"Thank you," the twenty-something black haired girl says as she hands me the receipt and what should be two dollars and thirty-five cents in change. "Please come again!"
I smile absently back at her, grabbing the black tri-fold board off the conveyor belt where she had awkwardly lain it after scanning the item, and stuff the receipt and change into my jacket pocket. I hitch the board underneath my arm and hold it pressed to my side, hurrying toward the slightly greasy glass doors at the entrance of the store. I come to a stop and stifle a groan when I see the steady drizzle of rain, and the sparkling wet pavement. I tried to hurry so I could get the tri-fold before the forecasted rain could come down, but it took too long trying to find a conservative black one in the piles of brightly coloured boards.
I grimly pull the hood of my jacket up and push open the door, holding the tri-fold to my side. I swiftly look both ways down the road before crossing it quickly, taking care not to step in the small puddles. After crossing the parking lot, I make it to the sidewalk and scurry down Hemming Road, on my way home. Knowing that it is a fatuous effort, but unable to stop myself from trying, I try to angle the tri-fold so the least amount of surface area is exposed to the direction the rain is falling. I stop my useless fumbling when I hear the muffled buzz of what sounds like an indie rock song.
A charcoal grey pickup truck is parked on the other side of the road, its windows rolled halfway down, the rain dripping uninterrupted into the cab. A middle-aged man with sun-browned skin and stubble sits inside in the driver’s seat, talking animatedly on the phone despite the noisy music he had playing. His ink black hair is striking even from a distance. I slow down and squint through the rain, stopping in my tracks when I recognize the face half hidden by the windshield.
Unaware of my staring, the man exhales heavily and mutters something into the phone before hanging up. Before I can think to look away, he glances through the truck’s window and catches me. I turn away at once and start walking again, faster this time, hiding behind my hood. I almost manage to pass the truck before I hear him call my name.
“Melanie!”
I cringe, but immediately stop walking. I turn my head and see him getting out of his truck.
“Hey, Mel! Remember me?” He says, jogging up to me without bothering to check if any vehicles are coming before crossing the wet asphalt, a grin on his face that unsettles me. He leaves his truck door open.
I say nothing and simply stare at him, wondering how it’s even possible that this is happening. He hesitates, waiting for a reply, and his smile disappears. He rubs his mouth, and then prompts, “It’s your Uncle Rob. I used to be married to Danielle, remember? Back when you were a kid.”
He’s not much taller than me, so I can look at his face without getting my face rained on. “I remember,” I say slowly, even though it’s not really true. He is not the Rob I remember. Years in the sun aged his skin, and it appears translucent and sallow in the cloudy day. There are wrinkles around his eyes that weren’t there before, and I suspect that his startlingly black hair is the result of hair dye. His steely voice is the same though.
“Where are you headin’ in this rain?”
“Home.” I manage very simple answers. Something about him unsettles me, but I try to ignore it.
“Oh, let me give you a ride,” he says. I snap out of it and stop gaping at him.
“No, no, it’s okay– ” I begin, but he cuts me off.
“No, really, I haven’t seen you in so long, let me give you a ride.”
I deliberate, clumsily switching the tri-fold from my left hand to my right. I glance at the small black watch on my wrist, chewing my lip when I realize that it’s already 4:57 and I don’t have much time.
“Sure," I tell him quickly. “I could use a ride.” 5 minutes in the car with him wouldn’t be so bad, right?
He grins at me, and gestures for me to follow him, again crossing without looking both ways. I slowly trudge behind him, made uncomfortable by his smile, and wait outside the passenger side door to his grey truck, clutching my tri-fold board.
“The door’s open,” Rob says cheerfully, and then assesses my hesitation. He peers over the top of the truck and notices my tri-fold. “Oh, you can dump that in the back, the tarp can cover it.”
I hesitate and then nod, gingerly placing my board into the truck bed, pulling a dirty white tarp over it. I take a deep breath of the cold, rainy air, and pull open the cab door before I can change my mind.
The overpowering scent of tobacco hits me first, fresh and acrid, and I automatically hold my breath, trying not to grimace. I climb in and buckle in my seatbelt, noticing that he isn’t wearing one when he reaches over to turn off the music.
“You guys still live down on Queen Street, right? On the east side?” He flicks the blinker on and pulls away from the curb immediately, without bothering to shoulder check.
Why use the blinker when you’re not going to give anyone the time to see it? I think, and tell him, “Yeah.” I exhale, and try to only take shallow breaths.
“Guess Ian didn’t end up taking that job down in the States.”
I look at him in surprise. As far I know, Uncle Rob hasn’t had any contact with Aunt Danielle or the rest of the family since he left Danielle 11 years ago, but Dad turned down that job offer only last year, after I complained about not being able to finish up my senior year in the same high school and convinced him not to move the family. I wonder how Rob knew about it, but don’t ask.
“No,” I reply. “We’re still here.”
He nods, and after a moment, starts to whistle, his hair ruffling in the rainy breeze that blows through the half-open window. I peek at him out of the corner of my eye and study him in the silence that follows. I’m itching to ask him why he left our family all those years ago. Aunt Danielle and Dad never talked about it, and Mom always said I shouldn’t bring it up, so they never told me, but I always wondered. I look quickly away when I see that he is about to glance in my direction.
“So, how is everyone? How are your mom and dad?”
“They’re doing well,” I tell him. I wait for him to ask about Aunt Danielle, but he doesn’t. After a moment, I add, “Nothing’s really changed since you left.”
He nods, and takes a left turn onto Holmes Street.
“Aunt Danielle’s doing well, too.” I venture tentatively.
“That’s good to hear,” I hear him say, his voice sounding distant. The truck slows down as we near a red light, and I am unable to hold in my curiosity.
“Why did you leave Aunt Danielle?” I blurt out, staring down at my hands.
He is silent for so long that I worry that I’ve upset him, but when I finally turn to look at him, he’s staring out the windshield, an impressively uninterested expression on his face. I almost believe in the act before I catch sight of his hands. His grip on the thin steering wheel is tight enough to turn his knuckles white.
“We both agreed that it was the best thing to do.” He doesn’t look away from the road.
I hear a chill in his voice that makes me squirm, and I silently berate myself for asking such a question. I try to think of something else to say and unable to, I sit on my hands and say nothing. I wish that the roar of his truck is just a little louder, or that he would at least turn the music back on, but it isn’t, and he doesn’t, and we sit in an uncomfortable silence. We drive for about a minute more before he jerks to a halt at a stop sign, and cranes his neck, looking up and down the street.
“It’s the next turn right,” I murmur quietly. He nods and we continue on. After another minute, he parks in front of my house where the grass is overgrown and the welcome mat is crooked.
“Thanks for the ride,” I say quickly, and reach for the door handle, eager to get out of the truck and away from his smiles.
“Sure thing.”
I’m half out of the truck before his adds, “Oh, and Mel, it’s probably better if you don’t mention to your Dad that you saw me today.” His voice is casual, but it surprises me.
“Why?” I ask, turning back to him.
“I’m not going to be here much longer so there’s no point.” He smiles at me.
“Oh, that’s too bad.” I swallow. “Um, maybe you could come inside right now, before you leave. I’m sure Dad would like to see you.”
His smile fades, and he clears his throat. “Maybe next time, Melanie. I should go now. Just don’t tell him.” He looks at me, expectant.
I feel a flash of irritation, but I nod and step out of the car, closing the door behind me. He waits until I grab my tri-fold board out of the truck bed, and peels away as soon as I turn to walk up the path to my house. I pause and stare after him as his tail lights race down the road, and then run up to the door when they disappear. I know there isn’t going to be a next time.