Totaled (2 page)

From that day on, I homeschooled Liam. Who else was going to do it? When I finished my school day, I came straight home and taught Liam his lessons, looked over all of his work, and helped him make corrections before submitting the final product through an online homeschooling program. We made a great team. I loved seeing my brother finally get something that he had always struggled with before. The problem wasn’t Liam. It was never Liam. It was the public school system. Sure, he isn’t the smartest guy, but you just have to know how to teach him. I know how his brain works and how to get through to him. I understand him and what he needs. We have a soul connection that you can’t possibly understand unless you also have a twin.

I grabbed a piece of paper from the kitchen counter and quickly scribbled him a note.

Liam,

Sue and I are headed to the beach. We are going to the north end, beyond the big dune, to avoid the crowd. Should be gone until about 3. I have my cell if you need me for anything. Also, as you can see and smell, there is pot roast in the crockpot for dinner.

Tá grá agam duit

~Bree

I ended my note to Liam the same way I always did,
Tá grá agam duit
, which means “I love you” in Gaelic. It was the way we had said I love you since I could remember. My mother had whispered those sweet words to us even before we could talk or understand their meaning. It was just our family thing. We never left each other without saying it, never ended a letter or note without writing it, never went a day without letting each other know, in our own Murphy way, how we felt.

“Okay Sue, I’m ready to go!” I called out into the living room.

She rose from the couch, obviously texting on her phone. “It’s about time. Did you bring your SPF 3,000?” she joked, walking alongside me toward the door.

“You make fun now because I’m cursed with my mother’s fair complexion,” I replied snidely, “but when we’re old hags, you’ll be all shriveled up and wrinkly. I’ll look twenty years younger than you and I’ll remind you that you too could’ve and should’ve gooped on the SPF 3,000.”

She led the way down our foyer and opened the front door. “Well, we’ll burn that bridge when we come to it.”

“It’s cross,” I corrected.

“What?”

“It’s cross that bridge, not burn it,” I responded.

“Whatever. Before we’re old hags, I’ll just get plastic surgery and chemical peels to refresh my look,” she retorted, truly believing that it was just that simple. She really was a piece of work.

“And where on Earth are you going to get the money for that?”

“Hello? I’m going to marry rich, of course.”

“
You
are a hot mess. Let’s go.”

Chapter Two

DREW

Just when I thought I couldn’t possibly drive any more, I got distracted by the music. I had heard this song a hundred times, but this time the words resonated and seeped into my soul like never before. My eyes fixed on the white dotted-lined lanes ahead. I didn’t have to look on my dash to see the digital display of the title and artist.

He sang of being on a journey and seeing visions of his life pass him by with every exit sign, doubting his strength, but wanting to see his loved one again.

I felt the wall that I had built up begin to waver, the agonizing grief overwhelming me. The painful lyrics, ringing so true, hit home and I could no longer fight it. I felt every note vibrate through the speakers and strike through my hard shell like they had a direct electrical link to my heart. I sang along, the weight of all of the emotions cracking my voice randomly in between lyrics.

As City and Colour’s “Hello, I’m in Delaware” ended, I tried to regain my composure. Zoning out again, I gazed ahead at the highway before me, silently praying for some way to heal. I heard a dinging noise as one of my indicator lights flashed, signaling a problem. It took me a moment to snap out of the emotional cloud I had trapped myself in and notice that something was wrong with my truck. The noises that were coming from the vehicle suggested that it was bad. My dashboard alert lights were on and blinking, screaming for attention.

Is that smoke?

My car is fucking smoking?

No, no, no, no, no.

This is not happening to me.

I pulled the truck over onto the side of the road and got out to assess the damage, like I knew the first thing about cars. Smoke or steam, hell if I know which, was billowing out from under the hood and it reeked of burning oil, gasoline, metal, and most importantly, it smelled expensive. I could do nothing but yell.

So I belted out to the sky, “You have
got
to be kidding me! I don’t have time for this shit! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I’m literally thirty minutes away from I-95 and this piece of shit car is overheating now? God, when I asked if this day could get any worse, it was a goddamned rhetorical question, NOT A FUCKING CHALLENGE! Christ Almighty, what am I going to do now?”

“Well, you’d probably have a little more success with yer prayers if you’d stop cussin’ like a sailor!” someone said behind me, making me jump.

“Jesus Christ! You scared me. What are you doing sneaking up on people on the side of a highway? That’s a quick way to get yourself killed!” I exclaimed.

“Oh, I’m not all that worried ‘bout it. I was actually tryin’ to help,” the seemingly harmless man stated. “I’m Mick. I’ve been behind ya for a stretch and saw smoke coming out from under yer hood back there since the last exit. Thought ya might be overheatin’, so I slowed down and pulled off after ya. I live in MacClenny, just off the next exit.”

“Oh. Well thanks, I guess. But I can handle it. I have it under control,” I replied dismissively with an undercurrent of injured male pride.

“Nonsense. I see yer Arizona tags, which means you ain’t from ‘round here. And unless ya got one of them fancy Triple A cards, looks to me like you got yerself in a little situation. Why don’t you catch a ride with me into town and I’ll call my mechanic buddy? We can ride him back out here to take a look,” he insisted, gesturing over to his vehicle.

I took a moment to really take him in. He was middle-aged and wearing a mesh University of Florida hat that he’d probably been wearing since 1985, his salt and pepper hair peeking out from underneath. His skin was tan and weathered, like he’d been working outside all day every day for most of his working life. He was a skinny guy and a few inches shorter than me, but I was used to that. He was just staring at me awaiting a response, all the while rolling and twirling a toothpick from the corner of one side of his mouth to the other, back and forth again and again. Willing myself out of the toothpick trance, I answered him.

“Are you serious?” I said, shocked at his generous, albeit weird, offer. “You don’t even know me. Why are you helping me?” People just didn’t do this kind of thing where I came from.

“Somebody helped me once. Let’s just say I’m paying it forward or whatever. Plus, you got an honest face and a crucifix ‘round your neck. It’s the Christian thing to do,” he replied with a twangy country accent that I didn’t remember people in Florida having.

Weighing out my options in my head, I paused. I was definitely in a jam and this guy was offering to help. I didn’t feel threatened at all, so I figured, what the hell? Why not?

“Well, if you don’t mind, I would love a ride into town. MacClenny, you said?” I asked, but I don’t know why. It didn’t matter. I was stuck and this nice, small town guy was actually throwing me a bone.

Pleased with my acceptance of his offer, he responded excitedly. “Yes, sir-ee. A buddy of mine is a real good mechanic, been taking care of my whole family’s cars for years. He’ll do right by you with his price too. Where are ya headed, anyway?”

Anywhere but here,
I thought as I let the hood slam down, but I told him anyway—what harm could it do? “I’m actually headed to Daytona Beach.”

“Oh yeah? What brings you to Florida from Arizona?” he asked, actually seeming interested.

Trust me, man, you don’t even want to know.

I wondered in my head if anyone could actually look at me and tell what awful things I had done. “I just need a fresh start,” I mumbled, not making eye contact. “I went to Daytona Beach once on a family vacation and liked it, so I figured it’s as good a place as any. Do you mind if I grab my bags and take them with us? It’s everything I’ve got and I’d prefer not to leave my stuff on the side of I-10.”

He nodded and after retrieving my whole life, which was all folded, tucked, and secured into two duffle bags, I put them in the back of the old man’s pickup truck and hopped into the front seat. The cab smelled like sweat and dogs, but actually wasn’t filthy inside. I was pleased not to see a rifle mounted to a gun rack in the rear cab window, but then thought myself an asshole for even thinking it was a possibility. I was a pretty judgmental person, but the majority of the time, my assessments were correct. I’ve always been an excellent judge of character. You learn a lot by people watching at a pub your entire life. I had over fifteen years of exposure to hone my people reading skills. That skill had won me many fights and ended many friendships in my short life.

Once we got rolling, I noticed that Mick had sports talk radio blasting through the speakers. I hated talk radio. Why would you ever want to listen to people arguing back and forth instead of music? It didn’t even matter what kind of music; any music would be better than this. I connected with music more than anything else in life. Besides fighting, anyway. I could listen to a song twice and know all the words. I could feel the melody and notes seeping into my bones, right to my core. Music and fighting were the only things I had left any more. They both served as a way for me to escape, a sort of therapy.

As I tried to drown out two men arguing over who the Jacksonville Jaguars should draft for their first pick, I zoned out, staring out the window at nothing but trees. I thought about that day, the day that changed my world. I will never ever forgive myself. I saw red, heard nothing but a train barreling towards me, and just snapped. And all for nothing. I wasn’t there. I wasn’t fast enough. Now I’m haunted. I’m broken, damaged, and lost.

I’m nothing.

“Here we are,” Mick barked.

I was jolted from my self-loathing daze by the old man announcing that we had apparently arrived. He wasn’t really that old, though, I guess. Old enough to be my father probably. As I looked around, I saw that we weren’t at a car repair place at all. We were at someone’s house. A beat up double wide, to be more specific. There were no less than ten broken down, rusted vehicles scattered around the yard with random hoods up, tires missing, and doors absent. It looked like a junkyard. I guess he could tell I was confused by our arrival at someone’s home as opposed to a garage.

“Oh, don’t worry. His garage is out back. He works on cars out of his home garage,” Mick reassured me.

Naturally. I’m here in the middle of Podunk nowhere, surrounded by nothing but country. Why should I be shocked that he works out of a shed in his yard?

“Bubba! Buuuuuhhhhhbbbbbbaaaaaaaahhhhhh!” he screamed. “Are you back there?”

Bubba? Are you fucking kidding me? Have I been warped into the Redneckville, USA, twilight zone or what? All we need now is a couple of pit bulls
. And before I could even complete the thought, a huge ass dog came sprinting out from behind the trailer, running at full speed, drool slinging out of both sides of his wrinkly mouth, teeth showing like sharp daggers directed straight for my jugular. I hear Mick shout, “Heel, Duke! Whoa! Sit!” and the dog just stopped dead in his tracks.

What. The. Fuck?

“Well, meet Duke. He looks scary as hell but he’s really just a teddy bear in a pit bull costume. He couldn’t hurt a fly. Duke, this is…well, shit, son. I guess I never got yer name.”

I immediately looked down at the front of my pants to make sure I hadn’t pissed myself and walked slowly over to the dog. He licked my hand and nuzzled up against my thigh.
Hmph. Strange.
I’m so not a dog person. “Drew,” I said, scratching the dog behind the ears. “My name is Drew.”

I followed Mick and Duke around the corner to see a man bent over the hood of a bright red Chevy El Camino. He was wearing coveralls and a NASCAR hat and turned around to greet us while hocking a wad of chewing tobacco out onto the ground.

Seriously, could this whole scene be any more cliché? I guess he could be missing some teeth.

The man appraised me calmly, starting at my shoes and eyeing me all the way up to my eyebrows, which towered above his own, before he finally spoke. “Well goddamn, Mick. Where’d ya find this jolly green giant? I ain’t never seen nobody so huge in all my days. What the fuck do you eat, man?”

“Anything I can find, sir,” I answered with a smile.

“Bubba, this here young man is called Drew,” Mick interjected. “He’s traveling through from Arizona on his way to Daytona Beach and broke down on the side of I-10. So, here we are. Ya got some time to ride up with us and take a look?”

“Aw hell, I’m up to my elbows with this El Camino’s horseshit transmission. But I always got time for you, Mick. Lemme just wash my hands and we’ll head out.”

“Thank you, sir, Bubba, is it?” I asked as I reached out my hand to shake his.

“That’s me; nice to meet ya, man. Sucks to conk out on the highway. We’ll get ya fixed up in no time. What do ya drive anyway? I hope it’s not some foreign piece of shit,” he said, obviously not having a care in the world that he could potentially be offending me.

“No sir. I drive a 2008 Tahoe,” I responded with a grin.

“Well thank Christ for that,” he spit out. And we were off.

We all piled into the truck, Bubba wedged in the middle of Mick and me, which couldn’t have been comfortable. I wasn’t a small man to begin with, not to mention the awkwardness of three grown ass men to be sitting so close to each other. I just stared out the window the entire trip. We didn’t have trees like this in Phoenix. I was in the sticks for sure, but we did pass some fast food places and I noticed that they actually had a nationally known coffee shop in this little hick town, so it couldn’t be
that
bad.