House of the Unwanted: A House of Frost Novel
Chapter 4
By Dabeagle
The next morning my shoulder felt stiffer than the night before. I may have slept on it a bit or something, but to help I took a shower to let the warm water loosen it up. Once dressed I went to the kitchen, where Dorothy sat at the breakfast table, sipping from her cup.
“Good morning, Grandma,” I said. The title felt odd on my tongue, but Leonard had said there were no half-measures here. Besides, it feels a little odd to call an adult by their first name.
“Good morning, Sweetheart. There's some breakfast on the stove.”
I filled a plate and joined her at the table, popping one of my pain pills.
“How's the shoulder doing?”
“A little stiff today; it's always kind of sore,” I told her.
“Have to try and not move it,” she commented. “Ms. Glover – you remember, from the county? She stopped by this morning to drop off copies of some papers for you so we can get you registered for school tomorrow. What grade will you be in?”
I finished chewing and swallowed. “A senior, I think. I'll be eighteen in February.”
“Well, we don't have any transcripts or anything – she said the school will have to request those, but she said what she'd gotten to look at indicated you were a pretty good student.”
I bobbed my head. “I did all right.”
Leonard came into the room and said good morning, grabbing a few items for his plate and sitting down as Dorothy poured him a cup.
“Going down to Davidson's today?” she asked him.
“Yeah. Time to kick this project off.”
“And you're going to buy what, exactly, in the meantime?”
“I don't know what you mean,” he said with an air of innocence.
“Oh. We're playing that game this morning?”
“Well, I mean I have to have something to drive while the truck is restored, now don't I?”
“Of course. I'm just wondering if it's another restoration candidate or if you're just getting some transportation.”
“Well. We'll see what he's got on the lot,” he hedged.
Dorothy looked at me. “Leonard has a disease; better you find out now.”
“I don't know I'd go that far,” Leonard said with a chuckle.
It didn't seem like they meant a real disease, so I smiled a little and waited.
“He buys cars. He says he's going to restore them, but then he buys another one.” She shook her head. “He thinks I don't know, because he hides them down at Davidson's.”
I let my jaw drop open. “You hide things from Grandma?”
“She exaggerates,” he said, waving his hand in the air. “And a man needs a vice. I don't drink, I don't smoke-”
“You can't afford to whore,” she said dryly, but with a smile at the corners of her mouth.
“Well, not if I have cars,” he said with a grin.
“Aha! Plural! I knew it!”
They sparred playfully for a few minutes, and I enjoyed listening to them. It was cute how they teased each other. Leonard offered to take me with him, and Dorothy accused him of trying to infect me. I agreed to go with Leonard, and he helped me with the boots, though I was getting better at the coat. Not really good at it, but better.
As we headed down the road Leonard asked after my shoulder, and then we fell into a brief conversation about school. Shortly he shifted subjects.
“Remind me to stop at the police station for that report,” he said. “Now, where we're headed is a garage that I used to work in.”
“A tow driver,” I supplied.
“Right. Andrew Davidson runs the place and he and I are old friends. But,” he glanced at me with a little grin on his face, “sometimes it might not sound like it. So please, no giving him seizures or anything.”
I chuckled. “I can tell the difference between teasing and things like what Don said.”
“Well, I just figure it's fair to warn you. He's a little rough around the edges, but he's a good person – despite opening his mouth to change feet, sometimes.”
I nodded, and we fell into a comfortable silence as we navigated the streets. Davidson's Towing and Restoration turned out to be a long white cinder-block building next to a large, fenced lot. There was a short row of cars near the fence line with 'for sale' signs in them, and behind it several rows of cars in various states of disrepair.
Leonard pulled up to the side of the building and honked his horn. We waited a minute, and then the door started to rumble up on its track. Leonard pulled the truck in, waving a hand at the older man who was now hitting a button to close the door. He pulled into an empty space and shut the truck off. As we climbed out, a booming voice echoed off the high ceiling.
“Jesus Christ! What is that piece of shit doing in my shop?”
“Raising its value,” Leonard cracked.
“Right? At least it moves, not like the last one you got. When are you going to scrap that, anyway?”
“Twelfth of never,” Leonard replied. “Andrew, meet my grandson-” Leonard said, waving an open hand toward me.
“Ah, geez, kid. Tough shake on those genes,” Andrew said, interrupting as he grinned and stuck his hand out. I shook it and smiled at him. He was a stout guy, thick legs and a barrel chest on a short frame – maybe five-seven. He had brown hair shot through with gray and a gut, a thick mustache that needed trimming hanging to either side of his mouth.
“I do alright,” I replied.
“What happened to your wing, there?” he asked.
“I was in an accident,” I told him.
“Damndest thing. Friday night he was walking to my house and a pickup clipped him in the shoulder. Dislocated it.”
Andrew's eyes went wide. “No fucking way.”
Leonard started confirming the story, but Andrew turned his head toward the long interior of the building and yelled, “Lewis! Get yer ass up here!”
There was a much quieter, answering yell. I glanced at Leonard and then to Andrew. Andrew shook his head. “Lewis is my nephew. He was going home from his girlfriend's Friday, and I think he's the one that clipped you.”
I turned as two people approached us. One I vaguely recognized from the accident – I hadn't really taken the time to look at him, having been in pain. He was perhaps five foot nine, dressed in dirty jeans and a quilted plaid work shirt. His hair was in the current style, shaved on the sides with his hair kind of fluffy – it reminded me of a head of broccoli due to the curls; dark eyes, upturned nose and slight smile were attractive, and I almost instantly felt a familiar tightening in my pants.
His companion was altogether different. Perhaps five foot ten or eleven, wide shoulders but a small build, he was dressed in canvas work pants and a dark sweatshirt with the company logo on it. His face featured warm brown eyes and lips so full I almost took a step forward with the idea to kiss him. He had on a gray beanie with long, chestnut hair trailing out from under. Unlike the simple tightening in my pants, I felt an instant pull in my chest as well.
“Lewis. Would you like to meet your victim?” Andrew asked and then burst out laughing.
The shorter boy's eyes grew a bit wider. “Bro! Holy shit, glad you're okay. I didn't even recognize you.”
“Relax. You didn't hit him hard – he's standing up,” the other guy said with a little smile, and Lewis pushed him. They shoved back and forth for a minute before Andrew barked again.
“Okay, knock it off girls,” he told them. “Lewis, can you at least say you're sorry?”
I looked at Andrew. “He said it while we were waiting for the paramedics,” I told him.
“I am sorry, bro,” Lewis said. “That wind kicked up all of a sudden, and the snow flew up like a wall; I started to slow down, but then I just heard the mirror hit you. It was a...I don't even know. That sound. I was shitting bricks.”
“Fucking language!” Andrew snapped.
“Sorry. Shitting pebbles? Like I do if Uncle Andrew cooks anything?”
“Fucking kids,” Andrew said, throwing his hands up dramatically. Looking at me he said, “I'm glad you're okay, though. Scary shit, no doubt. Dislocation, huh? Well. Lewis can carry your bag for you at school.”
“Are you going to my school?” Lewis asked.
I glanced at him, to Leonard and back. “Uh. I guess? I'm getting registered tomorrow.”
The other guy put an arm around Lewis's shoulders and leaned toward me. “Look. You knocked the color right out of his eyes.”
Lewis threw his arm off, and they were shoving each other again.
“I should have stopped with dogs,” Andrew said with a dramatic sigh. “So – sorry, your grandfather is a rude old fuck, and he never mentioned your name. Or does he just call you grandson and you come running?”
“Oh, really? You mean like you just call me Son?” the one who wasn't Lewis asked sarcastically.
“Term of grudging endearment,” Andrew said with a wave of his hand. “With the last name Davidson – which is too much to say all the time – I just call him Son. What do we call you?”
I raised an eyebrow and smiled at their banter. “Tilman.”
“Til, where's your house? I can give you a ride to school,” Lewis piped up.
“Easy. Not sure if it's safer inside your truck than out,” Son said and they pushed each other again.
“Ignore them,” Andrew said. “Now. You're here to help this old fool pretend to restore this truck are you? Got a bit of the car bug?”
“Oh, Dorothy made it sound like cancer this morning,” Leonard said. In a high voice he said, “I just know you're buying cars and stashing them down at that shit hole of a garage.”
“She didn't say that.” Andrew looked at me. “Did she say that?”
“No,” I said with a small head shake. “She called it a nuclear waste site with a garage sign on it.”
Leonard burst out laughing while Andrew insisted Dorothy would say much worse. “Now, Til, this place is going to be hard for you to leave. It's filled with half of what every man wants out of life – cars and women. So, just cars here.”
“Yeah, thanks Dad,” Son replied sarcastically.
“You know what I meant! Don't be so touchy,” Andrew replied with a roll of his eyes. Andrew and Leonard started to talk about where the truck would primarily be during the restoration and that degraded quickly into them making fun of each other, so I turned my attention to Lewis and Son.
“So...not sure I should be calling you Son. People might get the wrong idea,” I said.
“Not if he calls you Daddy,” Lewis said and laughed as Son tried to backhand him.
Looking at me with a little smile at his lips he said, “I'm Keaton. My dad's just special.”
“Sounds like fewer people will think weird thoughts,” I replied.
“In this town?” Lewis asked, and laughed. “Bro, really glad to know you're okay, though. That was scary shit, for real. I can't believe you wanted to just walk that off!”
Keaton raised an eyebrow and started walking back to where he and Lewis had come from, so I trailed behind. “You tried to walk away? Must have been in shock or something.” He paused. “Or Lewis's POS didn't actually hit you too hard.”
“Fuck you.”
“Honestly, it might have taken more damage than you,” Keaton continued.
“Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you,” Lewis replied, making a little song out of the phrase.
Keaton grinned at me. “He finally decided to replace the mirrors, anyway. Truck looked fucking goofy with those towing mirrors on it.”
Lewis looked toward me as he spoke. “The guy I bought the truck from said he used to use it to haul a horse trailer or something. He put these mirrors on it that stuck out pretty far because of that.”
“You only tow your fat ass around – hah!” Keaton broke what he was saying, laughing as Lewis shoved him and hit his arm. Lewis laughed as Keaton stumbled, and then they both laughed at each other. We came up on an old, square-bodied Ford truck that had chrome mirrors sticking far out on either side.
“I bought some used factory ones, but I wasn't in a hurry to change them,” Lewis explained.
“Now that he hit someone, though,” Keaton said, continuing to tease Lewis.
“I am never going to hear the last of this,” Lewis groaned with a little smile. “I mean, you'll heal, but I'll be hearing about this for the rest of my life.”
“Well,” I said, trying not to smile. “Maybe it'll help to improve your driving choices. Like not going out when there's a snowstorm.”
“Oh, not you, too!” Lewis groaned and laughed all in one. “Look, if you met my girlfriend, you'd understand. All I'm saying.”
“He's her pity date,” Keaton stage whispered, and then they pushed and shoved again.
“It's because I'm huge,” Lewis boasted.
“You're hung like a field mouse!” Keaton said, laughing.
Lewis spread his feet out and used his hands to mime holding something the size of a sewer pipe. “Bro, I have guns from trying to hold this monster up.”
Keaton looked at me. “I think he just admitted to not being able to get it up?”
“No!”
“It's what I heard,” Keaton replied.
“Look, I'm dating, and you got your hand.”
“Okay, okay, let's get the mirrors swapped.” Keaton walked to a small workbench and picked up a tool, then put some sort of attachment on it and tested that the tool was working before bringing it back to the truck. While Lewis held the large mirror, Keaton applied the tool to chrome nuts that held the mirrors to the door in three places, and like that the first one was off – and promptly crashed to the floor, slipping from Lewis's grip.
“Shit!” Lewis said, stooping to pick up the mirror. “Mirror cracked, but didn't fall out.”
“There goes your resale value,” Keaton snickered. Lewis flipped him off and then handed him a replacement with new bolts. In moments it was attached, and they were moving to the other side.
“Oh! Til, I almost forgot – I still have your bag in my truck. I think it got left behind when they put you on the stretcher.”
“Oh, thanks.”
Keaton unbolted the second mirror and held it out to me. “Want a souvenir? You can hit Lewis with it.”
“Eat me,” Lewis replied and handed Keaton the second mirror. He had it attached shortly, and then Lewis sat in the driver's seat to get them both adjusted. Satisfied, he climbed out and handed me my bag.
“Thanks.” I took the bag and let it hang from my fingertips.
“Okay, I have to go,” Lewis said. “Really glad you're okay. Hey, where do you live? I can come get you if you need a ride to school. What's your number?”
I shook my head. “Don't worry about me. I don't have a phone, and I didn't memorize the address.”
“No phone?” they both asked then looked at each other, then back to me.
“Nah. House fire. Lost it all,” I said.
“Damn,” Keaton said, his voice soft. “Run of bad luck. I can't even imagine a house fire. Last year someone set a fire in one of the school classrooms, but it went out. I can't imagine all my stuff burning up, though.”
I bobbed my head, not sure what else there was to say.
“Okay, well, Dad's texting me already to hurry up,” Lewis said, gesturing with his phone. “I'll see you at school.”
I shook my head. “Hopefully not while I'm walking to school.”
“Ohhh!” Keaton said, his voice rising as he covered his mouth and started to laugh.
“Ugh! Hate you both. See ya!” Lewis said and held his fist out. I bumped it, and he did the same with Keaton before climbing back into his truck and backing down the way we'd come to exit the building.
I looked to Keaton. “You work here?”
He shrugged. “Off and on. Not sure what I want to do yet since I graduated.” He walked over to the workbench he'd gotten the tool from, set it down and turning to the car beside the bench.
“You working on this?” I asked.
“Yeah. It's mine, so no one else is gonna,” he said with a grin.
I turned to take a closer look. “Is it special?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
I shrugged. “L- uh, Grandpa told me about his '64 truck. He said it's kind of rare.”
“Yeah. Anything old is rare; doesn't mean special or valuable.” Keaton laid a hand on the hood. “This here is a fifth gen 1960 Ford Country Squire wagon, and I love it.” He turned to grin at me. “Partially because my father hates it.”
I couldn't help but smile back a little. “Why does he hate it?”
He lowered his voice. “You should be driving muscle like a man does. Get some horses under the hood and some loud pipes!” He rolled his eyes. “Basically, it's not a muscle car, and it annoys him that I drive it.”
I laughed. “So, you own it just because of that?”
“Fuck no, that's just icing.” He patted the hood again. “I put a new front end in with disc brakes, it's got a V8 under the hood with a four-barrel carb, four on the floor – and look at the wood panels. Those were made to look like boat decking because this thing’s a fucking boat!” He laughed. “It drives soft, but it’s got some muscle; some rust, but the paint is mostly okay. Plus, look at this interior. Come on, sit behind the wheel.”
I couldn't help but smile at him, and I slipped past him through the door he held open for me and sat behind the wheel.
“First, look at that speedo. Look how it stretches out, left to right instead of just a circle – or worse, a digital dial. How boring it is to have just a couple numbers flipping up and down on a screen! This is fucking character.” He pointed out the small circular gauges and the pull-knobs for various functions. It was hard not to like the car, just because he was so excited about it. “It's got a third-row seat, and the second row folds down so you can camp out or haul stuff.” He pointed at the seat. “And a bench seat is just right for taking a drive with someone right next to you.”
I looked up and grinned suggestively. “Or even when you're not moving?”
He pointed his finger like a gun. “Especially then.”
Wow. I really want to kiss him. “Uh, so, why is it in here?”
“Oh, just a tune up. Want to help?”
“Uh, yeah. I mean, not sure what I can do.”
“Hand me tools? Don't break anything?”
“No promises,” I said with a grin. I climbed out of the car, and he pulled his beanie off to give it a shake. I was stunned by his hair. It was long – longer than I'd thought, given how it had been hidden. His brown hair was parted down the middle, and much of it was brushed back like wings to either side, but his bangs – freed from the cap – draped down to frame his face. He ran a hand back to put his hair into place as he dragged the beanie back onto his head.
“Last thing I need is for a pulley to grab my hair. Couple times it's gotten wrapped around the wheel on a creeper – fuckin' hurts,” he said with a little grin. “Okay. Grab me a standard screwdriver?”
“Uh.” I glanced over at the tool chest.
“Right side, second drawer down.”
Nodding I pulled the drawer open and was presented with a bunch of screwdrivers. I glanced back at him and asked. “So when you say standard you mean like an average screwdriver or the mixed drink?”
He burst out laughing. “The drink, of course.” He moved from the front of the car and joined me at the tool chest. “Okay, I'm going to guess you're not a car guy?”
I gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I like them in general, I guess.”
He turned and leaned on the tool chest. “So not a car guy.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Give me the definition.”
He grinned again. “You feel it in your bones, bro.” He looked toward his car. “Some people look at that and just see it as an old grocery getter. I look at it, and I see places to go. I see time I put in to have the freedom it gives me. I see something close to being alive, something that has taught me things, like I had to learn to weld so I could replace bad floor pans.” He waved a hand in the air, never looking away from the car. “It's an idea, Til, a metal dream. It's all these things tied up.”
I nodded. “I guess, depending on what you're into, that could be just about anything someone is passionate about.”
He turned toward me, grinned again and slapped my chest with the back of his hand. “Passion. That's it right there.”
I turned toward his car and took a slow walk around it, trying to see it like he did. One glance and you knew this wasn't a modern car – it had a flair most modern machines didn't. The tail end had sharp edges like plane wings that were probably there for style rather than aerodynamics. It looked like the tailgate split into an upper and lower section, and the glass wrapped to provide a clear view all around. I glanced at Keaton, and his gaze was firmly on me, so I went back to the car. I wasn't sure I liked the design of the fake wood paneling, though again it was there for aesthetics rather than aerodynamics. Those wings were tipped with chrome that ran all the way to the front of the car, and I trailed my finger along the line of shiny material to small, circular...things on the fenders. They almost looked like gun sights.
The four headlights up front, of course, were no longer in fashion on modern cars – but as I looked through the windshield, I thought about him saying the seats folded down. I thought about lying in the back, with Keaton. I thought about it being dark out and being close to him for warmth and more. I had my own reasons to like this car.
I looked up at him and grinned. “This car is fucking sweet.”
He smiled widely. “There you go. Now come here; I'll teach you the names of the tools.”
We hadn't been there long before Leonard came wandering back looking for me. “Ah, was wondering where you'd scampered off to. Keats, how goes the car that makes your dad wonder where he went wrong?” Leonard grinned and burst out laughing.
“That new exhaust plus the bigger intake makes it get up and talk,” Keaton replied. “I mean, I wish I could afford more parts, but Mom's been on me to start looking at school or to start coming here full time to actually fix stuff.”
“Oh, yeah, your dad was saying. Still, you're only young once, and one day you'll miss this car,” he said, running a hand up the fender. He glanced up at me. “You helping Keats out or just chatting?”
“He's a yappuchino – I thought Lewis was bad!” Keaton said with a laugh.
Laced with sarcasm I said, “He's talking about how much he loves his car. I know why he's single.”
“Oh!” They both called out, looking at each other and back to me, and laughed.
“This one's got teeth!” Leonard said through his smile.
“I was just teaching him the names of the tools. He was going to help me with the tune up – was just putting a new set of points in. Really want an electronic ignition.”
“Oh yeah? Let's do that, then maybe you can give me a hand – your dad's claiming he's busy, but we both know he's just jerking off in his office.”
They laughed again and then got to work. I watched mostly, since I couldn't do a lot with one arm, but they brought me in close to explain how the points worked and how they were setting them so that when the cam spun the spark would go through the points and, eventually, to the spark plugs. It was a little confusing, since I didn't really know how an engine worked, but it was interesting, and the way they spoke, it was like being included in a secret club.
After starting the car to test that the points worked properly, we walked back up toward where Leonard had pulled the truck in. Instead of stopping there, we went past it and out a side door that led to the lot I'd seen behind the fence as we'd pulled in. We walked over to a sad-looking little pickup that was more modern than the one we'd arrived in – but maybe not by much.
“Well, need to get a battery into it, see if it needs tune up parts – probably tires, maybe brakes. Test some stuff so I can drive it home – though it's not too bad a shape, I don't think.”
“Wait. That sounds like a lot you have to do just to drive back home,” I said.
“Yeah. He's not finishing that,” Keaton said with a grin. “He'll be calling his wife to come get him.”
I shook my head. “No, he won't.” They both looked at me with various degrees of interest. “If she came down here, she might find out how many cars L-uh, Grandpa's hiding from her.”
“Oh. You hide things from your wife? Mr. McKinley!” Keaton pretended to look horrified.
“Oh, shut up,” Leonard said in a bored tone. “You wait – you'll have to hide cars too. I see the way you've been looking at that '65 Galaxie.”
Keaton nodded. “That nose is art.”
Leonard snorted. “Yeah. Well, your dad would be happy if you built that.”
“It's the biggest reason I haven't, yet.”
“I could help.” Oh, wow, kind of blurted that out there.
Keaton smiled and pointed at me. “Infected.”
“Shit. Dorothy's going to kill me.”
We spent the rest of the day working on that little truck – an old Toyota – pushing it inside and getting it up in the air to remove the wheels – and I was learning a lot, like the difference between tires and wheels. Hadn't really thought about it before. They lowered the car enough to put in a battery, and to help me learn the names of the tools they had me playing gopher. I didn't mind though – it was kind of fun to feel part of what was going on and trying to learn something. Not just that, I kept looking at Keaton out of the corner of my eye and feeling that unfamiliar tug in my chest.
I've had my crushes. Hooked up a little and had my heart race and my face feel hot. This wasn't like that. This was something like jelly in the middle of my chest, moving side to side and trembling every time it did. It was uncomfortable, exciting, concerning, and made me think there was something to Keaton I'd never run into before.
I got distracted from that when a loud cracking sound came out of the truck.
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