The smell of burnt rubber was heavy around the vehicle, and I immediately held my hand to my nose.
“Hey. You need to borrow a phone?” I noticed Finn didn’t offer a ride. But I kept quiet. I’d pushed my luck with Finn way beyond breaking.
“No. I’ve got one. My engine light isn’t on, but I’m getting that burnt rubber smell, have been for the last hour. I’ve only got about an hour to go, so not too much farther, but it’s got me nervous.”
“You noticed any oil leaks on your driveway?”
“This isn’t my vehicle. It’s my daughter’s. She and her husband are going through a divorce. She’s moving in with us. Long story.” He waved his words away, obviously not wanting to go into detail.
“Is it driving okay?”
“Yeah. Doesn’t seem to be overheating.”
“You’ve probably got a small oil leak. The motor oil might be leaking onto the exhaust and burning, giving you that smell. It could also be your catalytic converter overheating, but if that were the case, your engine light would be on. Did you check the oil?
The old man nodded. “I checked the oil first. It was maybe a tad low, but still in the normal range. We should be fine to get home. I’ve got a mechanic friend who can take a look at it when we get there.”
“We’ll stay behind you until you turn off just to make sure you don’t have any more problems.” Finn offered, almost pleasant now that he realized we weren’t going to be taking on passengers or trying to pull the van behind Bear’s Charger. The image made me laugh a little as Finn and the old man turned toward the engine to take a final look. The little boy looked at me in confusion. Apparently, he wasn’t enjoying himself and my laughter seemed odd. He was probably eight or nine and had chubby cheeks and bright red hair. I leaned down and introduced myself, offering my hand for a shake.
“Hi. I’m Bonnie.”
He stuck his hand in mine awkwardly. “I’m Ben.”
“Hi Ben. I like that name. I reached in my pocket and pulled out some of the money I’d stashed there. Most of it was in my purse, but I was through leaving it all in one place. I had some bills stuck in my boots and some in my bra and some in my pockets too. You can take the girl out of Grassley . . .
I peeled off five one-hundred-dollar bills and folded the money up in Ben’s small hand.
“You give that to your grandpa when you get home, okay? Not before, because he might try to give it back. He can use it to help you and your mom.”
The little boy’s eyes were wide, and with his full cheeks he resembled a squirrel caught in the headlights. “Okay,” he squeaked as he stuffed the money deep into the front pocket of his jeans. I held my finger to my lips and stood.
The boy’s grandfather lowered the hood and called to Ben, thanking us as he waved us away, and we were back on the road, following the maroon van, within a few minutes.
“I hate that smell.” It lingered on our clothes.
“Burnt rubber?” Finn could still smell it too, obviously.
“Yeah. It reminds me of burning tires. In Grassley, people would burn tires to melt the rubber away from the rims so they could sell the scrap metal. One time, when Minnie and I were about fourteen, we actually pulled a guy away from his pile of burning tires. He’d been burning and drinking, which is never a great combination. He passed out too close to his pile. Minnie and I happened along and Minnie was convinced it was a test.”
“Do you think it’s Jesus?” Minnie asked.
“That guy?” I couldn’t imagine it was.
“Not Jesus, exactly, but someone Jesus put in our path. Maybe he’s an angel.”
“He sure doesn’t look like an angel,” I said doubtfully.
“If he looked like an angel then it wouldn’t be a test. Remember what Pastor Joseph said? That story about the couple waitin’ for their special guest and the special guest never coming? Instead, it was all the people who needed something?”
“The couple asked the special guest why he never came, and he said he did. He was the beggar, and the old woman, and the hungry child . . . that one?” I looked at the man lying far too close to the pile of burning tires like it was just an outdoor barbeque built for roasting weenies instead of a roiling, greasy, smelly tar pit.
“Yeah. He might be an angel in disguise. He might be testin’ us!” Minnie said.
“So what should we do?” The smell of tires was so thick I could hardly breathe.
“He’s passed out, Bonnie. We should pull him away from the fire.”
We pulled on the neck of his coat and ended up pulling it right over his head and pulling him right out of it. He didn’t have a shirt on underneath.
“Ew!” I said, trying not to look at his jiggling white flesh, but failing miserably. “This one ain’t Jesus, Minnie. He ain’t an angel either. I guarantee it.”
“Come on, Bonnie. Grab his other arm.” I did as she instructed, and together we heaved and tugged, and managed to pull him closer to the house with the sagging porch and the plastic covered windows. The yard was littered with cans and broken bottles, and I worried about what his back would like if we kept pulling him that way. We were probably doing more harm than good.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t wearing a belt or suspenders, either, and by the time we reached the front of his house, breathing hard and sweating, our muscles protesting our lifesaving efforts, his pants had been dragged down around his knees, his underwear too. When I saw what we’d done I released his arm and pointed.