Page 33 of Truck Me

“The Honda Super Hawk?” Her face lights up and her smile returns. The pain in my chest instantly lifts and relief settles over me.

“That’s the one.”

“Yes!” She claps her hands and bounces on her feet. This is the version of Rayne that lights up my life.

“Come on. I was getting ready to take her apart when you showed up. You can help me.”

I lead her over to a bench where I’d already set out several boxes to hold the parts as I tore apart the bike. Each box is labeled according to the part’s function and where it fits into place.

“As I take the bike apart, I’ll hand you the pieces and you can put them in the right box. Sound good?”

She nods, looking far more excited than I’d expect from a ten-year-old girl. But Rayne isn’t like typical girls her age. She’s more like me. A tomboy through and through and prefers tinkering in the garage or playing outside in the dirt over anything else.

“This is a dirty job,” I say. “Do you want a pair of gloves to keep the grease off your hands?”

“Are you wearing gloves?”

“Nah, I don’t mind the grease. In fact, I like the smell of it.”

She takes a deep breath and smiles. “Is that what it smells like in here? Grease?”

I sniff the air and nod. “That’s what that is.”

Her smile grows. “Then no. I like it too. Plus, I want to be just like you.”

And just like that, my chest tightens again. She has no idea how that comment affects me. She’ll probably never know.

For the next several minutes, we mostly work in silence. She’s quieter than she usually is. I assume because she’s upset about Jim. Then again, she doesn’t always feel the need to fill the silence with talk. That’s another thing we have in common.

“Why aren’t you working on Aunt Char’s car? Shouldn’t you get that done first?” Rayne asks, causing me to drop the tool I had in my hand at the mention of Charlotte.

“It’s Saturday, and Saturdays are for me. I’ll work on her car next week. Plus, I’m waiting on the parts I need.”

She nods and the look in her eyes suggests she has more to say. “I’m really glad Aunt Char moved home. I like having her here. I hope she stays.”

“Yeah, I bet it’s nice having her around.”

She nods, but still doesn’t look happy. “She looks a lot like my mom. Her being here makes me feel like Mom is closer. I sometimes pretend she’s my mom in my head just to know what it would be like. Is that wrong?”

“Well, I suppose there’s no harm in using your imagination as long as you know it’s not really true. You should love your aunt for who she is, not for who you wish she could be.”

She’s quiet for a moment before she speaks again. “I know. And I do love Aunt Char like that. I just wish I knew what it was like to have a mom. You knew my mom, right?”

“I did.” I answer, hesitantly. “You know that.”

It’s been a long time since Rayne asked me about my connection to Carol. A few years back, she grew more curious about her mom and where she came from. She even went as far as asking me about all the men that lived in the area that Carol knew. It was as if she was trying to figure out who could be her father.

“Do you think Aunt Char and my mom look alike? Grandma says they could have been twins, they were so similar.”

“I supposed they did. I wouldn’t call them twins, but they had the same dark hair and blue eyes. Their smiles were different, as were their personalities.”

“Aunt Char said the same thing. She said my mom preferred quiet nights with a book and had no interest in hair and makeup. Not like Aunt Char at least.”

“I’d say that’s true. Your aunt has always enjoyed being in the limelight. Dressing up, the pageants, her hair and makeup. Suppose that’s why she became a stylist and lived a life in the city. Your mom, however, was happy working at the library, where she rarely had to talk to people. But they’re both beautiful.”

“Does that mean I’m beautiful too?”

“What?” My eyes shoot to hers. “Of course you are. Why would you even ask that?”