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—”
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