Mechanics

Mechanics

	The car shuddered as he twisted the keys again, but the thing wasn’t moving. He opened the door and rested his boots in the snow and thought. He’d bought the damned thing four years ago; it had never been good in the winter, too cold he guessed, and he’d always seemed to put off doing anything about it until the weather turned and it seemed quite unnecessary to worry about it.
	So here he was, feet deep in the snow and somewhere to be with a battery dead as shit. He stood up and sighed, then pulled the release for the hood and sat again sideways in his seat. He pulled a cigarette from the pack in his pocket, then put it back. He stood up and trudged to the front of the car and fumbled the catch with his numbing fingers. It gave in with a metallic clunk and he propped the hood up. He jostled the battery cables for maybe a minute and went back to the driver’s seat and twisted the keys again. Not a thing.
	He retrieved his cigarette and leaned over to the passenger seat to grab the lighter he’d tossed there. He lit his cigarette and looked at his watch. He was, as he knew already, late. He tried the ignition again.
Eight years ago to the day he’d been sweating in an ill-fitting rental suit in a Baptist church he couldn’t remember the name of and just hoping he wouldn’t get cotton mouth when he read his half. They’d done their own, and everyone had said how sweet it was and he’d felt a little embarrassed but more than that quite proud and she had loved his. They hadn’t had much money back then, still didn’t but they were at least better off now, with the money anyways.
	He finished the cigarette and tossed the little ember into the snow where it sputtered at the cold and died. He called her. “Hello,” she answered. He thought she sounded annoyed.
	“Hey, the car’s dead is why I’m late.” He heard her sigh.
	“Of course it is, I told you to get it fixed how many times? And what do you do? nothing.”
	“I know I know, I’ll get it fixed this time.”
	“Sure. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting? You should have called. I was about to leave.”
	“I’m calling now, I’ve already called a cab.”
	“You’re not already on your way? Jesus, how long do I have to sit here alone for? It’s embarrassing.”
	“Oh don’t give me that, it’s not my fault.”
	“Who’s fucking fault is it then? I’ve told you again and again to replace that battery. You’re ruining tonight, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”
	“Oh come on, nothing’s ruined, I’ll be there soon and we’ll have a great time.”
	“Sure.”
	“Love you,” he said, but she had already hung up. He dialed the number for the cab from memory and kicked his boots in the snow, making satisfying crunching sounds. He closed the door and lit another cigarette. He wished he had the radio to listen to while he waited for the taxi.
	It took fifteen minutes for it to arrive. He locked the door and pulled open the taxi door and got in. It was warm in the car, and he directed the driver to the restaurant they had decided on last week. The driver gruffed in approval and pulled onto the street. Lights slipped by at the edge of the pavement, and he saw in the light-islands that it was snowing again. Huey Lewis and the news was playing on the radio.
We've had our doubts, we never took them seriously and we've had our ins and outs, but that's the way it's supposed to be.
	He didn’t know what he was going to say to her. She wasn’t happy, she probably hadn’t been for a long time. But he knew he could change that. It was their jobs. They both worked full time. It was tiring, and they hadn’t seemed to have the energy to make the effort to keep the heat up. They’d slid into a routine they had both probably eschewed when they had first married. He watched a lot of television, she read her romance novels. They rarely made love anymore. He really should have taken notice sooner. But it had all happened gradually. The worst deaths are the slowest.
	The restaurant’s subdued white sign was just ahead now, he could see. He reached for his wallet and grabbed enough cash for the price he could see on the meter. They pulled up in front and he paid the driver and thanked him and stepped out into the cold.
	He hurried to the door and swung it open. The restaurant was warm, and the lighting and decor seemed inviting. 	He had only been here once before, for lunch. He waited at the front for the hostess and she asked him for how many.
	“I’m here a little late, my wife is here already.”
	“There was a woman here earlier that looked like she was waiting for someone, but she left a few minutes ago.”
	“Oh, are you sure?”
	“Quite sure unfortunately, would you like us to arrange you a table? For one?”
	“Uhh, no . . .  no that’s okay, thank you.”
	“I’m sorry.”
	He walked back into the cold and took out his phone. She didn't answer.