a mad rush to leave me behind, the vehicle to my right had accelerated around me, only to slam into the car turning left onto the street we occupied. Ever since, the guy behind me had been laying on the horn, as though I wanted to be blocking the street.

Unsure what to do, I called Nate for advice, and my heart skipped a couple of beats when I saw him heading my way. My knight in shining Armani—or whatever designer had made the suit that hugged his frame so well.

Since I’d been all of three blocks from the duplex when it happened and he’d actually been home already, it appeared he’d decided to hoof it. Something I’d do with my studio-in-a-box kit if I wasn’t too responsible to leave my car behind for others to deal with.

Cops had been called and would likely arrive soon, but I’d wanted my lawyer present. For reasons that had nothing to do with legal representation.

I winced as the man behind me renewed his obsession with beeping his horn. Nate stepped behind the dude’s car, strolled along the driver’s side, and instead of finishing the walk to me, paused to knock on the window.

With a giant scowl marring his jowled face, the man who emanated self-importance rolled the window down a crack. “What do you?—?”

“If you don’t stop honking your fucking horn, I’ll shove the steering wheel so far up your ass that you’ll have to turn it one-hundred-and-eighty-degrees just to shit.” Nate didn’t wait for his response to his growled threat, simply turning his full attention to me and striding in my direction.

The honking stopped, though.

My heart picked up its pace as quickly as I rushed toward Nate. I crashed into him, arms going around his neck in a hug. “Thank you for coming.”

“No problem,” he said, which was good because I had plenty of other problems. “Now, what happened?”

As I explained the noise and my vehicle’s reaction, Nate climbed into the driver’s side and under any other circumstances, I would’ve laughed at how odd he looked behind the wheel of the Oldsmobile.

“Sounds like a blown transmission. If that’s the case, they might just declare this beast DOA.” While I was fairly certain Nate was addressing me, he lifted his phone to his ear at the tail end of his statement. After a second or two, he rattled off the cross streets, gave a few more short replies, and then told me someone would arrive to tow my car shortly.

Then he checked on the other drivers. From there, it was a blur of insurance information and answering questions and the cops, ensuring my new purchases would be safe, and tow trucks clearing the road.

Once we were finally done, Nate and I walked toward the duplex, hand in hand.

“Thanks again. I was totally overwhelmed and not sure what to do. Let me make it up to you and buy us dinner. What sounds good?”

Nate nudged me toward his front door. “You’ve had a rough day. I’ll buy dinner.”

“But then I’ll owe you double.” I dug in my heels, preventing him from guiding me inside his portion of the duplex, and he spun around, so quickly I might’ve fallen backward if not for the arm he snaked around my waist.

“If you think I’m going to give in, you’re severely mistaken. Now, please get your fine ass inside my house, Willa.”

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