Chapter 23 Pt 2 - A Very Common Name
James brought the Jeep to a stop in front of the sleepy beach town's gas station, turned off the engine, and pulled the parking brake.
Martha opened her door. "Do you want anything?"
"Nah. I'm good," he said as he stepped out.
Martha did as well, then headed toward the gas station mart. As she passed the inner lanes, she overheard a young boy in one of the other cars.
"...going, Mommy? Why aren't we going, Mommy? Why aren't we-"
"Just give me a minute, Jonathan!" the mother snapped from the front seat. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then she turned the ignition. The engine, cold and still, responded with a click, click, click.
Martha approached the driver's side. The mother, her face struggling to stay upright, appeared to be around thirty; her son, around five. "Excuse me, Miss?" Martha asked. "Do you need help?"
Startled, the woman turned to her. "Oh... I... Well, yes. I guess I do."
"I can take a look, if you want."
"At the engine? Are you..." She looked the eighteen year old girl up and down. "Are you sure?"
Martha shrugged her shoulders. "Let's give it a try." She walked to the back of the Jeep to find the tool box wedged behind their luggage, then to the front of the lifeless car. "Can you unlock the hood?"
"Sure... I... Um..." The woman looked frantically across her dashboard and stereo panel.
"There should be a handle below and to the left of the steering wheel. It'll have a figure of the front half of a car with its hood open on it."
"I see it!" The hood unlatched with a thunk!
Martha lifted and secured the hood of the maroon Volvo. Starting with the best case scenario, she unscrewed the spark plugs. Sure enough...
She walked back to the window. "So... two of your spark plugs have broken insulators. I think if you get those replaced, the engine should start fine."
"Oh... spark plugs?" The woman's face sank.
"It's actually good news," Martha said. "They probably sell them inside. Cost you maybe ten bucks for a four-pack."
"Ten dollars? Really?" the woman said, her face swelling with hope. "Thank you! Oh, that's wonderful. Jonathan, we're going back in the store."
As the mother gathered her son, Martha continued on her way. The station's automatic doors slid open for her and a rush of cold air washed over.
A muzak version of "September" played above as Martha walked to the coolers in back. She passed the alcohol, juice, and energy drinks and grabbed the largest bottle of water for James and her to share, then a pair of bananas and a bag of beef jerky. As she walked to the counter, she passed the mother and son in the automotive section.
"Can I, Mommy? Mommy? Can I have the candies, Mommy?"
The mother ignored his pleas as she examined a pack of spark plugs nervously. She caught sight of Martha and her eyes perked. "Is this..." she asked, pointing at them.
Martha set her things on the counter then nodded and gave her a thumbs up. She paid and left the store.
Outside, James finished cleaning the Jeep's windshield then deposited the squeegee in its bin.
"I got bananas and jerky," Martha announced.
"No cookies?" James asked, his face incredulous.
"But you said..."
"We've been together for over a thousand years and you don't know that 'Nah, I'm good' means 'Cookies, please'?"
Martha shook her head. "Just going to ignore this conversation." She stepped into the Jeep and James started the car.
Martha looked out her window and saw the mother standing motionless at the foot of her car, its hood still propped open. "Hold on," Martha said to James. "Gimme a minute." He nodded and she stepped out of the Jeep.
"Would you like me to install those?" Martha asked the mother.
"Oh... Well... I don't want to impose," she said, though there was the same glimmer of hope in her eyes as before.
"No problem at all," Martha said, then took the spark plugs. "It's pretty easy. But engines can be intimidating."
"Yeah, there's so many wires and... and things. Thank you again."
"Mommy doesn't know how to put the... know how to fix the car," Jonathan said to Martha as he clung to one of his mother's legs.
She picked him up to hold him. "It's true."
Martha began to screw in the plugs. "That's okay. Neither does my dad. But you know what I did? I learned how, so I could help."
This wasn't exactly true. In fact, she'd devoted a chunk of her sixth life to mastering automotive repair including, but not limited to, earning a PhD in Mechanical Engineering.
"And I can mix the pancakes," the boy countered excitedly. "And when I mix the pancakes they taste... they taste even better!"
"Wow! That's awesome," Martha enthused. "Maybe you can help your mommy cook and then grow up to be a chef."
"I can be a chef! I can!" He began to wave his hands up and down. "Purdee burdee. Purdee burdee."
Martha laughed. "Oh my gosh! Are you pretending to be the Swedish Chef?! That's adorable!"
"Purdee burdee. Burdee purdee." he continued.
"Well, if not a chef, then you could definitely be a comedian because you're really funny!" Martha said.
"Yeah, he's a riot," his mother agreed, smiling proudly.
Martha finished securing the plug caps then closed the hood. "Okay, let's see if I actually know what I'm doing. Why don't you test it out?"
"Will do," the mother said nervously, then put down her son and stepped into the driver's seat.
"Crossing your fingers makes you luck," Jonathan told Martha, demonstrating as much.
"Good idea," she said, crossing hers as well.
The mother exhaled, then turned the key. The spark plugs ignited the gas in the combustion chamber and the engine roared to life. Jonathan jumped up and down screaming, "We did it! We did it!!"
"Woo-hoo! High five!" Martha cried, feeding off of the boy's euphoric enthusiasm.
He slapped her hand and resumed shouting, "We did it! We did it!"
Martha looked over at the mother who was wiping tears from the sides of her eyes. Jonathan hopped over to her, shouting, "We did it, Mommy! We did it!"
"We sure did. Now jump in the back, baby."
He hugged Martha's waist. "Bye, Super Car Girl."
"Bye, little man. Save me a table at your restaurant, okay?"
"I'll save her a table!" he said, then turned to open the rear door before jumping inside. "I'm gonna save her a table at my restaurant!"
"I... I don't know how to thank you. We would've..." the mother said before trailing off. She cleared her through and grabbed her purse. "I don't have much, but I-"
"No, no. Don't worry about it," Martha interrupted. "It's my pleasure. Besides..." She pointed to Jonathan. "That one's going to change the world. So I'm happy to help."
The mother smiled and then her eyes went wide as if suddenly remembering something. "I don't even know your name. Mine's Sarah, by the way." She extended her hand through the open window.
Martha waited for an awkward moment, suddenly uncomfortable with the woman's appreciation. Finally, she took Sarah's hand and said, "Martha."
"Martha? I don't think I've ever met a Martha."
"I... should be going. It was nice to meet you." She craned her neck to find Jonathan. "See ya later, Mr Chef!"
"Purdee, burdee!"
Martha chuckled, then waved goodbye before returning to the Jeep.
Inside, James wore a wide smile. "Look at you!"
"What?"
"Planting all sorts of happy trees. Trees where that family isn't left stranded."
Martha narrowed her eyes as she buckled her seatbelt. "Not sure if you're teasing or praising..."
"Which would you prefer?"
"Also not sure..."
James sighed, put the Jeep in gear, then drove off. Back on the freeway, the Jeep resumed its cacophony. The road veered east, off the coast and toward the tidy green rows of vineyard blanketed hills.
"Hey, you'll never guess what that woman's name was," Martha said.
"Was it Martha?"
"No."
He looked at her for a moment, measuring, then returned his attention to the road. "Sarah?"
"Nice guess."
"Nice coincidence," he said, nodding his head.
"It's a very common name."
"You don't think it was your mother's ghost come to warn you?"
"I think it's a very common name."
Suddenly, James winced. "Shit. I'm sorry. I shouldn't joke about your mother. That was dumb."
Martha shrugged her shoulders. "I joked about your dad. It's okay. It's just..." She wasn't sure how to explain it. Luckily – though sometimes not – her boyfriend had a combined eight degrees in Psychology and Psychiatry.
"Well..." he began. "You're about to be a mother and you never had one yourself. It's normal to feel anxiety. It's normal to wonder if you're ill-prepared. This woman – not your mother's ghost – served as an unexpected stand-in for you to project those anxieties onto. Personally, I have exactly zero concern with your maternal capabilities. It will be difficult and no one is ever fully prepared, but I am replete and bursting with anticipation to see you as a mother. But our inner voices often wear blinders and ear plugs so my opinion might not move the needle. Do you want to talk about it?"
"Thanks... But not really."
"No problem. I'm here if and when..."
Martha slipped off her sandals and propped her feet on the dashboard. As an avocado farm sped past, she wondered what Sarah Beckett would have thought of any of this. Would she be surprised? Proud? Or would it be just another part of the nightmare she'd envisioned?
The highway bent west and Martha was ready to stop contemplating her mother. "Think fast," she said to James. "Which do you want? Boy or girl? You have to choose. 'I only want them to be healthy' is not an option."
James took a moment. "Girl."
"Why?"
"Because if this world can be saved, it'll be saved by women. How about you?"
After a moment. "Boy."
"Why?"
"Because if women are going to save the world, they'll need help. They'll need good men and we can create one. Or... maybe I just want a miniature James that I can dress in sweater vests and bow ties."
"Just going to ignore this conversation," James said, then continued northward along the shining edge between the land and sea toward their new home.
Author's note:
Thank you so much for reading!! After all of the insanity of the last few chapters (and what's to come), I thought we could all use something a little light. Hope this did the job!
So what do you think? Is the Swedish Chef racist? I don't have any Swedish heritage and I'm not sure if Jim Henson did, but white Europeans making fun of white Europeans seems like fair game to me.
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