Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
I took one look at her and started to laugh. She’d traded her usual sundress for a pair of baggy jeans, which were cuffed at the ankle, and one of my T-shirts, which was knotted at her waist. On her feet were a pair of pristine white sneakers, and her ponytail was pulled through the back of a Bellamy Creek Garage baseball cap.
“What’s funny?” she asked, looking down at her outfit.
“Nothing,” I said. “It’s just, you look like Auto Repair Barbie or something.”
She put her nose in the air. “Well, Auto Repair Barbie better earn her name by learning a skill. Now are you going to teach me one or not?”
“I will teach you one.”
She held up a finger. “Without laughing.”
I shook my head, grinning even wider. “I will really fucking try.”
“Okay,” I said. “So to review, once you have the two cars pulled up close enough for the jumper cables to reach, make sure they’re both in park, put the parking brake on, and take the keys out of the ignition.”
Blair nodded, looking back and forth between my truck and the Ford SUV with the dead battery. They were nose to nose in the lot with their hoods propped open, which I’d shown her how to do. “Got it,” she said.
“Okay, now let’s look at the battery of my truck. Get up on that stool so you can see.”
She climbed up on the stool I’d brought out for her and peered tentatively beneath the truck’s hood, almost like she was afraid something might jump out and bite her.
“Know where the battery is?” I asked.
She pointed at the carburetor. “That?”
I tried and failed to hide a grin. “Nope. It’s this box over here.”
“Oh.” She poked my shoulder. “You promised not to laugh at me.”
“I’m beginning to regret that promise.” I tweaked the cap on her head. “But I’ll keep trying.”
I explained how to identify the positive and negative terminals of a car battery, then asked her to locate the battery of the SUV—which she did.
“Good job,” I said, tugging her ponytail. “Now can you find the positive and negative?”
She pointed to the little red and black tubes on the Ford’s battery. “There. Right?”
“Good job. You learn fast.”
“Thank you.” She smiled proudly. “I didn’t think I’d be good at this stuff.”
“You’d be good at anything. Now let’s look at the jumper cables.”
Next, I showed her how to attach the alligator clips of the jumper cables to each terminal—starting with red to dead. “Always start with the dead battery first. That’s the safest,” I explained. “Leave the black end alone for now, but don’t let it touch any metal.”
“Got it,” she said.
“Next, you’re going to attach the red and black leads to the good battery. Start with red.” I held out the ends of the cables to her.
“You want me to do it?” she asked, shocked.
“Yes. I have confidence in you. Just don’t let them touch, and do it exactly the way I showed you.”
She took the leads from me, careful not to let them touch, and climbed up the stool again. With her bottom lip caught between her teeth, she attached the red clip to the positive terminal, then the black to the negative. “Like that?”
“Exactly.”
She turned to me and held out her palms. “My hands are shaking.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I feel like one wrong move and your car will explode. Along with my face.”
I smiled. “I would never let anything happen to that face. You’re doing fine.”
“Thanks. So now do I attach the last black end to the dead black terminal?”
My heart rate tripled. “No!” I said quickly, shaking my head. “Never do that.”
“Why not?”
“It will cause a spark, which could possibly ignite fumes and lead to an explosion.”
She blinked at me. “I am so not qualified for this.”
“Yes, you are. Come on. We’re almost done.”
A few minutes later, everything was hooked up. “Now what?” she asked.
“Now I’ll start the truck, and we’ll let it run for two minutes.”
“I’m nervous,” she said, wringing her hands together as we waited.
“Why?”
“I don’t want to fail at this. If my car dies somewhere and I get stranded again, I want to be able to rescue myself.”
I put an arm around her shoulder and kissed the top of her head. “I know. I like that about you.”
When it was time to attempt starting the Ford, I asked her to do it.
“Okay,” she said, her voice full of doubt. But she got behind the wheel and turned the key in the ignition. It struggled, coughing and sputtering.
Come on, you fucker, I willed the car. She needs this victory.
It jumped to life.
“Eeeeeep!” she squealed. Through the windshield, she gave me a blinding grin, and I gave her a thumbs up.
“Leave it running,” I called out.
She jumped out of the car and launched herself at me, clinging like a koala. “I did it!”