Page 12 of Changes on Ice
~See you. Thanks!
The driver’s door creaked as he got in. That had nothing to do with the vandalism, and everything to do with the fact that he’d bought the truck with chore money when he was sixteen and it’d been ready for the scrap heap even then. It’d saved his life twice, carrying him from his parents’ house to Scott’s ranch when his world fell apart, and across the country to this desperate new chance. It didn’t deserve the indignity of a pink dick.
Fuck Tyler sideways with a cactus.
The pickup was held together with baling wire and string, and if it died, he was screwed. He rested his elbows on the steering wheel and breathed through his nose, his teeth clenched. Every time he thought he was on track, he was reminded that his track was actually a tightrope wire ten feet off the ground.
His phone pinged again and he got it out.
Cross.~Looking forward to it.
That was odd and a bit awkward, but cool. The words warmed the chill inside Rusty enough for him to relax his jaw and almost smile, as he stuck his phone in his pocket and drove home.
***
“Looking forward to it.”Cross set down his phone and hid his face in his hands. What a ridiculous thing to say to a guy whose truck was vandalized. Too late to take it back, though.
He spent the next several hours checking repair videos, which told him to use a proper spray gun, sand out and fill dents and cut out the bad rust and patch and, and, and… except Rusty would no doubt try to pay him back for anything he bought. Besides, unless the guy could be convinced to borrow a car, he’d need to drive the truck back down that same night. Two quick coats would have to do. Paint over the rust and let it go.
The next morning found Cross squinting at racks of automotive and metal paint in the store. Research said five to ten rattle cans of paint and primer per coat, but there were half a dozen brands and several varieties of primer.
He pulled out his phone and texted Scott.~Hey, you’re a farm boy right? Ever paint a truck or car?
After a few minutes, he got back,~I’m not a farm boy, that’s Will. And no. Why? You planning to doll up your Porsche?
~Helping Rusty out.
~If it’s his old truck, that thing is half rust. Isn’t painting it like putting lipstick on a pig?
~I thought you weren’t a farm boy. What’s with the pig metaphor?
~Must be Will rubbing off on me.
~I don’t need to hear about your sex life.
~Your loss. Why are you painting Rusty’s truck?
Cross hesitated, but Rusty hadn’t said not to tell. He wouldn’t mention Tyler. He forwarded the picture from last night, the pale shade hard to make out.~He says it’s pink.
~Motherfuckers. Can we buy him a new truck? Piss them off?
~I offered to help. Rusty said no.Well, he hadn’t gone as far as offering a new truck, but Rusty had turned down a loaner and a repair shop. He’d even been prickly about paint. Figured he would say no.
~So what’s the plan?
~He’s bringing it up to my garage since he can’t paint in the rain. I’ll clear out space, we’ll put a couple of coats on it and ignore the rust.
~OK what time? I’ll come help so your thumb doesn’t fall off.
~Thumb?
~From holding down the spray paint? Have you never?
Cross didn’t want to admit that his experience with household repairs was minimal. His dad had made his money before Cross was born and they’d always paid people to do the work.~Not enough to sprain my thumb.
~I’ll bring a couple of the guys. Make the work go faster.
~3 PM
