Page 8 of My Veteran Biker

I'm already walking across the driveway.

"Battery?" I ask.

She jumps, turning fast enough that she has to catch herself on the car's frame. When she sees me her whole body goes stiff, shoulders pulling back like she's bracing for impact.

"I don't know," she says. "It was fine yesterday."

"Try it again."

She gets in the driver's seat and turns the key. The starter grinds but the engine doesn't catch.

I lean over the engine bay and check the connections. The battery terminals are corroded, white and green buildup crusted around them thick enough that I can see it without looking hard.

"Battery's shot," I say. "Connections are corroded."

She gets out of the car and comes to stand beside me, close enough that I can smell her.

I want to put my mouth on her neck. Want to taste the sweat there, feel her pulse under my tongue.

"Can it be fixed?" she asks.

"I can clean the terminals. Might buy you a few days but you'll need a new battery soon."

"How much will that cost?"

"Hundred and twenty for the battery. I can put it in."

She's quiet for a moment, looking at the engine like she's deciding something. Then she says, "Okay. Thank you."

"I'll get my tools."

I go back to the garage and grab what I need.

When I return she's still standing by the car, arms crossed over her chest even though the heat is brutal and there's no reason to hold herself that way except that I'm here and she doesn't know what to do with me.

I get to work on the terminals, scraping away the corrosion and wiping them clean. She watches without saying anything.

"How long have you lived here?" she asks finally.

"Eight years."

"You bought the house."

It's not a question but I answer anyway. "Yeah."

Another silence. I finish the first terminal and move to the second.

"I didn't know you'd be here," she says. "When I rented the place. I didn't know."

"Your dad didn't tell you?"

"He didn't mention it."

I glance at her. She's looking at the ground, jaw tight, hands gripping her elbows hard enough that I can see the pressure in her fingers.

"Would it have mattered?" I ask.

"I don't know."