Page 24 of About Time

Martin is growing bored now that the conversation has diverted away from his work. He tries to pull me into a conversation about our softball team, and he mistakes my preoccupation with Hattie for boredom.

He jerks his head toward the door that leads to the garage. “Want to come and make sure I don’t fuck up my truck?”

As a mechanic, I have a moral obligation to protect an innocent vehicle from an amateur poking around under the hood. I say as much to everyone else still at the table, but only Elisa is paying attention to what Martin and I are up to.

She waves us off. “Go on. I think we’re done with dinner. I’m going to see what Wren has gotten up to. She’s far too quiet. It’s making me nervous.”

I look back at Hattie, but she is still focused on Artie.

I don’t think Martin needs to worry about his skills destroying his truck. I’m angry enough to pulverize metal.

No. This isn’t anger. I realize for the first time in my life, I’m jealous.

Martin and I tinker with his truck for over an hour. I think we change one spark plug in that entire time, not a job that would take me even close to an hour, but work in the garage is code for go drink beer. Since I still have to drive home, and I never drink more than one beer if I’m driving, I mostly stand around hyper-fixating on what Hattie is doing.

Good times.

My inattention ends up with me cutting my hand. Cuts and scrapes aren’t new to me. I’ve had plenty of them working in a garage, and a few burns from exhaust pipes and radiators. Being in a hurry, or working when there’s something else on my mind creates the perfect setup for injury. I think watching the woman I’m obsessed with be pushed toward another man is a pretty big distraction.

When I can reasonably excuse myself from our manly bonding time, I go back inside. I’d like to speak to Hattie, maybe see if she’s coming over, but I’m shit out of luck. She’s nowhere to be found.

Worse, Artie is gone too.

Elisa comes down the stairs just as I’m heading out. “Going already?”

I jerk my thumb over my shoulder toward the dining room. “Looks like the party ended. Don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

Elisa gives me a soft smile. “You’re always welcome here, Charlie. I hope you know that.”

Guilt hits me swift and strong like a punch to the gut. I try to smile, but it probably looks more like a grimace. If she knew what has been going on between her sister and me then there’sno way she’d welcome me back here. It should be enough to make me stop, but it doesn’t.

I start to drive toward Oakridge, where Hattie lives, with the full intent to sit outside of her apartment and wait for her to come home from whatever the fuck she’s up to right now. I get to the edge of town before I calm down enough to remember that I don’t know where in Oakridge she lives. It’s a small town, but not small enough that I’m going to drive around aimlessly searching for her car. Even then, unless it’s a marked spot, I don’t know what her apartment number is.

Going straight home isn’t an option. If I did that I would just pace and drive myself insane until I got a chance to talk to her. No, what I need is to stay busy. Going to see Griffin crosses my mind, but my best friend sees too much sometimes. I know sooner or later he’s going to pick up on the fact that I’ve been avoiding him outside of work.

That narrows my choices down to going to the bar, or aimlessly driving around town. After growing up with an alcoholic, I never drink when I’m upset or angry. So really my only choice is to drive around aimlessly. Ironic, because that’s the reason that I ruled out trying to find Hattie’s apartment.

On my second pass through town, I notice a car parked in front of my house. That makes me slow down enough to recognize it as Hattie’s car. She’s sitting in the driver’s seat, so I pull into my driveway and walk over to the driver’s side door. Hattie is preoccupied with a book and doesn’t see me come up to the window. When I tap on it she jumps as high as she can while seated in her car.

She gets out and for a minute we just stand there, awkwardly staring at each other. She watches herself twist her fingers together before looking back up at me. “You’ve been gone a while,” she says softly.

“You were gone when I came back in from the garage. I thought you left with Artie, so I drove around to clear my head,” I reply.

“Why would you need to clear your head if we were nothing more than sex?”

I smile because she handed me the perfect segue to talk about the changes I want to make to our arrangement. For starters, I’d like to switch from being an arrangement to a relationship.

I jangle my keys in front of me. “Come inside and we’ll talk.” I don’t wait to see if she’ll follow me, I know that she will.

“Okay, I’m inside, let’s talk,” she says while she closes the door.

“I realized something tonight at dinner,” I begin.

Her posture goes rigid, and her fingers clutch her jeans like she’s trying to hold her arms in place. I move closer to her and gently brush the side of her face. “For the first time in my life, I was jealous. I wouldn’t have felt that way if we were just sex.”

She looks up at me, her green eyes open wide and hopeful. “What are you trying to tell me?”

“I didn’t like watching you talk to another guy,” I admit.

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