I'm Your Girl. J.J. Murray

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СКАЧАТЬ boxes almost filled, I hold Stevie’s teddy bear, Mr. Bear, the one I bought at the hospital gift shop the day Stevie was born. While Stevie called him Mr. Bear, I used to call him “Chuck,” because Stevie regularly threw him around his room.

      Mr. Bear has seen better days.

      The seams under each arm are ripped, one glass eyeball almost dangles, and his fur is fuzzed out in all the wrong places.

      I’m keeping Mr. Bear.

      No one’s stopping you.

      I set Mr. Bear on top of Stevie’s dresser and take the French fry-smelling toys to the big garbage can outside. While every other garbage can on this street will be full of wrapping paper, bows, and boxes, mine will be full of fast-food toys. There’s something…sad about that.

      You need to start over.

      Yeah, but it’s still sad.

      I look at the space in the driveway where Noël’s Ford Mustang, her “baby,” used to sit. It was too yellow for my taste, but it fit her and her sunny personality. She was always sunny, even on cold and overcast days like this. I hadn’t touched the car except to put a blaze orange “FOR SALE” sign in the rear window. I hadn’t expected anyone to notice, but a nice man, a World War II veteran who was wounded at Anzio, like my Grandpa Jeff, had bought it and my memories of Noël in that car…three days ago?

      Close. Four days ago.

      Really?

      And you haven’t been to the bank to deposit his check yet. When are you going to do that?

      If she had taken the Mustang instead of that tin can of a van, maybe she’d still be alive.

      Don’t think about it.

      It’s hard not to.

      I return to the house to get the “good” box of toys, loading it into the Isuzu Rodeo I bought using some of the insurance settlement money. It sits parked on the street with only a minor dent in a door. Epoxy glue and duct tape hold one of the outdoor mirrors to the driver’s side door, a victim of an errant garbage can a few weeks ago.

      You weren’t paying attention.

      Yeah, I pushed the garbage can into the mirror. I should have called the insurance company about it, but I’m sure the people there are tired of hearing from me.

      When I go back into the house, I hear the phone ringing, and at first, I’m not sure what I’m hearing. So few people have called these last few months.

      Except for telemarketers hawking phone service, mortgages, and something about a fire safety house for kids. You donated to that one.

      Anything for the kids.

      The phone is still ringing.

      I know it’s not Noël’s family—or mine. I’ve asked them to leave me alone for a while until I can…function, and they’ve respected my wishes for the most part, Noël’s family especially. I’m sure deep down they still blame me for everything and wish that I had died instead of their only child and grandchild.

      You’re not thinking those thoughts again, are you?

      No.

      Good. I like talking to you.

      You’re the only one who does.

      I check the Caller ID as it rings on. It’s not long distance and can’t be the school. Who else would be calling on Christmas Day?

      “Hello?”

      “Is this Jack Browning?” The man has a voice full of gravel.

      “Yes.”

      “This is Bill Williams. Hope I’m not disturbing your Christmas.”

      It’s too late for that. But who is—oh. It’s the man who bought Noël’s car. “You’re not disturbing me, Mr. Williams. How’s the car running?”

      “I’m bringing it back.”

      “Why?”

      “It’s got a shimmy.”

      “A shimmy?”

      “A shimmy. It was wobbling all over the place.”

      “When?”

      “When I was taking it home.”

      “But that was…four days ago.”

      “Yep. Just haven’t had the time to bring her back until today.”

      Oh, geez. He had to say “her.”

      Come on, Jack. He’s a Marine. Anything that carries him somewhere is female.

      I grip the phone tightly. “I don’t understand, Mr. Williams. You said that you were taking the car to your own mechanic to get it checked out, and I told you I’d hold on to the check until you had done that. Has your mechanic checked it out yet?”

      “Uh, no.”

      “He hasn’t?”

      “No, but I don’t want to purchase the vehicle anymore because of that shimmy.”

      That car doesn’t shimmy. That car is rock solid. “Well, look, Mr. Williams, it hadn’t been driven in a long time. Perhaps one of the tires is lower on air pressure than the others. Did you check the tires?”

      “I know a shimmy when I feel one, young man.”

      Think! “Well, you know those are after-market wheels on that vehicle, and my wife was always saying that they weren’t as perfectly balanced as the original, so—”

      “Will you be home today? It’s the only day I can get another driver.”

      But I only want memories visiting me today! “Were you driving it, Mr. Williams?”

      “No, my grandson was.”

      “Your grandson was?” During the test-drive, the grandson proved that he couldn’t drive a five-speed.

      He couldn’t even find reverse.

      “Perhaps your grandson was in the wrong gear going up or down a hill.”

      “He wasn’t. I was sitting right there next to him telling him when to shift. Now will you be home today? I want to come get my check.”

      But of course! The check! It’s all about the money.

      It’s not that I need the money. It’s the principle of the thing. A man should keep his word. “I’ll be…I’ll be home all day, but please reconsider. My wife babied that car. You know how clean it is inside, and she had the oil changed religiously every three thousand miles.”

      “I’m СКАЧАТЬ