Page 1 of Echoes of Nevermore
Chapter 1
Star
As I pull into the parking lot and roll down the window, I pray this service station doesn’t have sky-high prices. I don’t have much money to spare for an oil change or much of anything else, to be honest.
My daddy taught me how to do basic maintenance on vehicles, so paying someone to do this irks me. Scott, my fiancé, insisted someone “who knows what they’re doing” needed to be the one under the hood. He meant a mechanic, not me. Even though he knows I’m fully capable of doing this myself.
The mechanic smiles and nods. “What can I help ya with?”
In return, I politely grinned and then wet my lips with my tongue. “I need to get my oil changed. How much will that run me?”
He wipes his grease-covered fingertips over a shop rag that he pulls from his back pocket, making a clicking sound with his mouth as he sucks on his teeth. “Fifty dollars.”
I stop myself from cussing, coughing instead. “I have the oil and filter.”
“It’d be twenty-five then,” he says, nodding, and shoves the greasy rag back into the pocket of his jeans.
“Do you have time now, or do I need to make an appointment?”
“I can fit you in now, if you want.”
“Sounds good,” I agree. With the price drop, I’m a little less irritated that I’m not doing this myself, but still salty. I used to think Scott valued my opinion more than I’m figuring out he does. It’s not just my opinions that he doesn’t care about; if I really think about it, he doesn’t act like I mean much to him either. He claims he loves me and calls himself my partner, but his actions prove otherwise.
I know it’s only an oil change to him, something truly insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but it makes me feel as if he thinks I’m too incompetent to do simple things like this. Things I’ve been doing longer than we’ve been together. People who love each other shouldn’t feel like the person they’re with brings them down; they should feel so high that they question if they are living a dream—definitely not the feeling I have with Scott. Honestly, I don’t know if it was ever in the cards for the two of us to work. I think I just got used to him always being there in the background.
The mechanic waves toward the ramps, “Just drive up on here and I’ll get ya taken care of.” He makes a counterclockwise circle with his fingertip, “Straighten the wheel and come toward me.”
“Bring her forward a little more.” He curls his fingers and directs me to edge my car toward him. “Okay. Perfect,” he says with an approving nod.
I do as he asks, breathing in and out slowly. Nothing about my current feelings has to do with him; the guy is doing what he’s paid to do. So, I have to keep myself in check. I came here by choice…kind of. Scott had made such a big deal about me changing my own oil over the past week that any time it came into conversation, we would be at each other's throats. I’m not one to back down from a fight, but I refuse to waste my good energy when doing so is pointless. The whole point of being here is to salvage the day, and honestly, my mental health. So far, I’m doing a shit job of both.
After getting the car in the spot he wants, I turn the engine off, leaving the keys in the ignition.
“Set the oil and filter over there on the ground and watch yourself when you get out. There’s a step down.” He nods to the passenger side.
I want to scream, but that wouldn’t solve anything. Might freak this guy out and have him questioning my sanity. But would that really be so bad? I don’t plan to see him on a regular basis or anything. I don’t know him any more than he knows me. We’re strangers. He wouldn’t be the first person to call me crazy this week. Our neighbor, Lolo, calls me a crazy witch under his breath every time he sees me gathering herbs from the garden. I don’t think he realizes I can hear his passive-aggressive remarks. Maybe he knows exactly what he’s doing and doesn’t give a shit if I hear him or not. I used to hum or make some type of noise to drown him out, but since he started saying it more frequently, I stopped caring. So, a nasty remark out of a random mechanic wouldn’t faze me. At least I don’t think it would.
“Thanks,” I answer instead of wailing at the top of my lungs. I should have told Scott to kiss my ass and stayed home. He should be the one here, not me. I should be curled up in my rocking chair on the porch, reading my book with a piping hot cup of lemon ginger tea nestled between my hands. But because I didn’t want another fight with Scott, here I am on the verge of freaking out an innocent man if I can’t keep my frustration under control.
At least it’s a nice day to sit outside. The sun is hot and high in the sky, but today isn’t a scorcher. There’s a nice, occasional breeze floating through the air that has a hint of motor oil and diesel added to its earthy aroma. Oddly enough, it’s something I love. It reminds me of the late nights Daddy and I spent tucked underneath the hood of one of our old beater trucks, having only the bulb above us for light.
When those nights were happening, I had no idea how much I would miss them as I got older. Life was simpler when I was a little girl. We didn’t have much money, not that I have much more now, but we had each other. Momma used to get so confused when I chose grease and bolts over makeup and lace, but eventually she gave up, and would watch us from a lawn chair as she sipped on her black coffee.
The mechanic gets my car up on the hydraulic lift system, and I look for somewhere to wait. I find a perfect spot against the side of the little building. A vacant nook tucked beside the pop machine. Just as I drop down and stretch my legs across the asphalt, he cocks his head to the side, watching me. “You can have a seat inside. We have a waiting area with air conditioning.”
“I’m good,” I assure him, settling in, and pop my shades over my eyes.
Taking my phone out of my pocket, I flick my thumb over the screen to close the countless unread emails and texts I’ve avoided for way too long. I sigh, clicking the cover of the ebook I was reading last night, remembering the reason I stopped where I had. It’s a good book, but a heavy read. The heroine is strong-willed and has a smart mouth. She doesn’t take shit from anyone or anything—the kind of person who swings first and might ask questions later if she deems it necessary. She’s who I used to be before my relationship with Scott drained all of the hopes and dreams from me. She’s the person I wish I still were.
Being with someone can be fickle like that, I guess. People overglorify the good parts of love in movies and books, and don’t even get me started on Valentine’s Day. But what’s out there for those of us who don’t get a Disney fairytale romance out of life? I didn’t get a Prince Charming who will stop at nothing to slide my foot into a glass slipper. Hell, I don’t even think I got a frog. Scott is more of a callous witch doctor who only cares about himself. He’s insensitive, and as much as I hate to admit it, sometimes he’s downright cruel. He’s changed for the worse over the six months we’ve been engaged. As if sliding a ring on my finger made him comfortable enough to shed his skin and reveal his true self.
“Are you sure? You’re sitting…”
“Outside?” I huff at him. My shoulders tense up, and I chew on my upper lip, glancing from the words written on my screen. I set my phone on my thighs and eye him from behind my dark sunglasses. Has he really never seen a person sit on the ground here before?
This is West Virginia. The mountain state where we can find the use of anything in impossible situations, because there are times when we don’t have any other choice. West Virginians can create anything out of next to nothing. Seats out of tree stumps and milk crates along a riverbank or in a backyard are a normal staple around here. We have hollers, and it’s a common practice to drop the “G” off the end of words. Yes, we sit on the ground sometimes, too.
None of this is something a local would think of questioning. I don’t know if what we consider normal is weird to everyone else across the world, but sitting outside on a gorgeous day shouldn’t be weird, should it? I don’t think it is. So, there shouldn’t be a problem with me sitting here.
