Savior Ch 12

Hanna

I flopped onto the bed and stared at the ceiling, my mind buzzing with conflicting thoughts and emotions. His kiss had been so warm, so gentle, so totally unlike the hard, rough, kisses I was used to. When I stood in the door, watching him behind the wipers of the truck, I'd almost gone back to him and invited him to stay, but I'd forced myself to close the door.

I was torn, wanting to feel his touch, but at the same time, afraid.

Afraid of what?

my mind whispered.

Of being hurt again,

my other side responded.

He's not like Carl.

How can I be sure? I hardly know him.

I know enough to know that.

It's too soon.

I haven't loved Carl in years.

I can't enjoy myself right now. I have to focus on finding Garrett.

Why can't I have moment for myself? I have to rest sometime, and I'm not searching for Garrett now.

I'm thinking about fucking while Garrett is out there somewhere. What kind of mother am I?

It's been so long since anyone cared about me... or about Garrett... except for Mom and Dad.

Rand doesn't care about me. I just met him. I'm a tool for him to use against the Orcas.

Then why did he kiss me?

Because he's a man, and I'm a woman he can fuck.

That kiss wasn't like that of a man just looking for a quick fuck.

And so my thoughts had gone, my mind a whirling maelstrom of conflicting ideas... until the phone rang. I sat up, swung my feet to the floor, and stared at the instrument, knowing who it had to be. On the third ring, I lifted the handset.

"Hello?"

"Hanna! We've been trying to reach you. Why are you still there? I thought you were coming home."

"I never said that," I replied softly.

"You said you were going talk to the police today, then come home."

"I... I'm helping them," I said, intentionally not explaining who 'them' was.

"The police don't need your help. We're worried about you. You're not going to be any help to Garrett if something happens to you."

"I know. I'm not going to do anything stupid, but I've already done more in two days than the cops at home did in five. I tracked Carl to here the day I left, then I saw him again today. He's here. I just need another couple of days, then I can come home."

"Where are you? If you tell us where you are, your Dad and I can come help."

I shook my head. "I just need another few days."

There was a long pause. "Do you need some money?"

"I'm okay at the moment. I have to go, Mom. I love you. Tell Dad I love him, too."

"Wait! Before you go, a letter came today from your divorce attorney. I didn't open it."

My heart sped up. "Open it. Is it the divorce papers?"

There was a pause then the sound of ripping paper. "Yes." There was another pause. "The letter says you have been awarded sole custody, but Carl has supervised visitation rights every other weekend. Uh... it also says you've been granted a hundred dollars a week in spousal support and another hundred dollars a week in child support." She paused again. "If I'm reading this right, I think this is temporary, until your divorce is granted, and that you or Carl can appeal the decision."

I whimpered. The courts had given me everything I asked for, and more. "Thank you, Mom. I just have to find Garrett and get home, then I can start my life over again."

"Just be careful, and come home safe with Garrett."

"I will, Mom. Love you. Bye."

I slowly placed the handset in the cradle. I didn't know if I wanted to cheer with joy or cry in relief... so I did a little of both.

-oOo-

I opened my eyes, wondering what had pulled me from sleep. I lay still and quiet, listening. Outside I heard the grunting, rumbling idle of a heavy engine. With a groan I rolled over and looked at the clock. We hadn't talked about it, but surely Rand wasn't still planning on leaving so early to search for Carl since we'd already found out he was in town. I stretched and yawned before I snuggled deeper into the bed. It wasn't Rand outside. The engine wasn't that of his Harley, or the truck he drove last night. It sounded like a semi. With another groan I wormed my way even lower into the bed. I didn't want to get up. It had taken me a long time to drop off last night, the memory of Rand's kiss and the news from Mom invading my thoughts.

The truck outside snorted and growled as the backup siren began screaming its warning. It was probably a garbage truck or something, but it sounded like it was right outside my door. I grimaced again, trying to hold onto sleep. 6:08 on a fucking Sunday morning, and some asshole was outside making a bunch of noise.

The horn fell silent and I sighed, but then the truck's engine roared and hydraulics whined. A moment later there was a loud bang, then a rattle as if someone was dragging something heavy over metal.

"Dammit," I muttered as I rolled out of bed to see what was going on.

Hopefully whatever the hell they were doing wouldn't take long and I could go back to sleep. Still blinking the sleep from my eyes, I peeked between the curtains. There was a tow truck sitting behind my car with the bed tipped skyward.

Shit! Someone is towing my car!

I quickly threw on pants and shirt and yanked the door open.

"Hey! What are you doing? That's my car!" I cried as I stomped out of the room.

"I know," Rand said, rising from behind the Bug.

"Rand? What are you doing?"

"I'm towing your car, what's it look like I'm doing?" he asked with a grin.

I paused. I wasn't awake yet, and it took a moment for his words to penetrate the fog. "Why?"

"Because, Hanna, this thing is a piece of shit. When we get Garrett back, I don't want you stranded on the side of the road somewhere while trying to get home because this P.O.S. decided to cough up a lung. Go get ready. I was going to get you up in a few minutes anyway."

"But..." I began before faltering.

"Just go get ready. I'm going to be ready to roll in less than ten minutes," he said before he disappeared behind my car again.

"What are you going to do?"

He popped up again, a look of playful annoyance painting his features. "Will you please just go get dressed? I'll explain on the way."

-oOo-

"Rand, I can't pay for that!" I exclaimed as I bounced along in the cab of the rollback, my Beetle riding on the flatbed behind me.

"Nobody said anything about charging you."

"No!" I said firmly.

"Too late, we're already here," he said, the big truck growling and barking as it slowed before we turned into O'Neill Recycling, the rig lurching and rolling as we bumbled along, passing piles of destroyed cars, heading toward some kind of giant machine.

"Take me back to the motel!"

"No."

"Dammit, Rand! I can't let you do this!"

"Can you drive the truck?"

"No!"

"Then I guess you're stuck, so you can either be pissed off, or you can help. Your choice," he said as we passed the machine and he looped the truck around to point back the way we'd come. He put truck into reverse with a jerk and began backing toward a big building as the backup siren shouted in alarm.

I fumed as Rand backed the truck. When he'd told me what he was going to do, I'd forbade it, but he'd ignored me and continued to strap my car down, and the more strident I got, the funnier he seemed to think it was.

We'd been arguing about it the entire drive. Well, I had. He'd mostly ignored my demands and pleas, that shit eating grin never leaving his face. He could be as stubborn as Carl... but in a nicer way.

"You must be Hanna," an older man said, extending his hand as I stepped down from the truck. "I'm Patrick."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. O'Neill," I said taking the hand, guessing his last name was the O'Neill in O'Neill Recycling. "Can you talk to sense into your employee? I told him I couldn't pay for the work, but he won't listen."

"Call me Patrick, and no. Once Rand has his mind made up, a Georgia mule doesn't have anything on him."

"But I can't pay for the work!"

"It's already been taken care of."

"How? By who?"

"Hanna, look around you. Nearly everything you'll need is already here. I have a dozen or more cars just like that one here, cars I paid less than two hundred dollars for. We're taking most of the parts off those. It's taken care of."

"But I can't even pay for the labor."

Patrick smiled and shrugged. "Today's his day off. I'm not paying him either."

I looked around as Rand tilted the bed and went about winching the car off the truck. "But why?"

"Hanna! Come see if this pile will start so we don't have to push," Rand called as he unhooked the cable, cutting of Patrick before he could answer.

"No."

He shrugged. "Fine. Patrick, come help me push this thing."

"Alright! Dammit!" I stomped to the car. "You're such an asshole," I muttered as I yanked the door open and dropped into the seat. I stuck the key in the ignition, stomped on the gas pedal a few times, and turned the key. The bug cranked over, slower than normal since it didn't start yesterday. I released the key, continued to tromp on the gas, and tried again. It roared to life and then immediately died. I tried again, then a fourth time.

"Never mind. We haven't got all day," Rand said with a grin. "Time to earn your keep, get out and help push."

With three of us pushing, it was light work to muscle the car up the slight incline and into the shop. I fumed as the men put the car on a lift and then spent the next forty minutes poking and prodding. Every now and again, one of them would point something out to the other, causing them to either laugh or shake their heads.

"Hanna, it's hopeless, Rand said as he stepped back, his hands covered in grease. "It's a wonder the damn thing ran at all. I'm not even going to bother trying to fix it. So we're going to plan B."

I felt sick. "What's plan B?"

"We have several motors and transmissions, freshly rebuilt by Patrick or me, sitting on the shelf. There's one hitch."

The lump in my stomach grew heavier. "What's that?"

"Your car is an autostick, kind of an air-cooled Volkswagen automatic. We don't have one of those, and even if we did, I wouldn't put it back in because they suck. Can you drive a manual?"

"You mean with a, what do you call it... a clutch?"

He chuckled. "Never mind. That answers the question. I guess you'll learn."

"Rand, please don't do this."

"Why?"

"Because, it's too much. You've done too much already, so please don't do this," I begged, trying not to cry.

"Is that the only reason?" I nodded, my lips pressed tight. "Let someone do something nice for you for once," he said quietly. "There's nothing we can do today because the speed shops are closed. Patrick and I, we can finish this in a few hours."

"No... Rand. Please don't ask him to help."

"Ask him to help?" he cried, his voice full of drama. "I won't be able to keep him away."

-oOo-

I stood and watched, all but wringing my hands. Not because I didn't trust them, but because I felt so damned guilty. Sure, I'd helped the Riders, but they were helping me get Garrett back, and now Rand was doing even more. Fixing my car? Not just fixing it so it would run better, but putting a new motor in it? Why would he do that? And Patrick, why was he helping? Rand knew I couldn't pay for the work, and apparently Patrick did too, but they were doing it anyway.

As I watched, working together, Patrick and Rand had the motor out in less than two hours. Rand placed the greasy mess to the side with the forklift, then disappeared before he came back with two large metal objects that he and Patrick bolted together before using the forklift to carefully work the motor back into the car.

As Rand stood under the car, his hands inside it as he did something, Patrick motioned me to the side. "My hands are dirty so write this down," he said, pointing to a greasy note pad and pencil. I picked up the pencil and made ready to write. "Four quarts of 10W30 motor oil. One quart or 80W90 gear oil. Carburetor rebuild kit for a 1972 Beetle. Alternator belt, tune up kit, and wires for the same."

"Got it. How do I... uh..."

"Take my truck. The keys are... never mind, follow me." I followed him into his house until he stopped in an office and pointed at the desk. "Center drawer." I retrieved the keys. "Go to the O'Reilly's on the 101 to get what you need. Tell them to put it on the O'Neill Recycling account."

"Okay," I said, though I intended to do no such thing if I had enough to cover it.

"Truck's out front. Don't dawdle," he said with a grin. "We still have a lot of work to do."

I hurried to the truck, but then realized I had no idea how to get to the O'Reilly's, or even how to get to the 101. I started to go back and ask for directions, but then I realized the truck had satnav. With a little poking and prodding I figured out how to use it, and then followed the trucks directions.

I pulled to a stop in front of the store and went in. "May I help you?" an older man behind the counter asked as I entered.

I stepped up to the counter. "I need the stuff on this list."

The man took the paper and began typing on his computer before he disappeared. He reappeared a few moments later and placed several items on the counter. "What brand of oil?"

I chewed my bottom lip, not knowing the answer to that, and I had no way to call anyone to ask. "Uh, what would you recommend?"

He smiled. "I know just what you need." A moment later he returned with four yellow bottles and one black one. "Anything else?"

"No, that's it."

He scanned the items. "$127.12."

I swallowed hard. That would take a serious bite out of my cash, and for an instant, I considered doing what Patrick said and have them charge it to his account, but reach into my purse. I counted out a collection of twenties, tens, and fives."

"$2.88 is your change," he said as he passed the cash back. "Thank you, and come back."

"Thank you," I said as I picked up the bags and hurried back to Patrick's truck.

I had a moment of panic after I slid behind the wheel when I realized I didn't know where O'Neill's Recycling was, and I didn't know what category to find it under, but then I noticed the Go Home button, pressed that, and sighed with relief as the truck started giving me directions.

-oOo-

When I returned to the yard, I delivered the items to the men, and then asked Patrick for permission to use his kitchen to make them lunch. I looked through his pantry and refrigerator, finally settling on cheese toasties with canned baked potato soup on the side.

As the last sandwich was grilling, I hurried to the shop where the men were busy working, informed them lunch would be ready in five minutes, and then rushed back to flip the sandwich. It had gotten a little too done, so that one was mine.

I was pouring up glasses of milk when the men entered, their hands and arms coated with grease.

"Something smells good," Patrick said as he waited on Rand to finish using the restroom.

"Nothing special. Soup and sandwich," I said.

"Sounds pretty good to me."

They wolfed down the food as if they hadn't eaten in days, teasing me how they'd work on my car anytime if I'd make them cheese toasty sandwiches. As they ate, the men discussed what still needed to be done to the car, and the order the work should proceed. They didn't ignore me, but I let them discuss. They clearly didn't need my input.

As soon as they finished eating, they thanked me and then immediately went back to work. I cleaned and washed the dishes before joining them.

"Alternator and starter are on the ground," Patrick said, placing two greasy lumps on the concrete floor behind the car.

"Got it," Rand said from underneath.

While Rand wrenched underneath, Patrick pulled one of the items I'd purchased from the bag. I followed him as he moved to a rolling bench where something else off the motor was laying. He placed some tools on the bench, pulled up a stool, sat down, and began taking the item apart with sure, practiced movements, carefully laying pieces aside as he removed them.

"What can you tell me about Rand?" I asked softly as I watched Patrick work.

"What do you want to know?"

"Why is he doing this?"

He smiled, but his hands never slowed. "Because he's a good man."

"I can tell, but that doesn't explain why he's doing this."

"Because he likes you, and because you need the help. He told me a little about you and what you've been through."

"When?"

"Last night. We had a beer before he went to bed."

"He lives with you?"

"He lives here, but not with me. He has a little trailer over there," he said as he nodded away from his house.

"Okay, but why does he want to help me? Nobody has ever wanted to help me before, well, except for my parents, of course."

He paused and looked at me before he returned to his task. "Because I think he understands what you're going through."

"What do you mean? How?"

"Rand hasn't had it easy. I don't know how much he told you about how he grew up."

"Not a lot. I get the feeling he isn't close to his parents."

"No." He paused so long I thought he wasn't going to continue. "His parents, neither one of them, are worth the price of the bullet to put them in the ground. His dad used to work for me. They were both drunks and didn't care about anything other than where their next drink was coming from. They certainly didn't care about Rand. So long as he wasn't bothering them, they didn't care what he did."

He paused again as he took the items I'd purchased, arranged in them in some order, then began squirting something from a can onto the disassembled parts before wiping them clean. "I felt sorry for the boy, so I started showing him how to do a few things. Rebuild engines, run the milling machines, that sort of thing. He's got the gift. He's one of the finest engine builders and machinists I've ever seen. He should be working for a race team somewhere, not hanging around here with an old man, but he won't leave."

I began tearing up as he spoke. This wasn't an employee/employer relationship. This was more like grandfather and grandson, or even closer, perhaps even father and son. The love and respect I heard in his voice as he talked about Rand was so clear and profound it was unmistakable. The more I found out about Rand, the more I liked what I heard. Here was a man who cared about something other than himself.

"Where are his parents now?"

"They still live in Bayport, on welfare no doubt. One day, when Rand as about twelve or thirteen, his dad nearly killed us both. Rand and I were parting out a car when his dad hit it with the loader. Thank God I realized what was about to happen and we ran like hell before he did. He'd been drinking and I don't think he even knew he hit it. I fired him on the spot. I don't think he's seen them since."

"Where did he go then? Rand I mean."

He smiled as he began putting the part back together. "Rand used to get off the school bus here and then would ride home with his dad. The next day he got off as usual, and just... stayed. He's been here ever since. He lived with me until he was eighteen, then bought the trailer and moved into it. Let's see, I would guess he was seven or eight when he started getting off the bus, and he's twenty-seven now, so almost twenty years he's been here."

"You really care for him," I murmured.

"Like a son."

"Where's my carb, old man? You're holding up progress!" Rand roared from the other side of the garage.

"You got the clutch pedal installed yet?" Patrick yelled back with a grin.

"No!"

"Then do that! I'm busy flirting with Hanna!"