Susan Keller

Chapter 21

Archie, the Car Mechanic

 

Barbara thinks it’s a good idea to take the car in for a quick once over. Can’t say I disagree with her. I ask if we should call for an appointment, but Ray says we won’t need one. Not that I know a thing about cars, but their 1977 Mustang convertible starts right up; and the quiet rumble of the engine sounds solid to me. In a couple minutes, I’m driving us east on a desert highway lined with smoke trees, dunes, and tumbleweed. Few houses. No businesses. There’s a hot breeze today and the sky is hazy with dust. I have the air conditioner going full tilt, but, like the cab yesterday, it only wheezes out a half-hearted breath.

A gust of wind blows over a hillock of sand near the highway. A young girl, perhaps nine or ten with long, tangled blond hair, struggles toward the top of the dune. As she leans forward, the sand shifts beneath her and she slides backwards.

“Oh, my goodness,” I say. “What is that little girl doing out here in this heat?”

“Maybe we should find out,” says Ray.

I pull off the highway and slow to a stop. I roll down the window and sultry air surges into the car.

“You okay?” I call out.

The girl looks at us but doesn’t reply.

“Do you need a ride home?” I ask.

She turns her back to us and trudges on toward the top of the dune that she cannot reach.

“I don’t think she’s going to get in,” says Ray.

“I hope she can find her way home. I feel bad, leaving her. I’m getting out,” I say.

I open my door and walk toward her. “Are you okay? Do you need a ride?”

She looks at me then runs in the other direction. I get back in the car.

“We tried,” says Ray.

“Yeah, we can’t force her.”

When I was her age, the ground slipped beneath my feet too; and our home had a revolving door. My mother left for months at a time, going back to her parents to try and sort out her life. As an infant, my dad took Hal to live with his parents when my mother couldn’t take it anymore. I was sent away at eleven to live with my mother’s parents over a summer. My father left, or was thrown out. I never knew who would be gone next, to where, or for how long.

I continue to drive for another fifteen minutes, then ask, “Are you sure the mechanic’s still out here?”

“Yeah, just a little farther.”

“We haven’t seen another car in miles. How does somebody all the way out here ever get any business?”

“He doesn’t get much, but I trust him.”

Finally, we pull up in front of an Arco station. The paint has been scoured by years of sand storms and the building is so pale that it nearly fades in with the surrounding dunes. Archie, the fellow we’d come to see, is painfully thin and pallid. His red-rimmed, drooping eyes dart around.

After the usual pleasantries, Archie says, “So what brings you in today, Ray?”

“Just need the oil, water, and tire pressure checked,” Ray says.

“Sure. Won’t take long. Lucky there’s not much happening at the moment. Wouldn’t want to keep you waiting.”

I stifle a laugh.

“Is there a place Ray can sit?” I ask.

“Sure, there’s a chair in my office.”

I walk Ray inside the tiny office, where it’s sweltering in the late morning sun. I turn on the rotating fan in the corner.

“Are you going to be okay in here?”

Ray nods.

“You want something to drink? A coke?”

“No.”

“I’ll be right outside.”

I return to the garage where Archie is checking the oil.

“You need a quart.”

“Whatever you think. We have a trip ahead of us.”

“Good idea to bring the car in. Where to?”

“The Bay Area.”

“That’s a trip and a half,” he whistles.

“What do you mean?”

“Well it’s over five hundred miles and it’s one hundred and two degrees today. What if the air conditioner goes out?”

“Hmm. Yes, it’s not working great. Can you check it?” I ask.

“Yeah. I’ll look at your coolant levels.”

“Thanks.”

“Not that it’s any of my business, but Ray isn’t going, is he? He seems pretty frail.”

“As a matter of fact, he is.”

“Quite a trip for him. What if you blow a tire? What then?”

“I…I guess that’s why we’re here. For you to check those things and let us know that we have a decent chance of not perishing on the road.”

“No guarantees Miss. No guarantees.”

“Aren’t we being just a tad bit gloom and doom? We aren’t driving to Tierra del Fuego.”

“My philosophy is that you can never be too safe.”

“We have Triple A, if that makes you feel better.”

“Not a bad idea because this little buggy has over ninety thousand on the engine.”

“We’re grateful for your help.”

I go back into the office to check on Ray. He’s napping. I sit next to him and pick up a Newsweek from two months ago. A while later, Archie comes in.

“I’ve done what I can.”

He sounds like a surgeon delivering the prognosis on a dying patient.

“Appreciate it, Archie,” I say.” I’m sure we will be just fine.”

He shakes his head. “I hope so. I sure do hope so.”