I knew that was right.
“Fine, we can go,” I said as I gestured to the front door. “We’ll just go to my place.”
“Hey,” she said softly. “Since you have a truck and all…”
I looked at her with raised eyebrows.
“It happens that,” Sierra said as she made her way into the room with shoes on. “I have a few errands I need to run. One of which is picking up a new recliner that just came in from the furniture store.”CHAPTER 11Bitches see nice weather and want to day drink and BBQ. It’s me. I’m bitches.-Text from Sierra to MalachiSIERRASierra,
Today was not a good day. Let’s just say that, on a scale of one to ten, it was a 22 on the shit scale.
We haven’t taken a shower in so fucking long that I won’t even know what to do when we finally get to.
So anyway, they tell all of us that we’re gonna get one today. Only, ten minutes before we are, they announce that we’re actually going out on patrol instead. It was the biggest fucking let down in all of history.
Then, when we get out there, the Humvee breaks, and we have to hoof it back to base, ten fucking miles. Did you know that sand gets in places, no matter how hard you try to make it not?
Needless to say, if I never see a grain of fucking sand again after this, it’ll be for the best.
Hope your day is better than mine,
Gabriel
• • •
“You’ve never driven a standard transmission before?” he asked in surprise.
I shook my head. “No. So that’s why I can’t drive your truck. You’ll just have to go to the furniture store with me.”
He frowned ferociously. “I don’t do furniture shopping.”
“I’ll just ask my dad.” I scrunched up my nose.
Though, that sounded like the very last thing that I wanted to do.
I loved my dad, but to borrow his truck I’d then have to deal with the Spanish Inquisition, and that wasn’t really something I wanted to do today.
“No, he’ll take us,” Grans said from the back seat where Axe was cuddled up close to her. “He’s just a whiner. Let him whine.”
I glanced with amusement at Malachi’s grandmother, Grans, and flashed a smile her way. “So that’s all I have to do? Just let him whine and he’ll take us?”
“He’s a big boy. He knows how to do the hard things—like shopping—without too much bickering.” She paused and leveled me with a look. “But knowing how to drive a manual transmission is something that you’ll be learning, too. Today, actually. I don’t see my son leaving any time soon, we have lots of time to practice.”
I didn’t argue with her, mainly because she was right. Having that skill would be helpful—like the times that I wanted to drive my brother’s or my dad’s vehicles, but they were conveniently manual transmissions and therefore, undrivable by me.
Which, might I add, sounded like a convenient excuse.
“Malachi,” I said after he started driving again. “Why did you get a manual transmission? Was it because it was cheaper and easier to find?”
He looked over at me in surprise. “Cheaper? Not really. Easier to find? Hell no. I had to wait for this truck to come in from New Hampshire. Nobody wants a five-speed anymore.”
“Six-speed,” Grans piped in from the back seat. “This ain’t no five-speed.”
I snickered at the look of exasperation on Malachi’s face when it came to his grandmother’s quips.
“Six-speed,” he corrected. “But no. Not easier, and not cheaper. Why do you ask?”
I gave him a sour look.
“My brother and my dad both have one,” I admitted. “When I asked them why they got it, I think it was because they didn’t want me borrowing their trucks.”
“Why would you need to borrow their trucks?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Sometimes because I need potting soil… or mulch. Other times because I need to go pick up a piece of furniture that I ordered off of a furniture reconstruction group.”
“Either they don’t want you driving their trucks, or they just want you to be reliant on them.” He looked over at me. “You’re fairly independent, so I doubt it’s because they want you reliant on them.”
I scrunched up my nose in response.
“I might or might not have had an accident or two in my time,” I admitted as he took the road that led to the Lay-Z-Boy store. “But I have to point out here that none of those times were my fault. They’re always someone else’s fault.”
He looked over at me with amusement as he started to slow down for the turn ahead.
When his gaze turned back to the road, he said, “I was there that day the kid hit you. I saw you light into the parents.”
I started to wipe my eyes but remembered the makeup that I’d just applied before leaving the house and dropped my hands back to my lap.