off the register with a faded blue cloth.
“Dont even get me started,” Aiden thought to himself. He wasn’t interested in conversation. Just wanted some direction.
“Flat tire, no spare,” he said. No other words were needed. He didn’t care to offer a nosey islander further insight into his life or circumstances.
“Ah,” she said. “You’ll want to head over to Dwayne’s.”
“Dwayne’s?”
“Mechanic down the road. We can hold your food here in the fridge.”
Aiden cursed to himself. After the head ache of buying the overpriced food, it was now going to waste in his car.
“You need a ride to pick it up and bring it back here?” the cashier asked, pointing at a nearby teenage boy. Store employee, Aiden guessed given the black apron. The boy didn’t appear especially happy at the suggestion.
“Forget it, I just want my tire fixed.”
“You’ve got a free ride here,” she said.
“I didn’t ask for charity.”
“Then consider it product insurance,” the old woman retorted. “Plus, you’ll get to Dwayne’s faster than you would on foot.”
At this point, efficiency was Aiden’s best friend, so he accepted.
He followed the young worker through the double-door entrance toward a green Jetta.
Couldn’t be older than five years, Aiden thought, shocked that a 16-year-old on Cielo would have this nice of a ride.
“Your parents’ car?” Aiden asked as he opened the passenger door.
“Nope, mine.”
“A job at the store pays that well?” he asked.
“I saved. Not much to spend your money on here,” the boy said.
They rode in silence for the rest of the short drive to Aiden’s car. Neither of them wanted to shoot the breeze.
The Jetta stopped in the middle of the road, parallel to the Civic. Aiden hopped out and retrieved the bag of food as the Jetta did a quick U-turn, got back in and then they were off.
“I’ll take it in,” the boy said, reaching for the plastic bag as they pulled into the store lot.
“Where’s the mechanic?” Aiden asked.
“Down the Boulevard one block south, hang a left at Harbor View. Dwayne’s is the last building on the right.”
Aiden gave a slight nod of acknowledgment as the boy walked away.
Five minutes later, he spotted an average-size concrete building, white and blue with the words “Dwayne’s Mechanical Services” painted above the double garage opening.
An overalls-clad man – whom Aiden guessed to be in his 40s – walked out of the right-hand garage. Had to be Dwayne.
“You look stranded, son,” he said, wiping grime off his hands with an oil-stained rag.
“Good call, Sherlock,” Aiden thought to himself.
“Blew a tire just outside the town. No spare,” he finally said. “How much to tow?”
“Nodda, we’ll fix it on site. What do you drive?”
“95 Civic.”
“$150 including a spare,” Dwayne said, stuffing the rag in his back pocket.
Aiden was expecting far more; this was the first bit of good news today.
“Not bad,” he admitted. “You want me to come with?”
“Yup.”
They settled the payment in Dwayne’s small cluttered office, and with that, Dwayne fired up a company truck and Aiden jumped in.
“You from out of town?” Dwayne asked, eyes on the road.
“Seattle.”
“What brings you here?”
“Taking care of business,” Aiden said, looking out the window.
Dwayne didn’t prod, just drove.
They pulled up behind the Civic. Aiden unlocked the hatch, grabbed the jack and proceeded to raise the car high enough to remove the lug nuts. Dwayne had the tire down and ready to go just after the flat tire was off.
“What’d you hit?” he asked as he placed the new tire on the rim and tightened the lugs.
“Broken bottle,” Aiden said. “Wouldn’t kill people to pick up their crap.”
“Wouldn’t kill you to watch the road,” the mechanic replied. “We don’t have the luxury of street sweepers here.”
Aiden had had just about enough criticism for one day. It was as if he had “ignorant outsider” stamped across his forehead. He hadn’t the energy to continue the banter.
The tire was switched within minutes. Dwayne threw the flat in the truck and hopped in the driver seat.
“Watch the roads on your way home,” he said. “You know where to come if you run into any problems. Tires have lifetime guarantee.”
“Thanks,” Aiden said insincerely. He put the spare in the back, started the engine and headed back to the store to pick up his groceries.
The cashier had his bag out on the counter, as if she was anticipating the time of his return to the second.
“Bon appetit,” she said, holding the bag out to him.
Aiden pictured himself on Disneyland’s “It’s A Small Small World” ride, with the islanders’ faces plastered on the demon-possessed dolls.
“Good timing,” he said. Couldn’t think of anything wittier to say. Didn’t care to. She had pointed him to the resources he needed, so he at least owed her some gratitude.
“Thanks,” he said as he walked out the double doors.
4. A GRACEFUL INTERUPTION
Aiden fired up the gas stove as soon as he got back to cabin. Sliced the sirloin into strips, diced the vegetables and threw them into a skillet simmering with butter. The ingredients hit with a sizzle, and when the meat was seared on the outside, he poured in a generous amount of the merlot, heating it on medium for about 15 minutes until it was a dense reduction.
Normally he would spend more time intentionally mixing up the way he cooked this dish, but being as hungry as he was, he stuck to the tried-and-true recipe he made once a week.
He
