The Right Lane

By LK WOLLETT

What could possibly be appealing about a man who is rude, obnoxious and abusive?  His hidden treasure maybe?  Or was it the hidden love in his heart?

• Language: English
• Publisher: LK WOLLETT
• Release date: Aug 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223805083

Book preview

The Right Lane

By LK Wollett

Chapter 1

It was his truck that got my attention, parked in the shopping center, and not because it was one of those popular gigantic trucks that put people in debt for years; quite the opposite.  Guessing the truck was manufactured in the 1970’s, it was two-tone with faded light blue on the top and white rusted bottom.  A small white fan was perched in the dash of the driver’s side and on the roof was a metal basket full of unrecognizable objects.  What held it there was a mystery.  People who could keep old things running were heroes to me plus I’m a wanna be artist who is attracted to things not ordinary.

As I was admiring this work of art, the owner, a young man, a little older than me, with thick dark brown hair, mustache on his upper lip, and goatee, opened the door, threw a bag onto the seat, looked at me and told me to ‘get lost’.  If that wasn’t rude enough, he followed it with ‘little girl’.  Quickly turning away to avoid more abuse, I got in my car to leave, thinking nothing more about him.

Driving out of the parking lot, I pulled into a right-turn lane.  The truck, in the left turn lane, was waiting on traffic to pass.  When traffic was clear, he turned right instead of left and collided into my car door.

To give him credit, he did not drive away; getting out of the truck, he slammed the truck door and surveyed the damage.  His headlight was cracked but my door was caved in and the air bag was expanded, pushing against me.  He started cursing.

I’m not hurt, thank you, I shouted.

Opening the door with some difficulty, he released the air in the bag and shoved it out of my way.  This was my first good look at the rest of him.  Probably 6 foot, his tight gold tank top outlined his firm chest and stomach muscles; his worn jeans outlined his hidden treasure, which was now at my eye level.  Grabbing my purse, I looked for my insurance card and driver’s license.

You can still drive it, he advised curtly.  I’ll pay to get it fixed.

I need your insurance card, I stated.

I don’t have one, he responded.

Figures! I exclaimed, looking with frustration at Heaven.

You can still drive it, he repeated, then he pointed.  Go to the car repair down there and get an estimate.

I tried calling my mom and her voice mail was full so I did as he asked.  He followed me but stayed in his truck, on his phone.  An hour later, I showed him the estimate, several thousand dollars.

I’ve got the money at home; you can follow me there, he commanded.

I don’t think so, I replied.  You can bring me the money here tomorrow.  I need your phone number and I’ll text you when I’m here.

He rolled his eyes, cursed at me, and gave me his number.  I finally got ahold of my mom to come and get me.

The next day, I drove Mom to work so I could drive to the car repair after classes.  I texted him and he didn’t text back immediately.  Giving him 15 minutes, I called, got his voice mail and left a message.  Giving him another 15 minutes, I called, got his voice mail and left a message.  With irritation, I went to the fast-food restaurant across the street and got some lunch.  As I was in line, he called.  His truck had a flat tire and he didn’t have a spare.  He again commanded me to come to his house.  Again I told him I wasn’t going to any man’s house by myself; he said his dad was there and besides he doesn’t rape children.  I wanted to shout that my bra was a C-cup but thought better of it.

With a sigh, I got his address and got lost several times on the small county roads.  A long gravel lane led to his old white farm house in back of a field.  Walking up to the screen door, I knocked.  He came to the door with no shirt and opened it to let me in.  I backed away telling him to bring the money outside.  As I waited for him, another older man, also with no shirt, approached from the barn carrying a piece of lumber.

Hello, he said, putting down the lumber.  Can I help you?

I’m Jennifer, I replied as though he should know me.

Jennifer? he questioned.

My car... I started but he interrupted.

Oh, he said with a tilt of his head.  Bill hit your car.

Now, this man was nice and I didn’t mind at all looking at his brown hair highlighted with sun, his rugged face, his broad muscular shoulders and chest.  His hidden treasure was not revealed under tan, dirty work pants.  The screen door opened.

Here! exclaimed the younger man, now known as ‘Bill’, as he thrust several bills at me.

How much is that? the older man asked with wonder in his face.  Is the damage that bad?  Is it something we can fix?

I don’t have time! Bill cried as he returned to the house.

The older man, noticeably embarrassed, looked at me.

Listen, I’ll leave it up to you, he began.  I’m sure I can fix it and, once we get the part, it will only take a day.  He really can’t afford what you’re holding there.

His plea was so soft, I could not object and he asked me to take him to the car repair.  Finally giving me his name, Chris, he shared that Bill was his son; that Bill’s wife was divorcing him and he was trying to fight it.  Lawyer fees were forcing him to work overtime in a maintenance department