Читать книгу Drive Me Wild - Elizabeth Harbison - Страница 12

Three weeks later, Grace knew more about school buses than she’d ever dreamed she would. It was Wednesday, two days before she was set to take the test for her commercial driver’s license and five days before the first day of summer school—when she was supposed to begin driving.

Assuming she passed the test, that was.

It apparently had a first-time failure rate of 49 percent. Grace would have accepted those odds more comfortably if she hadn’t already come out on the short end of the 47-percent failure rate of first marriages.

She and Luke stood before the bus in the early-morning heat. It was not yet nine o’clock. Luke had insisted that Grace meet him on campus every day at 7:00 a.m. so they could get their work done before it got too hot and humid outside. Or so he said. She suspected the early hour was really because he wanted to make this whole experience as miserable as possible for her.

“All right,” Luke said, taking a sip of steaming coffee from a paper gas-station cup. “The test official is going to ask you to go through an outside sight inspection first, identifying all the major parts of the engine and frame.”

“How can you drink steamy coffee on a hot morning like this?” Grace asked. “You know, they make whipped frozen coffees that are really good.”

He gave her a look. “Is it necessary to discuss my drink preferences, or can we just move forward with what’s actually important?”

“Okay, okay. Move on.” She took a deep breath, like an athlete preparing for a sprint. “I’m ready.”

He stepped back and gestured toward the bus. “Then go for it. Tell me everything you’re checking as you do it.”

“Okay.” Her hands tingled with nervousness, but she wasn’t about to admit to him that this was harder than she thought it would be. If he noticed her shake, she’d blame it on the frozen whipped coffee she’d had on her way in. “First I check the headlights, taillights and brake lights, to make sure there are no cracks.” She walked around the bus, looking at all the plastic covers on the lights as she spoke, then stopped where she’d started again. “Everything looks fine.”

“Everything?” he asked, as if he’d caught her in a lie.

“Oh, the reflectors.” She’d nearly forgotten the reflectors again. For some reason she had made that mistake almost every time. She made another round, then came back and looked to Luke for approval.

He said nothing, just watched her impassively.

She wasn’t going to let him rattle her. “Okay, then. Tires.”

“What about them?” His mouth almost lifted into a smile. Almost.

She couldn’t help but admire the curve of his lips. That was something she’d always noticed whenever she saw him. He had a great mouth. Not full and girlish, but not lipless and hard. Just right.

And, she remembered with a reluctant shiver, he’d known just how to use it.

“Tires?” he prompted. “What are you supposed to look for there?”

She shook herself back into the moment. Tires. “The tread has to be four thirty-seconds of an inch, the rims have to be rust-free and smooth. No cracks. Valve caps on. And you can’t just take them off another car in the parking lot like you could with a normal car.”

“Is this the kind of thing you’re planning to say to the cop who tests you?”

She ignored his question and turned to kneel in front of the first tire. She half suspected Luke might have changed it since she went through this drill yesterday, but it looked the same. “So now I’m supposed to take the hubcap off—” she wrestled with it until it came free “—and check the slugs and grease seal.”

“Lugs,” Luke said.

“Huh?”

“It’s lugs. You keep saying slugs.” For the first time in two weeks he smiled. “You’re talking about tires, not guns.”

“I said lugs,” she lied, disarmed by his grin. What a weapon he had there. “You heard wrong.”

“Uh-huh.” He could see right through her.

She’d always been a terrible liar. “Where was I?”

“You mentioned tread, rims, valve caps, grease seals and ‘slugs,’” Luke said. There was a light in his eyes for a moment, but it dimmed quickly and he was back to business. “Anything else?”

Obviously he had something in mind. What was she forgetting now? She repeated the list in her mind twice before it came to her. “Air! I’m checking the air pressure. And making sure there’s no fabric showing through the rubber tire. Although, frankly, isn’t this the kind of thing they check for you at the gas station when you go to full service?”

“You’re not going to full service anymore, Grace,” Luke said. “At least not on the school’s dime.”

He was right—she wasn’t living in a full-service world anymore. Not here or at home. She went back to her drill, checking each tire in turn. “Next I check the wiper blades, the gas door,” she moved from one part to the next as she spoke, “and the running board.” She stepped on it and pushed hard with her foot. The bus rocked.

What would Michael say if he knew she could identify a running board?

“What are you checking for?”

She was ready with the answer. “To make sure it’s secured tightly.”

“Good.”

This was high praise from Luke. She gave a nod of acknowledgment, her mood lightening. “Now, Mr. Tester, if you wouldn’t mind helping me, I need to make sure the lights are working properly.”

“This isn’t a magic show, Grace,” Luke said. Or, rather, growled. “You’ve got to take this seriously.”

He wasn’t going to allow her even a moment of levity, Grace realized. And he certainly wasn’t going to let her act as if they were friends. This was all business, nothing more.

She was lucky he didn’t insist she call him “sir.”

“Forgive me,” she said, stopping just short of rolling her eyes. “But you said I’m supposed to have a second person, in this case the MVA guy looks at the lights while I turn them on and off.”

“That’s right. Just don’t get cute.”

“God forbid.”

“Well, I know that’s gotten you through a lot of things in life—”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve been cruising on cute for years now, Luke. It worked wonders with the mortgage holder when Michael left.” She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Cute got me lots of clams in the bank too. This bus stuff is just a hobby for me.”

He looked at her for a moment, one eyebrow raised and an expression between amusement and exasperation on his face. “You finished?”

“Are you?”

“For now.” He smiled again. Twice in one day. It was a record.

She couldn’t help but smile back. Which really galled her. Was she so desperate for kindness that this little morsel—even from Luke Stewart, who couldn’t be called friendly, much less a friend—made her feel so grateful? “Then if I may continue…?”

He nodded.

She opened the side door, stepped into the already-hot interior of the bus and took a moment to compose herself.

She inserted the key into the ignition and called out as she flipped switches, “Taillights, brake lights.” She stepped on the brake pedal, recited, “Back-up lights,” then put it in reverse. “Tag lights on?”

“Yup.”

“Great.” She shifted back into park. “Now I have to check the engine.” She located the hood latch and pulled it. Then, with false confidence, she stepped out into the sun again, moving in front of the engine.

It was a mess. She’d been over it a thousand times in the past two weeks, taken notes, even drawn a rudimentary picture of it with identifying notes, but when she looked at it with no notes or instruction, she was lost.

She could not let Luke know she was anything less than completely sure of herself. She started with the one part she could identify most easily. “First I check the battery to make sure there’s no corrosion and to ensure that the cable’s on tight.” She did so, slowly and deliberately, while she frantically tried to collect her thoughts and figure out what was next.

He must have sensed her confusion, because, without a derisive word, he leaned over the engine, brushing his arm against hers in the process. “What’s that?”

Her bare skin tingled from his touch, and Grace was disgusted with herself. New low, she noted. It had been so long since she’d been with a man that even this lightest of touches from a guy she didn’t even like sent shivers running through her. Pheromones were blind.

She focused on the part he pointed to. “The, uh, the steering-wheel rod,” she said, her voice weak.

“What about it?”

Steering-wheel rod, steering-wheel rod… A flood of information came back to her, right in the nick of time. “I have to make sure that it’s secure, not loose.”

“Right.” He stepped back. “What else?”

She pictured the drawing she’d done. “I need to make sure the brake-fluid level is correct, and that the brake lines are tight and not leaking.” She rattled the list off without looking away from the engine. She could feel Luke behind her, his eyes on her, and she knew if she turned and looked at him, she’d forget all of it.

“I’d check the power steering,” she continued, pointing to various parts as she went along, “power-steering pump, water pump, carburetor, window-washing fluid.” She was on a roll. “I need to check the alternator, to make sure the clamp is on securely and the wires are secured behind it. Then there’s the heater hose, the coolant, the radiator hose, transmission fluid, and oil dipstick.” She checked it all and turned to him triumphantly. “And that’s it for the engine.”

“No, it’s not.”

“It’s not?”

She deflated like a balloon. As hard as she’d tried, as much as she’d concentrated, she’d still managed to forget something.

“You didn’t check your belts.”

Automatically her hand flew to her waist.

“In the engine.”

“I know,” she said, trying to look at him like he was crazy for thinking she’d had anything different in mind. She bent over the engine and tugged at the fan belt. “They shouldn’t give more than an inch.” She turned back to him. “Words to live by, right, Luke? Don’t give an inch.”

“You think I’m inflexible?”

“If the shoe fits…”

“Hey, you’re here, aren’t you?”

She looked at him in disbelief. “Not because of any great flexibility on your part!”

“I’m being more flexible than you think.”

Something in Grace snapped. She was so sick and tired of feeling like a burden to people—to her lawyer, who was letting her pay in installments; to her mother, who was letting them live with her; to Fred Bailey, who had taken it upon himself to get this job for her; and even to Luke, who had been “persuaded” to give her the job against his will and who now had to take the time to teach her the ropes—that she sometimes thought she might just scream.

“Look, Luke,” she said, with as much control as she could muster. “I know you don’t want me here. I know you think I can’t do this, and I know that even if you did think I could do it, you would resent the hell out of the fact that Fred Bailey suggested that you give me the job.”

He gave a short laugh.

She continued without stopping. “I know all of that, but none of it is going to make me quit. All it’s going to do is make me more determined than ever to succeed at this, so you should be glad that, whether you wanted to or not, you just hired yourself the best damn bus driver you could have gotten.” The timbre of her voice rose as she spoke, and she took a moment to breathe and regain her composure. “Now. I’m going to take the test in two days and I’m going to pass it and I’m going to drive the kids to and from school, and I don’t want to hear one more word about how undeserving I am—got it?”

He looked at her for a long moment, during which she doubted the wisdom of her mini-diatribe, then the wisdom of taking the job, then the wisdom of wearing cut-off shorts that made her feel as bloated as a poisoned cat.

The silence went on so long that she was about to ask if he was all right when he spoke.

“Hit your knees,” he said.

Grace’s mouth dropped open. “What?”

He gestured at the ground. “You’re not finished with the test. Hit your knees and identify the parts underneath the vehicle.”

“Oh.” The color came back into her cheeks. “Okay.”

“What did you think I meant?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly. “I knew what you meant. I’m supposed to check the parts underneath, front, back and sides. I know that.”

Smiling to himself, Luke watched Grace bend down and look under the front of the bus. He couldn’t help it, he loved the way she looked in those faded blue cut-offs. Her legs were long and shapely, and already tanned even though it was still early in the summer. Somehow those cut-offs reminded him of endless hot summers, and clumsy passion and foolish optimism.

“Luke?”

He was so lost in thought that he didn’t realize for a moment she was speaking to him. “Yeah. Sorry, I was…thinking about something.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You back now? Should I go on?”

“Absolutely, yes.”

“Okay.” She cleared her throat and turned back to the bus, giving him a pretty dazzling view from behind. “I check the stabilizer bar, guide arm, tie rod, tie rod ends—” she emphasized the tie rod ends, he noticed, since that was one of the items she consistently forgot “—brake lines to the disc brakes in front and the drum brakes in back, coil spring, shock absorber, power-steering pump, Pitman arm.” She took a breath. “Make sure there are no leaks in the power-steering box, radiator hose, fuel pump and water pump.” She stood up and slapped her dirty hands against the front of her shorts. “Everything’s okay from the front.”

“Good.” He’d barely been able to keep his mind on the engine parts, so he hoped she hadn’t forgotten anything major. She got down on her hands and knees at the side and started talking again. “All right, here are the transmission lines, and they are not leaking. The cross beams are secure, no cracks or leaks in the mufflers—” she looked back at him “—of which there are two. If you’re to be believed.”

“There are two,” he confirmed.

“It’s just that I’ve never heard of a car having two mufflers,” she said.

“This isn’t a car, it’s a bus, and there are two mufflers on it.”

“Okay.” She shrugged. “I’ve just never heard of it.”

“But you’ve seen them,” he said, exasperated. “You’re supposed to be looking at them right now.”

“Well, I am.”

He hesitated. “Grace?”

She looked guilty. “What?”

“Are you looking at them? Are you looking at anything as you identify it, or are you just rattling off a bunch of stuff you memorized?”

“Does it make a difference?”

“Does it make a difference?” he repeated incredulously. “Of course it makes a difference!” Grace was hopeless, he decided. There was no way she was going to pass the test unless she was able to charm whoever was administering it. If it was Bob Gaylord or Stan Vanderhof she’d be okay, but if she got Myrna Franz, Grace was in real trouble. “Grace, we’ve spent two weeks going over this damned bus, piece by piece. I know it’s not the most interesting thing you’ll ever do—”