he'd seen in war movies. Pop had never been in the war. The night before he was supposed to report for duty, he'd been working in his brother's garage, removing the engine from an old Ford. He and his brother and a friend had been pulling it out of the car with a pulley attached to a rafter in the garage when the engine began to slip. Pop told me he grabbed the engine in a bear hug and lifted it back into the car. Pop used to be big like me. His brother would have been crushed by the engine if he hadn't, and Pop's back had never been the same since. The Army wouldn't take him.

"Only time I was really scared," he said, looking out the waiting room window, "was at night, when it wasn't raining, and there wasn't any noise but my own breathing, and I was all alone." He touched the ashtray on the arm of his chair, running his first two fingers across its uneven surface. Cindy Claire watched him a second longer, then nodded slowly.

I coughed and walked into the waiting area, bumping the TV and rattling the set of homemade clay cups on top of it. "Your car is ready to go, Cindy Claire. I hope Pop hasn't given you too much trouble."

Cindy Claire jumped and blushed next to Pop, as if I'd caught her doing something wrong. She pushed her hair out of her eyes with a choppy movement of her hand.

"Trouble? Show some respect, Joey," Pop said, winking at Cindy Claire. She smiled at him half-heartedly and stood up, and Pop's grin widened.

"Yeah, well, it was nice to meet you, Mr. Peterson," she said on her way out the door. She stopped at the door and looked back at him. "I hope your back feels better. And that V.A. check will be here soon, dont you worry."

I followed her mane of hair and those long legs outside. Pop leaned back in his easy chair with his hands locked behind his head, smiling a fat smile. I turned on the outside light and closed the inside door behind me.

"That is, ah, one peach of a car, Cindy Claire." I nodded quickly at her Mustang, purring on our dark front driveway. "I changed the oil, put in new sparks, and added some new filters, okay? Youre ready to roll."

She stood next to her car and gazed at the trailer. "Your father is a really sweet man," she said. "I mean, at first I didn't know what to think, and that living room's a total pigsty, but he's really nice."

I started to tell her he wasn't really my father, but at that moment I wished Pop really was, bad back and all. He had been better than a dad to me in the years since Mom left. "Thanks," I muttered instead, pushing my right boot lazily into the mud.

"It's too bad about his back problem, and his wife leaving and all. At least the shop is going well."

"Yeah," I said, my hands hanging at my side. I didn't know how to hold them or where to put them when I wasn't under a car hood. I was out of things to say, and my eyes went a little unfocused for a second. "He hasn't had sex since 1982."

"Oh," Cindy Claire said. She said it again, slower, then looked at me for the second time that night. I'd screwed things up again. She stepped quickly out of the shadow I was making from our porchlight and asked, with her little chin sticking out, "Could I have my bill, please?"

"It's just that since Mom left, he hasn't been the same. It was nice for you to listen to him. I've heard all his stories over and over, especially the story about how him and Mom stopped acting like husband and wife in the bedroom, if you know what I mean."

"How much do I owe you for my car?" Cindy Claire asked, louder, taking another step closer to her GT. She was starting to fade away in the dark.

I barely heard her. I was thinking about the day Mom left in Pop's pickup, with her purse full of ones and fives from the quart jar. I was thirteen. She'd stared at me for a long time outside my bedroom, waiting for the right moment to sweep in on me. She didn't think I saw her, but I've got quick eyes to make up for my slow body. That day she told me who Pop was and who Pop wasn't, and how we'd have to live without her for a while. "He's not your father, Joey, but he's a good man, and I have to leave. Don't wait up for me." And then she took off. I didn't even get to touch her again before she was gone.

In the darkness of our front lawn, the service hose dinged suddenly and pulled me out of my thoughts. The sky was dark, the crickets were buzzing all around me, and Cindy Claire was pulling on the front door of her car. Mud covered her new white shoes, and there were greasy smudges on both of her arms where her T-shirt sleeves ended, like she had run into something dirty. Just like I was always running into stuff, I thought. The car door slammed.

"Stay away from me!" a scared voice yelled out of the car. I barely recognized the voice. "I mean it, stay away you big freak!"

The Mustang shot out of our driveway and onto the road, spitting gravel at me. Cindy Claire was gone, just like that, and I stood there with her bill in my grease-stained hands.

After a minute, I picked up the remains of our screen door and shoved them under the skirting of our trailer. A door slammed in the trailer next door, and I could hear the TV playing in the waiting area. Pop was