All Roads Lead Home. Christine Johnson

The hulking attendant smirked when he saw Mariah in the driver’s seat. Humiliation coiled in Hendrick’s gut and spread quickly to his fists. Just because he wasn’t driving didn’t make him less of a man.

       “Please fill the tank,” Mariah told the attendant, oblivious to the slight.

       “Yes, ma’am.” The man spoke politely to her, but he snickered when he stepped to the fuel pump.

       Hendrick sprang out of the car, unable to take any more of this. “I’ll check the oil.” He slammed the door and whipped the hood open.

       “What’s wrong with you?” Mariah followed him. “The attendant can do that.”

       He would not dignify her question with a reply. “You’re low a quart.”

       “You don’t have to snap at me.”

       She didn’t understand. For a woman who worked with people all the time, she should realize that a man needed to be a man. Instead, she always had to be in charge. He grabbed a rag from the car and wiped his hands.

       “I’m a mechanic,” he stated to the smirking attendant.

       Mariah followed his gaze, and her confident smile fell. “Oh, I see,” said the attendant.

       Her demeanor softened, became more open, the way she’d been at the Founder’s Day picnic two years ago. That day she’d laughed and chattered and eagerly taken in every word he said. That day he’d thought she cared for him. They grew closer and closer over the following months until the day of Felicity and Gabriel’s wedding. Then suddenly, a wall went up between them and she only wanted to be friends.

       Apparently, that’s all she’d ever want.

       He reached for the passenger-side door, but she stopped him with an electric touch to the arm.

       “Thank you, Hendrick, for letting me practice driving, but I think you’d better take over now.”

       The knot in his gut loosened when he spotted the attendant and realized she’d said that for his sake. Maybe, somewhere deep, deep inside, she still cared for him.

       She rummaged in her bag and shoved a roll of bills into his hand. He stared at the thick wad. It must total fifty dollars.

       “Take it,” she whispered as the attendant approached.

       He didn’t have time to protest.

       “That’s $1.40.” The burly attendant looked from him to Mariah.

       She smiled and returned to the passenger seat.

       Fine, rather than make a fuss, he’d pay, but not from her funds. He withdrew the $1.40 from his wallet, leaving a little over $15 for the trip. Once the attendant left, he stuck Mariah’s bills into his pants pocket where they couldn’t fall out. As soon as they were alone, he’d give it back.