Walking Away, Part 1

[fleurlb]

 

Tim realized now that he should have seen the signs. Their first year apart had been rocky, but they'd survived. They had a great summer, even though Lyla seemed a little distant at times. Now, when he looked back, he could see the red flags he'd missed the first time around. Especially the admiration in her voice when she talked about Rafe. How he spoke French and real Spanish, the kind they speak in Spain. Not the Mexican Spanish that they teach in high school in Texas.

Everything in Vanderbilt was different, better, more cultured than what they had in Texas. And while he knew that was the whole reason that he'd told her to go, it didn't mean it hurt any less when she talked about all her fancy new friends. Especially Rafe.

Rafe? What the hell kind of name was that anyway? Tim sighed and shook his head, reminding himself to focus on the road. The last thing he needed right now was to get a speeding ticket or have an accident. It was bad enough to be driving home from San Antonio State in disgrace.

It seemed like such a good plan, in theory. Lyla's birthday was on a Wednesday. He'd go to his morning practice, then drive to the airport for his flight to Nashville. Hitchhike or catch a cab to the college and surprise Lyla. Have a great night together, get back on Thursday, just in time for afternoon practice.

He'd only miss two practices. He knew he'd probably have to do something to make up for it, maybe run the stairs until his legs fell off, but it would all be worth it to see Lyla's face when she opened the door and saw him standing there. Plus, when he took out her birthday present, which was inside a black velvet-lined jewelry box small enough to hide in his fist like a magician, well, he knew it would all be worth it.

He realized now that he should have told the coach, made up some excuse - a funeral or something. But Tim operated on the principle that it was easier to get forgiveness than permission, so he'd jumped into this birthday surprise plan with both feet. It was going great, all the way up until the moment when he arrived at the campus. It was so much nicer than San Antonio State, all trees, perfect lawns, and brick walkways. He felt lost even though he had a map and knew exactly where he was going and why.

He was walking briskly up the path toward her dorm when he passed a couple kissing near a tree. The girl's dress, a white cotton number that was perfect for the muggy Indian Summer day, reminded him of Lyla and Mexico. He smiled and allowed himself another glance at the couple. He didn't want to be that freaky guy who stares at PDAs, but he figured a quick look wouldn't hurt.

Only it hurt more than he could have imagined, since he quickly saw that the white dress reminded him of Lyla because it was her dress, and she was wearing it while kissing some guy. He wanted to tackle the guy and hurt him, seriously hurt him, but he found his muscles wouldn't listen to him. He was frozen on the spot. The couple stopped kissing and started walking toward him.

He watched the emotions that moved over Lyla's face - first puzzlement, then surprise, then guilt. The guilt stuck around for several seconds, but then was replaced by something that made him sad. It was the look you get before you have to do something you don't want to do, like when you have to put a beloved pet to sleep. A complicated mixture of pity, sorrow, and determination.

She said something to the guy in Spanish. Or maybe it was French. Tim had no idea, but whatever it was, the guy took a few steps backwards and then walked away. Tim watched him leave, annoyed that he only moved off about a hundred feet, as though he felt he had to monitor the situation.

"What are you doing here?" Lyla asked.

"Who's that?" Tim's voice was low and raspy. He decided that no matter what happened, he was going to get through the conversation without crying or getting angry. He was giving her nothing. Not if he could help it.

"Rafe." She looked at her feet, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Happy Birthday, Lyla." Tim turned and walked away. He ignored her calls for him to come back. He kept his back straight and his head up all the way to the airport. Only then did he allow himself to slouch. He stopped in the bathroom first and washed his face, wishing he could rinse the whole experience off and watch it swirl down the silver drain.

In a moment of anger and irrationality, he considered tossing her gift in the trash. He took a deep breath and let it out through puffed-out cheeks, then decided to bury the small box in the bottom of his backpack instead.

He tried to get an earlier flight, but everything was booked. He spent most of the evening in the airport bar and the rest of the night passed out in an uncomfortable airport chair. He didn't hear the thunder as the worst storms in 100 years moved across the Plains and hit Nashville with a vengence. He knew nothing about it as he stumbled toward the gate just before his flight was due to take off.

The flight was cancelled. In fact, all the flights for the day were cancelled. He tried to get a flight out on Friday, but the earliest they could fit him in was Sunday night. He wasn't just missing practices. Now he was going to miss a game. He knew that forgiveness from the coach probably wasn't an option anymore. He called the coach's office phone in the middle of the night and left a garbled message.

He realized now, from the altogether different perspective of his truck on the way back to Dillon, that the message had been a mistake. It made it sound like he was on a several day bender. Which he sort of was, having nothing else to do at the airport. But he wasn't missing the game because of the alcohol. He saw now how the coach could apply the logic of cause and effect and come to the wrong conclusion.

When he'd finally returned to the dorm, his roommate, a sophomore cornerback, confirmed that he was in more trouble than trouble itself. Tim looked around the room and weighed his options. The way he saw it, he could wait until the next morning to get kicked off the team, lose his scholarship, and go home in disgrace. Or he could hit the road now.

Which is how he found himself pulling into Riggins' Rigs at 3 am. He knew he could have gone home. He thought Mindy or Billy might be up with the new baby anyway, but he wasn't quite ready to face their disappointment. Not quite yet. He needed at least a half-a-night's decent sleep first. So he let himself into the garage, curled up on the old black couch that was just slightly more comfortable than the airport chair and fell asleep.

His sleep was deep and dreamless until the morning, when he started to dream that a giant beast had cornered him and was about to hurt him. He panicked and jerked away, only to find himself face-to-face with a growling dog. A big, black growling dog.

Tim wanted to put as much space as possible between him and the snarling dog, but he was already up against the back of the narrow couch. He didn't know what to do.

If he sat up, would that set off the dog? Was he supposed to look at it? Not look at it? He tried to remember anything he'd ever seen on television about being cornered by an angry animal, but the only thing that popped into his head with the scene in "Jurassic Park," where they stayed very still so the T-Rex couldn't see them. Completely useless.

"Here's how it's going to work. I'll get Bruno to back off and you're going to walk straight outta here without any hassle. You cool with that?" The voice was on the lower, husky side, but definitely belonged to a woman. Tim has been so focused on the dog, he didn't see the person standing on the other side of the garage.

"I don't know who you are, lady, but my brother owns this place."

"Tim?"

"Yeah. Who the hell are you?" Tim was confused. He knew Billy had hired someone to help out at the garage, but he thought it was a guy. Abe? Adam? Albert? Some name that started with A. It seemed like whenever he and Billy talked, it was a rushed conversation on bad cell phone lines, with the new baby wailing in the background. They weren't much for talking anyway and the phone just made it worse.

The woman whistled and the dog trotted over to her side. Tim jumped up from the couch, ignoring the groans in some of his muscles and joints. He ran a hand through his hair and watched as the woman approached him. She was tiny, couldn't be more than five feet or weigh more than a hundred pounds soaking wet. Hell, the dog probably weighed more than she did. Her hair was a riot of blonde curls that she'd managed to corral into an unruly ponytail. She was wearing baggy gray combat pants and a light blue button-down shirt with a name patch.

"I'm Al," she said with a smile, extending her hand.

Tim's hand swallowed her tiny one and he was afraid to squeeze too hard. She didn't have any such fear. Her handshake was firm almost to the point of uncomfortableness.

"I thought you were a guy. I mean, not now... obviously you're a girl, but Billy said he hired someone..." Tim shook his head and let the sentence trail off. It was early in the morning, his life was shit, and now he was sounding like Saracen or something. The worst part was that he was pretty sure this was going to be the highlight of his day. Once Billy heard what happened, well, Tim didn't want to think about it.

Al smiled. "Yeah, happens all the time. This is Bruno. Say hi, Bruno."

The dog barked once and gave Tim his paw.

Tim smiled, surprised by the change in the dog. He gave the mutt a scratch behind the ears.

"What kind of dog is he? He's huge."

"Great Dane. And first impressions aside, he's actually a sweetheart. A bit protective of me, though, and I was surprised and a little scared to find someone in here."

Bruno was now standing next to Tim, leaning up against him. The weight of the dog was comforting and Tim absentmindedly pet him.

"Wouldn't want to get on his bad side, Hey, what time is it?" asked Tim.

"Six-thirty. Come on, I'm going to make some coffee before the mad rush starts. You look like you could use some."

Tim stretched and then followed her into the break room, which was really just a small kitchen with a table and some chairs. Al ground some coffee beans in a machine that made Tim's ears hurt. Then she put them into a thing that looked like it came from the chemistry lab at school.

"What's that?"

"That's how I make coffee."

"What's wrong with a Mr. Coffee machine?"

She shrugged. "I just like it this way."

She put the coffee maker thing on the table and got a couple of mugs from a cupboard.

"It'll be a few minutes."

They both sat at the table in silence. It wasn't awkward, exactly, but Tim was surprised she wasn't asking him questions. Maybe Billy didn't know. Maybe he could somehow let Billy know in a way that wouldn't cause him to get upset.

"Billy knows," said Al.

Tim's head jerked up and he looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "Knows what?"

"Knows that you went AWOL from school. And yeah, he's as pissed as you imagine and then some."

Tim groaned, planted his elbows on the table and hid his face in his hands. He composed himself after a minute and looked up at Al, who was pouring a cup of coffee. She pushed it over to him and then poured one for herself. Tim dumped four spoonfuls of sugar into his cup. He noticed that she was drinking hers black, no sugar or anything.

"How?"

"The coach called him late Friday night. But even if he hadn't, you picked a crappy game to disappear. Oklahoma - you know it was on ESPN, right?"

Tim cursed under his breath and took a sip of his coffee. It was good, really good. So much better than the weak crap he got at the school cafeteria.

"So pretty much the whole world knows I missed the game?"

Al nodded, but said nothing else. She was just drinking her coffee, like it was no big deal, like they were old friends who did this all the time.

"Aren't you going to ask me?"

"Ask you what?" She sounded genuinely puzzled.

"Ask me what happened? Where I was? What's going on? Why am I here? There are about four hundred things you could be asking me."

"How's your coffee?" She had an impish grin. With her sharp features and small size, she reminded Tim of a pixie from one of those video games Landry liked to play.

Tim blinked, confused. "Nice. It's real nice."

Al sighed and put her mug down on the table. "Look, Tim, I've known you all of ten minutes. It ain't my business to get all up in your business. And really, you're going to do a lot of explaining and talking today. So, whatever you want to tell me, fine. But I think you should save it for the guy who really matters, the boss."

Before Tim could respond, they were interrupted by the ding of a bell. She stood and picked up her mug.

"That's got to be Mr. Trucks. He's always too damn early."

Tim finished his coffee before wandering back into the garage. He found Al up to her elbows in the engine of a Honda Civic, Bruno stretched out and sleeping near her feet. He tried to remember what Billy had told him about the new employee. Great with cars, good business mind, insisted they get a computer to track the books and customers and stuff.

"Hey, Al, when does Billy get in?"

"I don't know. Depends on how his night was with the baby. Anytime between 7 and 10, really."

Tim jammed his hands in his pockets and shuffled his feet. He didn't know if it would be better to go to the house and confront Billy's anger there or wait for him at the garage, which was starting to feel like waiting for a firing squad. He was thinking maybe the garage, a sort of public place, might be better. Or maybe it would be worse. He sighed because it felt like he was just going to make the wrong decision anyway. It seemed to be the only kind that he ever made.

"Is your name Alison?"

"Huh, what? No." Al's head was still under the hood and her voice was slightly muffled. Tim smiled. You wouldn't expect such a big, husky voice to come out of such a little person. It reminded him of an actress in one of those black and white films Lyla had made him watch. Lyla. He shook his head, hoping to dislodge the image of her and Rafe.

"Then what's Al short for?"

"Nothing. It's from that song - 'You Can Call Me Al.'"

Tim sensed there was a story there, but Al didn't continue. He was about to ask her what her real name was when Billy came into the shop. When he spotted Tim, his stride lengthened to cover the distance between them more quickly and he stretched his arm out, pointing an accusing finger.

"You've got about 15 seconds to get your ass in the truck so we can get you back to school."

Pissed didn't even start to cover it. Enraged would be closer to the mark.

"Billy, let me explain."

"Oh, you'll explain. But you'll be doing it in the truck."

"I'm not going back." Tim's voice was quiet, but firm. He meant it, too. He was done trying to be who other people wanted him to be. It wasn't worth it.

"Yes you are, Tim. This isn't a negotiation. This is you, getting your ass in my truck, so we can straighten out this god-awful mess you've made."

"Billy, I'm not going back." He hung his head, refusing to look at the pain and anger on his brother's face.

Billy reached out to grab Tim's shirt, but the younger brother's reflexes were faster and he stepped back. Billy reached out again, but Tim slapped his hands away. Bad idea. Billy grabbed him and it looked like it could turn into another famous Riggins' brothers fight. Except that Tim felt a small hand on his chest, pushing him backwards. He looked down and Al was standing in between them, pushing them apart. Nearby, Bruno growled a warning.

"Easy now. Easy. I know you boys don't really want to fight." Al's voice was soothing and calm. Tim put his hands up and took a few steps back. Billy released his grip on Tim's shirt, but still looked like he'd was more than ready to go a few rounds.

"Stay out of this, Al," said Billy without turning his angry stare away from his brother.

"Billy." She didn't say anything more, but somehow that single word conveyed a world of meaning. Billy's shoulders slumped and all of the fight drained out of him. Tim was surprised and impressed. It was like the Jedi mind trick or something.

"Tim, I just want what's best for you. I talked to the coach just last night and think he'll be willing to listen to you and work something out. I mean, you're not getting away with this, but you're not off the team or anything."

"I am, Billy. Because I'm done. Done trying to be someone else. I never wanted to go to college in the first place."

"But, your future-"

Tim cut his brother off with a short burst of bitter laughter. "Billy, who are we trying to kid here? I'm never going to work on Wall Street or NASA or be a lawyer or a doctor. My major was Parks and Recreation Management, for god's sakes. It was just a major in playin' football and I'm not NFL material either, so what's the point?"

Billy shook his head. "The point is that college is important."

"It was important to you. But not to me. And I'm done."

"Tim, if you just stop and think about what you're throwing away. What's Lyla going to say?"

Tim shook his head and looked at the ground.

"Shit, Tim, what happened?" Billy's voice had softened and when Tim looked up, he saw that his brother's anger had been replaced by something worse: pity.

Tim shook his head again. "Can I just work here for now and we'll figure out my future another day?"

Billy crossed his arms and stared at Tim.

"Billy," said Al in a soft voice, "You know we're slammed right now. We've got at least three days of work backed up and more customers want to drop their cars off today

"OK. OK. But just until we're caught up. And you better get yourself back into the office and call the coach."

Tim opened his mouth to protest, but a sharp look from Al stopped him. He nodded and headed back there, dreading the call.

In the office, Tim took out his cell phone to get the coach's number. He'd had it turned off since Wednesday and he had many missed calls and angry messages from Billy and the coach. But there was just a single message from Lyla and he couldn't face listening to it. The fact that she'd only called once told him everything he needed to know.

Tim took a deep breath and dialed the number for the coach's office phone. He was hoping to get the voice mail again but wasn't so lucky.

“Caviston.”

“Uh, Coach, this is Tim...Riggins. I was just calling to apologize for missing practice and the game. And to tell you that I'm quitting the team.” He spoke slowly and uncertainly and then braced himself for the Coach's anger. He waited to hear how he'd let the team down (which is what Coach Taylor would say) or how the coach had always known that Tim would never amount to anything (which is what Coach McGregor would say).

“You sure about this?”

“Yes, sir.”

“OK. You have until six o'clock tonight to clean out your locker. Otherwise, your stuff will be thrown out.” The coach hung up the phone.

Somehow, the man's indifference hurt more than if he'd hurled insults or told Tim how disappointed he was. That the coach felt nothing for him made him feel like nothing. Combined with Lyla's only calling him once, he felt as bad as he had in several years.

He went back out to the garage and headed for the beer fridge, an ancient refrigerator that ran exceptionally cold and was perfect for chilling beer. Tim swung the door open and was greeted not by the welcome sight of Lone Star, but neatly stacked cans of Coke and diet Coke. The racks on the door held an assortment of juices and iced tea.

Tim checked the fridge in the break room, but it didn’t have any beer either. He found Billy at the hydraulic lift, replacing the exhaust system on an old pickup truck.

“Billy, where's the beer?”

“Yeah, about that...” Billy looked somewhat sheepish as he continued. “Well, you see, things have sort of changed around here.”

“Changed how?”

“It just don't look real professional to a customer if he comes in and finds his mechanic drinking beer, you know?”

“No, Billy, I don't know. Long as the car gets fixed, what's it matter?” Tim ran his hand through his hair and sighed. He looked up and saw Al, who was still working away on the Civic.

“It matters, Tim. All of it matters.”

“Was this her idea?”

Billy paused, looking for a second like a kid who'd just realized he was caught. “No. No, of course not. I'm still the boss around here. And we have Beer Fridays, anyway.”

“So, we can drink beer on Fridays?”

“Well, at four o'clock on Fridays, after we're closed.”

Tim shook his head and started to walk away. Billy grabbed his arm. “Look, Tim, things are going really good here. We got more business than we can handle and even though I'm pissed at you for the college thing, I do need you here.”

Tim met Billy's eyes and nodded. It wasn't going to be like it was last summer, but it wasn't going to be as bad as college. It would be better than sitting in boring classes, having to wake up for 6am practices, and being around people who didn't understand him. He could do this, even without beer.

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Epilogue