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“What can you carry with this thing, anyway? Bet my lawn-mower engine is bigger than this. What keeps it running?” he asked. “Sounds like squirrels.”
“The only thing I have to carry is me,” she said. “I don’t haul wood, and this car is surprisingly good in the snow.”
“Can’t believe that,” he said. “You’d get stuck in six inches.”
“It’s light, so it doesn’t sink, plus the gas mileage is terrific. What kind of gas mileage does your truck get?”
He made a mumbling sound that she couldn’t understand. “Excuse me? What did you say?”
“Fifteen miles to the gallon,” he said. “But I could haul most of the houses around here if I wanted.”
She bit her tongue, refusing to point out the obvious, that there was no need to haul houses. Turning off the main drive, she pulled next to the clinic door.
“This is a no-parking zone,” he told her.
“I know,” she said. “I just wanted to get you as close to the door as possible.”
“Hmmph,” he said and opened the car door.
“Just a minute,” she said, cutting the engine and rushing to the passenger side of the car.
“Gotta be a darned pretzel to ride in that car,” he grumbled, but leaned against her as she helped him inside the clinic. Two hours later, she helped Mr. Henson back to the car as he hobbled on crutches.
“Just a sprain,” he said. “I told you it wasn’t anything and I’m not taking that pain medication. It makes me loopy.”
“It’s not a narcotic,” she said as she carefully arranged the crutches in her backseat. “Do you have plastic bags?”
“Yeah, why?” he asked.
“For the ice. The doctor said you need to put ice on your ankle.”
Mr. Henson shrugged.
“Well, if you don’t want to get better and you want to keep feeling rotten, you don’t need to follow his instructions.”
She felt the old man whip his head toward her. “I didn’t say that,” he said.
“The doctor said between the bad bruise and sprain it’s a wonder you didn’t break it. So you need to take care of it. RICE is what he said.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Rest, ice, compression and elevation.”
“You can sit back and watch some TV,” she suggested.
“Hate that reality stuff. Give me a book or a ball game instead.”
“That could be arranged,” she said. “I think my mother said something about fixing some beef stew. Maybe I could bring some over for you if you behave yourself.”
The old man licked his lips. “That sounds good.”
She smiled. “You’ll get better faster if you do what the doctor says.”
“Maybe,” Mr. Henson said and paused. “You know, you would make a good wife. You nag like a good wife would.”
Abby didn’t know whether to feel complimented or insulted.
“Cade Pritchett will be chasing you sooner than you think,” he said.
“Not in this lifetime,” she said.
Mr. Henson lifted a wiry gray eyebrow. “You disrespecting your elder?”
“No,” Abby said reluctantly. “I just can’t fight reality.”
“Girlie,” he said, “I’m eighty-five and I lost Geraldine, my reason for living, eight years ago. I fight reality every day.”
She couldn’t argue with that.
After that, Abby focused on her schoolwork and her work at ROOTS, a community group founded for at-risk teens. Abby led her girls’ teen group on Tuesday nights where they talked about everything from bullies and sex to cosmetics and higher education.
The truth was most of the girls in Abby’s group were pretty cool. They were older than their years and saw Abby as the person they wanted to become. She was humbled by their admiration.
“So, we’ve told you about our guys. When are you gonna tell us about yours?” Keisha, a wise-to-the-world fifteen-year-old, asked.
“I don’t really have a guy,” Abby said.
Silence settled over the group and Abby felt an unexpected spurt of discomfort. “Well, I could have a guy. It’s just that the guy I want doesn’t see me.”
Shannon, a sixteen-year-old with purple hair, frowned. “Is he blind?”
Abby chuckled. “Not in the physical sense. He used to date my sister, so he sees me as the little sister.”
“Oooh,” Katrina, who wore faux black leather from head to toe, said. “Drama. I love it. Does your sis know you like the guy?”
Abby shook her head.
“Does she like this guy?” Keisha asked.
“Oh, no. She’s engaged to someone else.”
“Well, then, you should definitely move in on him,” Katrina said.
Abby laughed uncomfortably. “He sees me as the little sister.”
“You should change that,” Shannon said. “Maybe you could dye your hair pink.”
“I’m not sure that’s me,” Abby said.
“Well, you have to do something different,” Shannon said, her gaze falling over Abby in a combination of pity and disapproval. “You’re, like, everything but sexy.”
“She’s not ugly,” Keisha said.
“I didn’t say that,” Shannon said. “She’s just not sexy.”
“I don’t know,” Katrina said. “She’s got that fresh, natural, girl-next-door look.”
“But not sexy,” Shannon repeated.
Silence followed.
“We could help you,” Shannon said.
Alarm slammed through her. “Help?” she echoed in a voice that sounded high-pitched to her own ears.
“Yeah,” Keisha said, clearly warming to the idea. “We can sex you up. Your guy won’t be able to ignore you then.”
“I’m not sure…” Abby said.
“Hey, it’s like you always tells us,” Shannon said. “If you always do what you’ve always done, you’ll always get what you’ve always gotten.”
Abby blinked at the sound of her words played back to her. True, but how much of a change was she willing to make?
“If you won’t do pink or blond hair, then we can do big hair,” Shannon said, pursing her profoundly pink lips.
“And cat eyes,” Keisha added.
“And a short, black leather skirt,” Katrina added.
Abby winced inwardly. Black leather skirt?
Shannon nodded. “Kim Kardashian hair. He won’t know what hit him.”
Abby managed to redirect the conversation, but she knew her girls were determined to perform a drastic makeover. She ran into her fellow ROOTS volunteer, Austin Anderson, after the meeting. Austin was twenty-four years old and the two of them were good friends, thanks to their time spent working together.
“How’s it going?” Austin asked and stepped beside her as she walked toward her car in the small parking lot.
“Okay,” she said and knew her voice didn’t hold the commitment it should have.
Austin laughed. “Let’s try this again,” he said. “How’s it going?”
“I think I may have just gotten myself into a situation,” she said as she drew close to her car.
“What kind of situation?” he asked, putting his hand against her car door before she could open it.
Abby sighed and turned to lean against the car. She reluctantly met his gaze. “I did a bad thing,” she said.
“You sold drugs or killed a baby,” he said.
She couldn’t withhold a chuckle. “Neither. I did, however, get drawn into a discussion about my personal life with my ROOTS girls group. Now they want to perform a sexy makeover.”
He laughed. “Hooker time.”
She shot him a sideways glance. “Kinda. But they make an important point. They repeated my words of wisdom back to me. If you always do what you’ve always done, you’ll always get what you’ve always gotten.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
“Well, if I go through with this makeover, I may need a cohort.”
Austin stared at her for a long moment. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”
“It probably isn’t, but I need to shake things up.”
Austin gave a heavy sigh. “What do you have in mind?”
“I dress up in makeover mode. You and I hit the town in places where people will talk. My unrequited love wakes up and sees that I am the answer to his heart’s desire.”
Austin winced. “Abby, I’m really not sure this is a great idea.”
“I’m sure it isn’t,” she said. “But I have to do something to shake up Cade’s impression of me.”
“Cade?” Austin echoed. “Cade Pritchett.” He gave a low whistle and shook his head. “Isn’t he the one who proposed to your—”
“Yes,” she said in a flat tone.
Austin took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m in. Let me know when you want to do this.”
“Apparently Saturday night,” she said in a wry tone. “It’s the most visible night.”
Austin nodded and raked his hand through his hair. “All right. Text me with the time.” Austin brushed his finger over her nose sympathetically. “You’re a great girl. If he doesn’t realize it, he’s an idiot.”
“So far, he’s an idiot,” she whispered, her heart hurting.
The following Saturday, the ROOTS teens performed their magic on Abby. As she stared into the mirror, she wasn’t sure if it was magic or something more gruesome.
“Are you sure…” she began as she looked at her dark eye makeup.
“It’s perfect,” Keisha said.
“You are so hot,” Katrina said. “You’re going to knock every guy off his feet.”
Abby was not at all sure. She squinted her eyes at her teased hair, trying to see a remnant of her usual self.
“Ready to go?” Austin asked from the back of the room.
Abby took a deep breath and turned to look at him.
“Oh. Wow,” he said.
Abby felt a sudden spurt of panic. “What does ‘Oh. Wow’ mean?”
