The clouds are moving in, and I know another storm is going to roll through tonight, so I don’t risk it this time and pack up my blanket to head back inside. I’m still muttering to myself when I hear my phone buzz. I pull it from my pocket and stop the second I see a text from Cody.

I know it hurts.

But there is more Mac in you than just some old piece of furniture—and you should show those parts off more often.

They’re…beautiful.

Chapter 15: This Is Charlie

It’s pouring.

No, scratch that. It’s sleeting.

The weather outside is miserable, and it’s felt like nighttime most of the day. Trevor came home late from drinks—I counted it a blessing, because I laid in my bed all night holding onto my phone, typing and deleting a response back to Cody’s text.

I fell asleep long before Trevor made it home, and I woke up well before him this morning. I escaped downstairs, hoping to see Cody at the backdoor, his empty mug for coffee in his hand. But his truck was gone, and I cringed thinking that there was a chance it never came home last night.

Not really wanting to spend the day pretending to love my gift from Trevor, I decide to work on my drawings of Cody’s shop some more. I fill up a travel mug with a fresh brew and leave Trevor a note on the counter. I’m not hiding from him; I’m just not waiting for him either.

Jake’s is all locked up when I arrive, and I’m almost surprised not to see Gabe in one of the bays working. His work ethic was admirable—he often put in more hours on a repair than Cody did. Jessie said it was because of how much he felt he owed Cody. But I also think a part of Gabe loves being here, working here, with his best friend.

Not wanting to get soaked, or ruin my drawings, I decide to make a workspace out of my front seat. I spread my pages on the dashboard and open my box of pencils. I’m inspired by the way the place looks in the rain, the lights off and the parking lot downright abandoned. I start to sketch, and my first few drawings are bleak, if not beautiful.

Then I’m struck with the idea; I make a copy of my first drawing, the very first one I did of the shop—with a little extra love and attention. I pump more color into the neon, freshen the greens of the garage, and brighten all the whites. I keep the rain in, but fill the parking lot with customers. It’s the ultimate before-and-after, and I realize I’ve drawn Cody’s dream.

I line the drawings up against my windshield, the rain blurring the background just enough that you can still tell what it is, and I take a picture with my phone.

I just finished these, and I thought you might like to see them.

I send them to Cody and hold my breath, hoping he’ll be pleased. My phone buzzes and I’m surprised by his quick response at first, then notice Trevor’s name. I don’t even deny the disappointment I feel.

Hey, are you still at the shop?

It takes me longer than it should to respond. I think about lying, but I decide against it.

Yes, but I’m coming home soon. No one is here.

My guilt makes me add the second part, reassuring Trevor that I’m alone.

Yeah, Cody’s here. We were just wondering when you’d be done. We’re going out to that new club in the city. I got us all reservations at a restaurant first, though. Think you can be ready to leave in an hour?

I’m envisioning driving off the road, crashing my car into a tree. Not crashing so hard that I hurt myself, just enough to inconvenience my evening, give me an excuse to avoid it all.

Yeah, I can do that. Be there soon.

I gather up the drawings and tuck them away inside a cloth in my bag to make sure they’re safe from the rain. I’m driving down my familiar route home when I have a sudden urge to stop at one of the large department stores at the mall on the way. I’m not much of a shopper—as is evidenced by my very dull and dated closet. But Cody’s words have been playing in my head all day.

“There’s more Mac in me…”

I wonder what those pieces are, and how do I uncover them?

I run from the parking lot into the nearest entrance and start to load up my arms with every outfit I see, honing in on the things that look nothing like me, or at least the me I’ve been. I frighten the meek assistant working in the women’s department with the sheer volume of garments I throw over her arms on our way to the dressing room. She seems a little nervous that I’m going to ask for multiple sizes of every last piece I bring in.

The denim skirt with the cowboy boots is the first up. I like the look, it feels flirty and country—very Louisville—but it’s not me. The animal print dress is next, and that one just makes me laugh. Too Vegas!