Page 22 of Waiting for Gilbert

Cordelia stares at me. Desperate. Begging. Pleading. If she were a puppy I’d give her whatever she’s asked for. Treats? Yes. Frisbee? Absolutely. The look she’s aiming at me has probably slayed more than one man. It says, “I want to burrow into a hole and come back when it’s sunny. Please, don’t make me do this.” She’s been killing me since I met her at the party. I want to wrap her up in a fuzzy blanket burrito and promise to protect her and keep her safe.

From everything I’d previously heard from Diana and Nathan, she’s not what I’d pictured. They’d painted her as this crazy, fun, outgoing, sometimes-thoughtless adventure girl. But I’m seeing… fragile. A little sad. Tired? And, no, not two in the morning tired, but deeper.

That settles it. We’re definitely doing this. I’ve taught a handful of people to drive using this truck, and they’re always thrilled with themselves afterward. I decide she needs this boost. “This will be fun.”

She’s shaking her head as if that will convince her of some hidden answer to this riddle. “This is a stick shift… a manual?”

Holy moly, this girl is cute. “What shoes are you wearing?” I take in her clunky white snow boots. “Not the best choice for your first lesson.”

“There are special shoes for driving a manual?” Her voice rises, and her head still shakes from side to side. Yeah, I could drive myself. The three minutes to Nickie’s clinic wouldn’t kill me… but this is going to be way more entertaining. Everyone should learn to drive stick at some point.

I scoot closer on the bench seat. “Softer shoes would help you feel the bite, but we’ll work with what we’ve got.”

Our breath fogs the air with each exhale. I’m grateful she grabbed my gloves, and I pull them on, sucking air when I flex my right hand, before I lose all feeling in my fingers. She’s still shaking her head and now grips the steering wheel with both hands.

“Don’t panic. I’m a good teacher.”

“This is dumb. You’d better drive?—”

“Push the clutch—the one on your left—all the way to the ground.”

There goes the head shaking again.

I chuckle. “Yes, go ahead. Nothing will happen.”

Her toe can barely tap the pedal. I help her find the bar under her seat, and she moves it all the way forward. Again she tries the clutch and is able to push it to the floor. “Gilbert, this isdumb. This is not the time for a stupid driving lesson.”

“Diana told me you were the fun one. She shared a picture of you last year when you jumped out of a plane.” I raise my voice to a falsetto. “‘Look how much fun Cordy is!’ Even Nate’s impressed by your independence, but you’re telling me you’re too scared to learn how to drive stick?”

“Donottry to manipulate me!” She’s fierce when she turns that stare on me. Puppy turned hawk real fast. It lasts only half a second before a wave of vulnerability washes over her. “Nathansaid he’s impressed?”

“Well, yeah. He wasn’t weird or anything, it’s not like he talks about you all the time, but sure, I’ve heard things. Your sister was worried about you that time you were backpacking in France and Nate told her that—let’s see, his exact words to Diana were, ‘Cordy can take care of herself. It wouldn’t surprise me if she comes home married to a French chef wrapped around her baby finger.’”

She scoffs. “I was still with Shaun during that trip. That’s just like Nathan to think I’d cheat on my boyfriend.”

“Woah.” There’s some definite fire directed at her brother-in-law. “Point is, you jumped out of a plane. You’re going to learn how to drive this truck. Let’s go. Clutch down. Break down. Turn the key.”

A breath of determination whooshes from her lips. “Cordelia jumps out of planes. I can drive this truck.”

“Attagirl.”

“Put on your seatbelt.” She smiles, and I comply. The engine hums to life. “Now what?”

The headlights spear into white nothingness at the edge of my property. “This is the fun part.” I add pressure to my arm. “You’ll take your foot off the brake. It shouldn’t go anywhere?—”

“Shouldn’t?! Not like last time when we almost died?”

“It shouldn’trollforward because we’re not on a hill. Remove your foot from the brake and rest it on the gas. As you feed the gas, slowly release the clutch. Balance the scales.”

The engine hums higher as she puts pressure on the gas, and welurchahead. She squeals and must have lost the clutch because she kills it again.

Pain shoots along my arm. “It’s okay.” I smile and speak calmly. The main reason I’m a good teacher is because I make a point not to yell at anybody while they’re driving. Maybe we could do this tomorrow, but I want this win for her. The roads will be completely empty. The middle of the night really is the best time. The dejection on her face has me offering encouragement. “Do it again. Keep the gas on and go for it. You’re not going to hit anything. This time try to feel what the truck’s saying. If it’s going, then go.”

“Um, your truck is saying, ‘It’s two in the morning,dumb-dumb. Your landlord is a bleedingmoronand you should take your own car.’” Her fists pound a tantrum against the steering wheel. “Crap! We can’t even take my car!”

She looks at me with those large eyes laced with panic. “The gas light came on before I got into town and then I drove all the way out here. No, we’re good. I probably have another five miles in her, except—” A shuddering breath breaks the last of her spirit. “I left the trunk open again, didn’t I? No! Don’t even look. Quit it! Eyes forward. I know what I did. Why do I always do that?”

Her gesturing hands move as fast as her words. “I always leave it open because I’m coming right back out. But do I ever remember to go back out? No, I don’t. There’s always something, isn’t there? This time it was your filthy cabinets.” She shoves a mittened finger at my nose. “I left the trunk open, and that means the battery is dead.” Her head falls back, and she fake cries. “Boo-hoo-hoo.” Wow. Is she always this dramatic or only in the middle of the night? “And now I have to drive your stupid truck before you bleed to death because you punched your arm through a window.”

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