The Guardian

Mabel didn't care what people thought, and to Julie this was part of her charm. Mabel dressed the way she wanted, associated with whom she wanted, and did the things she wanted. More than once, Julie wondered whether Mabel's quirks were real or whether she simply played them up to keep people wondering about her. Either way, Julie adored everything about her. Even her tendency to pry.

"So how'd it go with Richard?" Mabel asked.

"Well, to be honest, I was a little worried about you the whole time," Julie said. "I thought you might pull a neck muscle if you craned your head any farther trying to listen in."

"Oh, don't worry about that," Mabel said. "A little Tylenol and I was good as new the next day. But stop changing the subject. Did it go okay?"

"It went well, considering I just met him."

"From where I was sitting, it almost looked like he knew you from somewhere."

"Why do you say that?"

"I don't know. His expression, I guess, or maybe it was the way he kept staring at you all night. For a second there, I thought his eyes were attached to you by an invisible string."

"It wasn't that obvious, was it?"

"Honey, he looked like a sailor on shore leave, watching a girlie show."

Julie laughed as she slipped into her smock. "I guess I must have dazzled him."

"I suppose."

Something in her tone made Julie look up. "What? You didn't like him?"

"I'm not saying that. I haven't even met him yet, remember? I was out when he came into the shop, and you didn't exactly introduce us on Saturday. You were too busy staring back." Mabel winked. "And besides, I'm an old romantic at heart. As long as a man listens and is interested in what you say, his appearance isn't all that important."

"You didn't think he was good-looking?"

"Oh, you know me-I'm more partial to the guys who come in looking for Andrea. I think tattoos that cover the arms are sexy."

Julie laughed. "Don't let Andrea hear you say that. She might get offended."

"No, she won't. Unless I drew pictures, she wouldn't know who we were talking about."

Just then, the door swung open and a woman stepped in. Julie's first appointment for the day. Mabel's appointment, another woman, followed her a moment later.

"So . . . are you going to go out with him again?" Mabel asked.

"I don't know if he'll ask, but I probably would."

"Do you want him to?"

"Yeah," she admitted, "I think I do."

Mabel's eyes twinkled. "Well . . . what's your sweetie Bob going to say? He'll be heartbroken."

"If he calls again, maybe I'll just tell him you're interested."

"Oh, please do-I need some help with my taxes. Unfortunately, though, he might think I'm a little too adventurous for him." She paused. "So how'd Mike take it?"

From her seat by the window, Mabel had seen them talking.

Julie shrugged. She'd known Mabel would ask. "Okay."

"He's a good guy, you know."

"Yeah, he is."

Mabel didn't press any further, knowing it wouldn't do any good. She'd already tried a few times without results. But, in her mind, it was a shame that things hadn't worked out between them so far. Mike and Julie, she thought, would make a good couple. And despite what either of them imagined, she was sure that Jim wouldn't have minded at all.

She should know. After all, she was his aunt.

As the morning sun fed an early-season heat wave, Mike's wrench got stuck on a bolt in the inner reaches of the engine. Struggling to free it, he pulled a little too hard, nicking the back of his hand. After disinfecting the wound and putting on a bandage, he tried to free the wrench a second time with exactly the same result. Cursing to himself, he pushed away from the car in frustration and stared at it, his expression cold, as if trying to intimidate the car into doing what he wanted. All morning long he'd made one stupid mistake after another on a repair that was second nature to him, and now he couldn't even get the stupid wrench free. Not that it was entirely his fault, of course. If anything, Mike thought, it was Julie's fault. How was he supposed to concentrate on his work when he couldn't stop thinking about her date with Richard?

Her nice date. Her fun date.

What, he wondered, had been so nice about it? And what had she meant by fun?

Only one way to find out, he knew, though he dreaded the very thought of it. But what other choice did he have? It wasn't as if Julie had been all that forthcoming with him, and he couldn't exactly head over to the salon and ask Mabel in person, not with Julie standing right there. That left Henry as his only option.

Henry, the good, kind, older brother.

Yeah, right, Mike thought.

Henry could have told him earlier, but nooooo, he had to set him up. Henry knew exactly what he was doing when he left the conversation hanging like that. He wanted Mike to come begging for information. To come crawling. To toss a few zingers.

Yeah, well, not this time, pal, Mike decided. Not this time.

Mike approached the car again and began working his hand toward the wrench. Still stuck. Looking over his shoulder, he wondered if using a screwdriver would give him the leverage he needed to pry the wrench free. Deciding to give it a try, he reached in, but just when he had it where it needed to be, he heard Julie's voice again and the screwdriver slipped from his grip.

It was nice, Julie had said. We had fun.

As he reached for the screwdriver, it slid further, rattling downward like a Pachinko ball and finally vanishing from sight. He leaned over, and despite the fact that he knew everything about this particular engine, he had no idea where it had gone.

Mike stared, blinking back his disbelief.

Great, he thought, just great. The wrench is stuck, the screwdriver was absorbed in a mechanical black hole, and I'm not getting a single thing done here. I've been working for an hour, and if it keeps going like this, I'm going to have to place a new order with Blaine Sutter, the Snap-on tool representative.

He had to talk to Henry. It was the only way he could put this behind him.

Crap.

Mike reached for a rag and began wiping his hands on his way through the garage, hating the fact that it had come to this and trying to figure out the best way to ask. The challenge, he knew, was to not let Henry know why he was so interested. It would be best if the topic came up naturally, or Henry would end up rubbing his nose in it. His brother lived for moments like this. He'd probably spent the whole morning preparing zingers. With people like that, there was only one thing to do, and that was to use the fine art of deception. After taking a moment to formulate his plan, Mike poked his head into Henry's office.

Henry was sitting behind his cluttered desk, placing an order on the phone. Directly in front of him was a packet of miniature doughnuts sitting next to a can of Pepsi. Henry always kept a stash of junk food hidden in his drawer, to make up for the healthy lunches Emma made him. Henry waved him in, and Mike took a seat in the chair across from the desk just as he hung up.

"That was the dealer down in Jacksonville," Henry said. "They won't have the switch you need for the Volvo for another week. Remind me to call Evelyn, will you?"

"Sure," Mike said.

"So what's on your mind, little brother?"

Of course, Henry already knew what Mike needed to talk about. The look on his brother's face made the topic plain, and though he could have come straight out with what Mabel had told him, he didn't. There was something about seeing Mike squirm that always left him feeling gleeful the rest of the day.

"Well," Mike said, "I was thinking . . ." He trailed off.

"Yes?" Henry asked.

"Well, I was thinking that maybe I should start going to church with you and the family again."

Henry brought his finger to his chin, thinking, That's an original way to begin. Won't do you any good, but it's definitely original.

"Oh, really?" he said, hiding his smile.

"Yeah, you know. I haven't been

in a while, but it would be good for me."

Henry nodded. "Mmm . . . you might be right. You want to meet there, or do you want us to pick you up?"

Mike shifted in his seat. "Before we get to that-I just want to know what the new reverend is like. I mean, do people like what he says in his sermons? Do they talk about it after the services?"

"Sometimes."

"But people do talk. After church, I mean."

"Sure. But you'll find out this Sunday. We go at nine."

"Nine. Okay. Good." Mike nodded, pausing for a moment. "Well, just for example, what did people say after last Sunday?"

"Oh, well, let's see . . ." Henry tapped his finger in feigned concentration. "Come to think of it, I don't really know. I was talking to Mabel."

Bingo, Mike thought, smiling inwardly. Just like I planned. I am a master of deception.

"Mabel, huh?" he asked.