Page 22 of Baby Blue
Turner’s face was a mess of fury. “Get back to work! And pick up the pace! I don’t give a god damn why you’re not getting sleep as long as you get the work done.” With that, he stomped away and left Blue standing there, wondering what the hell his problem was.
From across the shop, Chris called out, “You’ve really got a baby?”
Blue nodded. “Yeah. I’ve really got a baby.”
“Bummer, man. I’m so sorry,” Chris told him.
“Yeah. So sorry,” Calvin said and nodded toward him.
“Thanks.” They felt sorry for him. He hadn’t expected that, but he also hadn’t expected the way he felt when they said that.They were sorry he had a child? That baby hadn’t done anything to anyone. She was an innocent in her mother’s game, and it wounded him to know that so many people thought of babies as problems rather than precious gifts. He was shocked to know that he’d started feeling that way, but there it was. She was like a gift, cute and sweet-smelling. Well, except for when she… yeah. But otherwise, she was a little angel. “But don’t feel sorry for me. She’s beautiful,” Blue called back to them, and they both waved him off and went back to work.
He stared down at the picture again, one Polly had taken of him holding Indigo and feeding her. One of her tiny hands had come up to grip one of his fingers as he held the bottle to her mouth, and on his own face there was an almost-smile. That one simple expression set up a ball of heat in his chest and he felt a sudden panic. Was she okay? Was she giving Anne a hard time? Would he be able to do it, to raise her, to give her what she needed? It was terrifying and exciting at the same time.
There was one thing that was sure. He was going to give it his best shot. The thought of that sweet little baby having to live the way he had made him sick. That wasnotgoing to happen to her.
At three o’clock on the dot, a shadow fell across the floor near Blue’s creeper and he slid out to find Mr.Wentworth standing there, smiling down at him. “Mr.Wentworth! Good to see you, sir! Have you got something you need done?”
“I sure do, Blue! Good to see you too. I think my steering wheel is pulling to one side and I want you to look at it for me.”
“Yes, sir. I will. Let me finish this job. Shouldn’t be but about twenty minutes. Then I’ll?”
“No rush, son. I can bring it back in the morning if you’d like,” Mr.Wentworth told him.
“You may have to if it’s something I can’t fix quickly. But I doubt it’s anything dangerous, just annoying,” Blue told him. “We’ll find out in a few minutes, okay?”
“Quite all right. I’ll just wait in the lounge. Come get me when you’re ready and we can take it for a spin, see what’s wrong.”
“Sure thing. Be right with you,” Blue told him and slid back under the car he was working on. He got the new exhaust system bolted in place in no time and slid out, then headed to the lounge.
Turner stepped out of his office and blocked Blue. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Mr.Wentworth’s here. He says his steering wheel is pulling to one side. He wants me to go for a drive with him, see if I can figure out what’s going on,” Blue said in explanation.
“Get back to work. I’ll put one of the other guys on it,” Turner said.
“No. He specifically came to me and asked me,” Blue insisted.
“I’ll take care of this,” Turner said and marched toward the lounge. A sick feeling spread in Blue’s gut. What was that idiot about to do? Run off one of their best customers?
Blue headed back to his work area but he could hear voices coming from the lounge, and they weren’t friendly either. In a few seconds, Turner came tearing out the door and walked straight up to Blue. Leaning in just a couple of inches from Blue’s face, he half-whispered, half-growled, “This is the last time, Wallace. Last fucking time. And I’ve told the old bastard that, so go do what he wants this time and it won’t happen again.”
“What is your fucking problem, Turdbucket?” Blue asked, glaring at Turner.
“Just go. Do it. I don’t want to hear another word,” Turner said.
Blue headed to the lounge to find Mr.Wentworth sitting there, looking somewhat smug. “Mr.Wentworth?”
“Come on. Let’s take it for a drive and see if you can figure it out,” Mr.Wentworth said, pointing toward the car.
“But sir, I’m filthy. I don’t want to?”
“Nonsense! I’ve got a sheet in the car to cover the seat. It’ll be fine. Come on,” he said again, motioning for Blue to follow him.
Settled behind the steering wheel of the Cadillac, Blue hit the ignition and it roared to life, then settled down to a meek idling purr. “Sounds okay,” Blue told Mr.Wentworth. “Let’s see if I can feel that pull you’re talking about.”
Blue turned onto the street and let the car do its thing. It rode and handled like a dream. After about two miles, he said, “Sir, I don’t doubt you, but I’m not feeling it at all. Doesn’t seem to be anything wrong to me.”
“Pull into that parking lot. I want to talk to you,” Mr.Wentworth told him. When he’d parked the car, he waited. Finally, Mr.Wentworth asked, “Do you know what I did for a living?”
