“He’s busy, baby, helping us out, fixing our car.”
Travis looked at me and shouted an annoyed, “Goo gah!” and then shoved the arm of Joker’s sunglasses in his mouth.
I balanced him on my hip and tried gently to take the sunglasses away so Travis didn’t get drool all over them or worse, break them.
Travis shrieked.
“We can’t thank Joker for his help by breaking his sunglasses,” I explained.
Travis yanked the sunglasses free from my tentative grip, and so they wouldn’t break, I let him. He then brandished them in the air with victorious glee for a couple of seconds before bringing them down and shoving the lens against his mouth whereupon he tongued it.
I sighed and looked to where Joker was working, even though I still couldn’t see him, and cautiously (but loudly, to be heard over the distance and traffic) shared, “Travis is drooling on your sunglasses.”
Joker straightened, lugging my tire with him and tossing it with a swing of his broad, leather-jacket-covered shoulders into the trunk (something he did one-handed, which was impressive), this making my entire car bounce frighteningly.
His eyes came to me. “Got about a dozen pairs. He fucks those up, not a problem.”
Then he crouched down again.
I bit back my admonishment that he shouldn’t use the f-word. Aaron cursed all the time. I found it coarse, eventually annoying, and finally ended concerned he’d use that language around our son.
I had no idea if he did.
But he probably did.
Instead of focusing on that, I focused on the fact that Joker seemed really nice.
Not seemed, he just was.
All the people who passed me, not helping, but he stopped.
Now he was changing a tire and, except for the time my dad made me do it so he could be assured I’d know how if the time came to pass when I’d have to, I’d never done it again. But I knew it wasn’t a lot of fun.
He’d let Travis pull his whiskers, yank off his glasses, and even let slide the good possibility some baby he didn’t know would break them.
I looked to the glasses and knew they were expensive. They said LIBERTY on the side. They were attractive yet sturdy. I didn’t think he got them off a revolving rack.
And I didn’t want him to stop, help us, and lose his expensive glasses, even though he was very nice and didn’t seem to care.
“Please, baby boy, don’t break those glasses,” I whispered.
Like my eight-month-old understood me, he stopped licking the lens and shoved the glasses to me.
I grinned, murmured, “Thank you, my googly-foogly,” took the glasses and bent into him to blow on his neck.
He squealed with glee.
Since he liked that so much, like I always did, I did it again. Then again. And since I didn’t have anywhere else to put them, I shoved Joker’s sunglasses in my hair so I could adjust Travis in order to tickle him.
He squirmed in my arms and squealed louder.
Goodness, that sound was beautiful.
No better sound in the world.
Not one.
I kept playing with my boy, and in doing so, I was suddenly unconcerned I was standing on I-25 with a biker from a biker gang changing my tire, and that soon I’d be handing my baby off to my ex and Tory, so I wouldn’t have him for a whole week.
Right then, it was just Travis and me.
It had been just him and me for a year and a half, part of that time he was in my belly, the rest he was my entire world.
I’d wanted a family. After Althea died, I’d started wanting that and made it with my dolls, then my Barbies, then in my dreams.
That’s all I wanted. All I’d ever wanted.
A husband. A home. And lots of babies.
I didn’t care what it said about me that I didn’t want a career. That I didn’t dream of cruises or tiaras or being important, carrying a briefcase, getting up and going to a high powered job.
I wanted to do laundry.
I wanted to make cookies.
I wanted to have dinner ready for my husband and children when they got home.
I wanted to be a soccer mom (though, I didn’t want a minivan, I wanted something like Aaron’s Lexus SUV).
That’s all I wanted.
I wanted to be a good wife and a great mother.
And again, I did not care even a little bit what people thought that said about me.
My mom worked. She’d worked even before Althea died. She’d worked after too.
I didn’t mind that then. It made her happy.
But now, I wanted those moments back, the ones when she was at work. Those times she was away when I got home after school.
I wanted them back.
I wanted my dad to have them back.
And that was what I was going to give my husband. I was going to give my children the same.
That’s all I wanted, to give my family that.
All I’d ever dreamed.
That dream had to change. Aaron killed it so I had to revise it.
So now it was just Travis and me, every other week.
That was my new dream and if I tried real hard, I could convince myself I was living it.
Even though I wasn’t.
Not even close.
But I’d make do.
“Done.”
My head jerked up and I saw Joker standing in the turf a few feet away.
“Looked at your tire, hoped it was a nail,” he informed me. “It wasn’t. It blew. Your tread is low on all of them. They all need to be replaced.”
My bubble of joy with me and my baby burst as life pressed into it, the pressure, as always, way too much for that bubble of goodness to bear.
I couldn’t afford four new tires.
“Can’t drive on that spare,” Joker kept speaking, but he was doing it eyeing me closely. “Not for long. You need to see to that, soon’s you can.”
I stopped thinking about tires, my inability to afford them, and the absence of time I had to deal with it, and stared into his eyes.
They were gray. A strange, blunt steel gray.
It was far from unattractive.
It was also very familiar.
“Yeah?” he asked on a prompt and my body jolted because my mind was focused on trying to figure out how his eyes could seem so familiar.
Travis lunged.
And yet again, surprisingly Joker instantly lifted his now bare hands to my son and took him from me, curling him close, natural, taking that beautiful load on like he’d done it since the moment Travis was born.
Something warm washed through me.
“Yeah?” Joker repeated.
“Uh, yes. New tires. Don’t drive on the spare,” I replied.
“You go to Ride, I’ll give them your name. They’ll give you a discount.”
And that was when something dirty washed through me.
The dirty was the fact that my car was twenty years old, faded, rusted, worn out, and probably only still working because God loved me (I hoped), and all that was not lost on him.
This was embarrassing.
And as that washed through me, more did. Suddenly, gushes of nasty poured all over me.
The fact that I hadn’t shifted off the last fifteen pounds of baby weight.
The fact that I hadn’t been able to afford highlights for the last seven months so my hair did not look all that great, the golden blonde streaks starting four inches down from my roots in a way that was not an attractive ombré.
The fact that I was dressed to go to work in a polo shirt, khakis, and sneakers, and not in a cute dress and cuter shoes.
The fact that he had expensive glasses, an expensive bike, a leather jacket, and he might be ill-groomed, but he was tall, broad, had interesting eyes, was nice, generous with his time, great with kids, and a Good Samaritan.
“You got time to do it and can hang,” he went on. “I’ll ask them to go over the car. Make sure it’s good.”
r /> Oh no.
He was taking pity on me.
More dirty washed over me.
“No… no,” I shook my head, reaching out to take Travis from him. It was a feat, Travis didn’t want to let go, but I bested him and tucked my son firm on my hip. “I… you’ve already been very nice. I should…” I flipped out my free hand, “I have money…”
I trailed off and twisted to get to my purse, thinking the twenty dollar bill in it was not enough, but it was all I had. I was also thinking that I was unfortunately going to have to use my credit card to get gas.
“No need. Just get to Ride. Sort out that spare, yeah?”
I turned back to him. “You sure?”
“Don’t want your money.”
That was firm in a way that sounded like he was offended, something I really didn’t want, so, hesitantly, I nodded. “You’ve been really kind.”
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Be safe.”
And then he turned toward his bike.
He just turned toward his bike!
I couldn’t let him just turn toward his bike and walk away.
I had no idea why but there was no denying in that second that I knew into my bones I couldn’t allow the biker named Joker to walk away.
“Joker!” I called.
He turned back.
When I got his eyes, I didn’t know what to do so I didn’t do anything.
“Right,” he said, walked to me and got closer than he had before.
Even as Travis tried to make a lunge at him, he lifted up his hand and I held my breath.
I felt his sunglasses slide out of my hair.
“Thanks,” he murmured and turned back.
“Really, thank you,” I blurted, this a hopefully not blatant effort to detain him (although it was an effort to detain him) and he again turned to me. “I don’t know what to say. I feel like I should do something. You helped me out a lot.”
“Get you and your kid off the side of the highway and get safe, that’s all you gotta do.”
“Oh. Yes. Of course. I should do that,” I babbled.
“Later,” he said and moved to his bike.
“Later,” I called as he did, not wanting him to go.
I didn’t understand this.
Okay, he helped me out and he was very nice about it.
And okay, I was alone. Like really alone. No family close by. No friends. No husband. New baby. New life I didn’t like all that much (except said presence of my new baby).
And Joker stopped and helped me out, making a problem I would have had to sort into one of those now nonexistent times when I got to let someone else sort it and I could play with my son, even if that time was on the side of a traffic-clogged interstate.
That meant a lot.
But I didn’t want him to go in a way that wasn’t just not wanting to see the last of a person who did me a kindness.
It was different.
And it was frightening.
But what was more frightening was that he was on his bike and making it roar.
It was almost over.
He’d be gone.
And I’d be alone.
It wasn’t that (or just that).
It was that he’d be gone.
I opened my mouth to yell something over the noise of his motorcycle and Travis hit me in the jaw.
I looked down at my son.
I needed to get him to safety.
And then get him to his dad.
I closed my eyes, opened them, and saw Joker jerk his chin in an impatient way to my car.
So I hurried there, opened the passenger-side door, got my son safely in his car seat, rounded the car, and got in.
Joker didn’t merge into traffic until I did. He also didn’t leave the interstate until I did. He followed me off the ramp to Speer Boulevard.
Then he turned off.
And was gone.
CHAPTER THREE
Down on Her Knees
Carissa
I LOOKED INTO the mirror and blocked out all thoughts but what I could see.
The dress wasn’t bad. It was one size up from what I’d worn before Travis, but it was cute. It was a blushy-pink fake silk underneath with a chiffon overlay in blush with black butterflies on it. It had no sleeves but it did have wispy frills at the arm holes. It had a full, shortish, flirty skirt, pleats up the front of the bodice, a scoop neck with a little bow at the base, and another bow at the belt at the waist.
It hid my little leftover baby pouch. It also hid my larger-since-Travis behind.
I wore it with my amazing black sandals with a thin T-strap, big double-winged butterfly at the toe, and platform wedge with cork at the sides.
All this was cheap, not to mention, I’d bought it on sale, the only way I could afford clothes for me, clothes I needed since none of my old ones fit.
Still, it was cute. Or at least I thought so.
I’d done up my hair so it was fuller and the ringlets more pronounced. I’d also given myself a new pedicure, elegant, understated ballet pink on my toes. I had on good makeup, slight drama around the eyes, but mostly pink and dewy. And I’d used my expensive perfume, something I rarely used, since it was almost gone and I couldn’t afford to buy more.
I was ready.
Before I could think on what I was ready for, I rushed out of my bedroom and into another one of the three rooms that made up my apartment: the kitchen/dining bar/living room.
I grabbed the chocolate pecan pie with its homemade crust that I’d covered in cling film from the bar.
And again, before I could think, I dashed to my car and headed out.
It was two days after Joker had fixed my tire. I still had the spare on. I hadn’t had time to deal with it, what with work, laundry, cleaning house, not to mention pedicure and pie-making.
Now, I was going to deal with it.
And give my thank-you to Joker.
This made me nervous, so I didn’t think on it as I made my way to Broadway, down Broadway, and straight to Ride.
I was still not thinking on it as I pulled in and drove past the parking spots where you’d park if you were going into the store.
I headed straight to the enormous structure at the back that had three big bays.
The garage.
I drove right to one that looked mostly empty and stopped outside it. I threw open my door, threw out my cute sandaled foot and heaved myself out.
Before I could move to the back seat to grab the pie, two men came out from the bays. One was tall, dark-haired, lanky-(but hard)-bodied, carried a clipboard, and had eyes on me. The other was tall and stoop shouldered, was wearing greasy jeans and an oil-stained tee, and also had his eyes on me.
The greasy jeans guy was your normal, everyday guy.
The lanky guy was incredibly handsome.
“Hey!” I called on a little wave, a bright smile, and moved to them.
They both watched and, normally, this wouldn’t make me feel strange. Dad had told me I was beautiful since I could remember. Mom had done the same thing. Aaron had said it so many times since we met and started dating when we were freshmen, I believed he believed it (until recently) and I believed in me.
I knew I wasn’t ugly. More importantly, I knew back then I was loved.
Now, not so much.
Now, I was a size bigger (two in pants), had a baby pouch, a big bottom, and a husband who dumped me for a size 0 model. I also had grown-out highlights that didn’t look great.
No cute dress or cute shoes were going to cover any of that.
I’d known appreciative glances. I’d had them since I could remember too.
Now, I wondered what both of those men thought, me, twenty-five (almost twenty-six), dumped, a single mom (not that they knew that but I felt like I wore that knowledge on every inch of me), climbing out of an old, worn-out car, wearing a flirty but cheap dress and cute but cheap butterfly shoes that at that moment felt stupid and, worse, desperate.
I should have
worn jeans.
No.
I shouldn’t have come at all.
“Yo,” the lanky one called.
I got close. “Uh… yes, yo.” He grinned. It was highly attractive. I ignored it and I carried on, “I’m Carissa. Carissa Teodoro. A couple of days ago—”
The lanky guy’s head jerked and he interrupted me. “Joker’s girl?”
I shut my mouth.
Joker’s girl.
Why did that sound so nice?
“Yup, spare. Tercel. Joker gave us the heads-up. We’re covered,” the guy in the greasy jeans said and twisted toward the bays. “Yo! Someone come get this bucket! Joker’s girl is here!”
I looked from him, mouth open to say something, to the lanky guy with the clipboard (thinking, seeing as he had a clipboard, he was probably someone with authority). But I didn’t say anything because he was looking me up and down with attractive green eyes and his lips were quirked like something was amusing.
Immensely amusing.
“We’ll need your keys,” he stated when his eyes again met mine.
“I, well, yes, of course,” I dangled them out in front of me while a man in coveralls jogged from the bay, heading our way. “I kinda have a financial situation.” I shared my understatement. “So can you give me an estimate before you take care of everything?”
Both men stared at me like I was crazy before lanky guy said, “We’ll get Joker to take care a’ that.”
I nodded and told him, “I have to grab my purse and something from the back.”
Greasy jeans guy came to me, nabbed my keys, and said, “Get ’em, babe.”
I looked to him, nodded agreeably, then rushed back to my car. I leaned in deep and grabbed my purse from where it sat in Travis’s car seat. Then I went to the back and got the pie.
When I closed the door and turned to the guys, I saw they were all leaned slightly to the right, heads tipped, eyes on my behind or, in the case of the lanky guy, my legs.
I felt warmth hit my cheeks and called, “Is Joker around?”
They all came to and looked to my face.
“She brought him pie,” the lanky guy muttered.
“Fuckin’ brilliant,” the greasy jeans guy also was muttering.
“Does Joker even like pie?” the coverall guy was only slightly muttering.