Page 3 of The Grump Who Stole Christmas
“Maybe?” I said.
I walked over to where the tire iron was still connected to the nut and pulled on it. I might have been trying to move the Earth, that’s how little it gave.
“Watch out,” he said, and went back to work.
This time he tried to stomp on it, but again the snow underneath his foot was too slippery. He would have fallen on his ass if he hadn’t caught himself on the car.
“Sonofabitch! Damn machines screwed them on too tight! I swear I’m going to tear my gut up if I keep trying.”
“I know what you need to do,” I announced.
“You do?” he asked, sounding highly skeptical.
“I’m in the insurance industry. Risk assessment is what I do. You can’t get any leverage with just your arms, or with one foot, so you need to jump on it with both feet.”
“What, now?”
I pointed to the tire iron still connected to the lug nut. “Jump on it. You know just jump on the tire iron. Both feet, same time, all your weight. It’s physics.”
“Physics?”
“Sc-ie-n-ce,” I said slowly, in case he didn’t know what physics was.
“Oh, physics! You mean like Phys. Ed? Gym class? Funny, I don’t remember jumping on a tire iron as part of my curriculum.”
He was stroking his beard in a thoughtful way that made me feel like I was being put on.
“Fine. I’ll do it myself.”
He stepped in front of me before I could even make the attempt.
“Lady, you’re, like, what, a hundred twenty pounds? And that’s with the snowfall in your hair. You got no shot.”
I gasped in outrage. “You don’t just announce a woman’s weight like that! Besides, men don’t even know women’s weights. We’re either a hundred and five, a hundred ten, or a hundred and fifteen. The scale stops there.”
“Fine. Whatever one of those weights you are…you jump on that tire iron in those shoes, in this snow, and the only thing you’ll likely do is crack your skull on the road. Then I’ll have to carry you, and I will, sure as hell, accurately guess how much you weigh then.”
“You’re not going to even try?”
“No.”
“Then you’re going to do what? Leave me out here?”
He winced. “That’s not an option, right?”
“No! It’s not an option!”
“Fine,” he grumbled. “I’ll drive you into town and drop you off. Send Sully at the auto shop back here to tow the car.”
“You expect me to just get in the car with you? A stranger? Has this been your plan all along?”
“Oh come on, lady!” he shouted, staring up at the falling snow. “If I were going to kill you, trust me, I would have done it right after the whole patronizing sc-ie-n-ce comment. Now get in the car, so I can unload you as soon as I possibly can.”
I sniffed, feeling slightly insulted. “Can I get my suitcase?”
“Sure,” he said flatly.
I opened the back door and pulled out my suitcase, which he picked up for me and easily walked back to his car.
