Sure wish this heat wave would break. This was my only thought as I descended the ladder for lunch break. I was wet and a little woozy from working in full sun for the last few hours. There was a line of guys at the cooler, taking forever to fill thermoses that earlier held their morning coffee. Now we all just wanted water. Cool, refreshing water. I was only two guys back when Murphy spotted me and called out,
"Curtis! C'mere for a minute!"
You've got to be kidding me! But when the boss calls, you answer. No matter that your tongue is stuck to the roof of your mouth and you think you might kill someone if you don't get a drink soon.
"Yessir?" I thought of Ponyboy as I said that, but it wasn't the time to be worrying about him.
"Curtis, there's a mix up on the delivery this week. We're short a few things. Lois has a list for you in the trailer. I need you to stop by Handy's and pick them up. She's got a P.O. for you to give to the clerk, and they'll just put it on our builder's credit line. Take your lunch while you're at it and be back by two." Finished with me, he turned and marched away with the city inspector.
In less than five minutes, I had two hours time on my hands. Murphy's secretary, Lois, was still typing up the purchase order when I stepped into the trailer, so I helped myself to what must have been about ten paper cones full of water. I still wasn't quenched, but she was ready with the P.O., so I took it and headed out to my truck. I wondered why Murphy had given me two hours for a half hour lunch and a half hour errand, but I wasn't about to argue.
Handy's Hardware was about a ten minute drive from the site we were currently working. The rush of air against my sweat-slicked body was about the closest to heaven as I was likely to get. A very light breeze had kicked up, so I still had some hope of staying cool even when I hit stop signs. I'd just about cooled down enough to think I might survive the day when I saw a car stopped up ahead, hood up and hazards flashing. And then I noticed the owner up on the sidewalk, fishing around in her pocketbook.
My low whistle would have tickled Soda to death. Course, he'd probably have whistled right alongside me.
I pulled my truck to the curb in front of her car, being careful to leave myself room to have a look at the engine. I'm not the automotive genius that Steve is, and I'm not even up to par with Soda. But I know a few things. Hopefully enough to help the grateful looking woman standing next to the '59 Impala.
She smiled widely at me. The breeze whipped strands of chestnut hair across her pale skin. If she was uncomfortable in the harsh sun, though, she didn't let on. "Hi, there," she greeted, looking as cheerful as the sundress she wore. It was yellow, with cherries all over it.
"I-," My throat had gone dry. I wasn't sure if it was from the sight of her or the thirst I still felt. "I figured you might appreciate some help," I offered weakly.
"You figured right," she answered, looking at the engine with dismay. "I was on my way home when I started smelling this horrible burning odor. I was too scared to keep on driving it that way."
"Darrel Curtis," I blurted. If suddenly saying my name out of nowhere phased her, she didn't show it.
She smiled again and something caught in my chest. "Maggie," she answered. "Maggie Connolly." She offered her hand, and I took it gently but firmly. Dad always said you don't shake a woman's hand, you just hold it briefly and let it go. I had a little trouble with the letting go part and felt like Ponyboy as my ears started to burn.
I ducked under the hood to have a look. I didn't notice anything right off, but that might've been because all I could see was that cherry covered sundress. "Would you mind if I started her up?"
Maggie wrinkled her nose. "If you can handle the smell," she said, "have at it."
I didn't like the sound of the engine as I turned it on, and she was right about the smell. Scalded rubber. That meant a hose or a belt. When I poked my head back under the hood, I could see that her fan belt was getting caught on the pulley, causing the belt to slick and the pulley to glaze.
"You might as well be speaking Greek," she laughed. The sound of it pulsed through me.
I started. I hadn't realized I'd said that aloud. Jesus, Curtis, I admonished myself, get a grip! Out loud, I said, "Well, the bad news is, I think you're gonna need a new belt."
"And the good news?"
"Good news is, I know a mechanic who can tow you and have your car on the road well before sundown." I squinted at her in the sun. Her eyes lit up with relief. Maggie, I thought. Fits.
"That is good news," she agreed.
I looked at the buildings behind us. There was a phone on the wall of the bicycle repair shop on the corner. "Let me just go call the garage," I said.
"I'll come with you," she replied, and I felt myself grin stupidly. She started poking around in her pocketbook for a dime, but I pushed one into the phone and was dialing the DX before she came up with one. "Oh!" She smoothed her dress as the breeze ruffled it. Then the breeze caught her hair again, and she chased after that, pulling the wayward locks off of her face. I wished I'd thought to have done it for her, but that would have been mighty pushy.
"Hey," I said as I suddenly became aware of what had to be Steve's second or third 'hello'. "Steve, I need a favor."
"Sure, Darry," he said. "Soda! It's Superman!" Then he asked, "Whatcha need?"
"I'm at the corner of Eighth and Preston," I replied, rubbing my arm across my forehead to catch the sweat. I hoped I didn't stink to high heaven. "There's a blue Chevy Impala that needs a tow."
"Yeah? Whose?" We didn't know anyone with a blue Impala.
"Her name's Maggie Connolly," I told him. "How quick can you get here?"
"Gimme fifteen minutes," Steve said and hung up.
"Fifteen minutes," I said to Maggie, smirking when her eyebrows went up.
"Wow," she said. "You weren't kidding."
We walked back out to the curb. She shielded her eyes from the sun with her hand. Her nails were painted a classy soft red, just like her lips. Matches the cherries, I thought.
"If you don't have to rush off, can I buy you a lemonade?" She gestured to the A&W across the street.
"Ah," I said, wondering what time it was. Though I hated to remember it, I was on Murphy's time. But it couldn't have been too long yet. And she was smiling so sweetly up at me. It would take a stronger guy to say no. "Sure."
Without thinking about it, I took her hand. She just gave me an amused grin and followed my lead.
"So, Darrel," she said as we settled at a table by the window to watch for Steve, "I can tell you work outdoors. I'm guessing construction?"
"Is it that obvious?" I ducked my head to sip at the lemonade. It took all I had not to suck it down in greedy gulps. Right then, it was just about the best thing I'd ever tasted.
She blushed a little. "Well, I cheated," she said with a small laugh. "I saw your tool belt on the seat of your truck."
I grinned. "That'll do it," I agreed.
"I work over at Jonas Salk Elementary. Or, at least, I will be come September."
"Teacher?" I asked.
She nodded. "Third grade. No students yet, of course, but they drag all the faculty in for workshops and lesson plan reviews."
"Makes sense," I said lamely. Just looking at her, you knew we couldn't have much in common. School was history, at least for me. And even though she was a third grade teacher and not a college professor, I felt out of her league. Not that I hadn't felt that way from the moment I saw her. Still, you couldn't blame a guy for looking. Or appreciating.
"How long have you been in construction?"
"Uh," I stopped myself from saying forever. "I guess it's been about…" I sat up taller, surprised. "Almost two years now, I guess." Time flies whether you're having fun or not. Not that I minded roofing, really. But college…
I noticed Maggie looking at me with a curious expression, and I put those thoughts away. She sipped at her lemonade, and I was mesmerized. Ask her something! Say something, you dope!
"How long have you been teaching?"
"This will be my first year, actually," she answered, fiddling with the corner of a napkin. "I moved back here after graduation in June. My father's not well," she explained, and her face took on a sad cast.
"I'm sorry." I knew what it was to lose a parent, after all.
"You really are," she mused, then blushed. "Oh," she covered her mouth with her hand. "It's just most people just spit those words out automatically. But…" she shook her head and wrinkled her nose up again.
"But?" I wondered.
"Well, I was going to say that you seemed very genuine, like maybe you knew how I felt because you've been there. But that's so forward of me, assuming like that."
"You're right, though," I replied quietly.
"Oh," she said again, looking down at the table. After a long silence, she asked, "Ever just want the ground to open up and swallow you?"
I chuckled. "Now and again."
We sipped our lemonades, but the silence wasn't as awkward as you might expect. She casually asked about my family, and I explained about our folks and about looking after Soda and Ponyboy. I waited for her to wrinkle her nose up at their names, but she just tipped her head and said,
"Your folks sound like interesting people."
I think I fell a little in love with her just then. Or a good solid crush, anyway. "They were," I nodded. And then I saw Steve pull up behind her car, since my truck was in the way. "That's Steve," I pointed, standing reluctantly.
"Guess we'd better get across the street then," she said.
I nodded, sorry that we couldn't just sit and drink lemonade and talk to one another all afternoon. But I had to get back, and she surely had more important things to do than sit swilling lemonade with a sweaty roof rat.
"Hey, Steve," I greeted as we neared.
He'd been standing with his hands on his hips, studying the car, and he lifted his head. The smile that spread across his face told me Maggie had a similar effect on him. "Hey, Dar. This your car?" He asked her with interest.
"It is," Maggie nodded.
"Nice car," he said, running his hand along the door.
"Steve, this is Maggie Connolly. Maggie, this is Steve. Probably the best mechanic in Oklahoma."
Steve almost took her hand when she offered it, but then he remembered how greasy his was, and he pressed it to his coveralls. "Wouldn't want to dirty up such a pretty hand," he said, nodding at her, instead.
She grinned. "Another gentleman."
Steve looked from her to me and back to her again. Then his face changed. I told myself to remember that moment the next time he said something stupid. I'd be sure to let it go.
"Do you need a ride anywhere?" I asked, knowing I'd have to move my truck so Steve could rig hers for the tow.
She hesitated. "I didn't think of that," she said. "I don't know that I want to wait for it, but I'm not sure how I'd get back to pick it up, either."
I didn't figure she'd enjoy sitting in the Ace until Steve finished with her car, so I said, "I can drop you anywhere you need to go, and–"
"And if you need a ride back to the DX to pick up your car, I could come out after you," Steve finished. "You know," he said, meeting my eyes for a second, "as a favor to Darry."
The corners of her mouth turned up again. I couldn't get enough of her smile. Lord, what a dope I was. "That sounds fine," she said.
I wondered if there was anything embarrassing in the truck, like one of Soda's dirty t-shirts or any past due bills shoved up on the dash. There weren't. Just my tool belt, flung across the passenger side, and I scooped that up and placed it in the bed of the truck, wiping the seat with my hand. Then I offered my hand to Maggie for a boost up into the cab. She didn't really need it, though. She just stepped up from the curb easily. But she put her hand in mine, anyway, and that little something pulsed in my chest again.
"Ready?" I asked after sliding behind the wheel.
"Whenever you are," she nodded gamely. "I'm on Summerland, just off of Ninth."
The neighborhood surprised me a little. It wasn't a real soc section of town. It wasn't greaser territory, either, but it was pretty firmly in that in between area. Middle middle class, Two-Bit liked to joke. Far from rich but also a good, healthy distance from poor.
The houses were on the smaller side. Larger than our place, of course, but not the sprawling ramble of the west side. The lawns were trimmed and tidy, the porches crowded with sunny pots of flowers and hanging plants and cozy swings or gliders. The trees were mature, yawning up into the sky. Every now and then a tire swing dangled from a low branch. When I dared think about the distant future, usually with some borrowed hope from Ponyboy, I thought of a place like this. My own roofing company, maybe, or somehow the miracle of school. Dreams I didn't dare entertain very often, but I entertained a few as I shared an easy silence with Maggie Connolly.
When I eased up next to a little brick house with white trim, the thing that caught my attention was the roof. Cedar shake, and from the looks of it, old and in need of replacement. I bit my tongue before I mentioned it. I didn't want her to think I was drumming up work, but it seemed to me that if it wasn't already, it'd be leaking soon. It wasn't my place, though. Or was it? If I brought it up, would she think I was just a slick salesman? If I didn't and she had troubles down the road, would she wonder why I hadn't said a word?
"Penny for those thoughts," she said.
I jumped, chuckling guiltily. "Ah," I tried to figure out what to say. "Listen, Maggie, I had a really nice time. Thanks for the lemonade."
"My pleasure," she smiled. "But that's not what you wanted to say, was it?"
"Uh," I paused, rubbing the back of my neck with one hand. She was damn perceptive. But she didn't come across as nosy, which I liked. "no. Not exactly."
She just waited, watching me curiously.
"I was going to say it looks like your roof needs a little work, but I didn't want you to think I was just trying to make a buck."
She broke into another one of those delighted smiles. "Such a gentleman," she said, shaking her head. "I've been noticing that it doesn't look like the other houses on the block, but I haven't been able to convince my mother to have it looked at. She's so afraid of being taken advantage of, you know, since my father…" She trailed off.
I nodded. "Some guys will take advantage," I agreed. "I could take a look sometime, if you'd like."
"I would like," she agreed. She opened her pocketbook and dug around a little, but she didn't find what she was after. "I thought I had a pen in here," she said, still searching with her hand. "I have paper, but nothing to write with."
"I'm in the phone book," I told her. "D. Curtis."
"Thank you, Darrel," she said, snapping her pocketbook.
I nodded. "My friends call me Darry," I said, opening my door.
"Darry," she repeated as I appeared at her door and offered my hand to help her out. A little burst of electricity shot up my arm as she took my hand and slid easily out of the truck.
We just stood there looking at each other for a moment. She smiled softly, using her free hand to tame another few of those wayward locks. And then a dog barked somewhere on the block, and the shrill sound of it seemed to break the spell.
"Well, Darry," she said, squeezing my hand, "I'll phone you about the roof. Thanks again for all your help."
"Thanks again for the lemonade," I grinned. I stood watching until she made it safely to her door. Stupid, I thought as she waved and went inside, you should have walked her all the way!
And I stood there for a few moments after it closed, studying the weary roof.
A/N: Attack of the subplots!!! Heh, heh. I decided Darry needed to get a love life. ;P