A Mural of Hands by Jenelle Jack Pierre Read Free Book Online Page A

school, and started working at Dilman’s five months ago. And at twenty-two, I didn’t want to spend my time chasing women, like some of my friends. Every month, I saved up half of one paycheck to buy some property. And whenever the shop got busy, I would put in longer hours, knowing it would get me to my goal quicker. In about four years, I planned to buy some land then study about building a house on it.
    I tinkered with Natalie’s car while she waited around on the grassy field. Dilman had built his garage on his own two-acre property, behind his house. It was a fairly good size and could fit up to four cars inside the garage when it rained, plus there was a tin roof extending out from the garage that could shade two more.  
    Eventually, I wanted to own my own garage. My dream was to be the number one choice for customers needing auto work.  
    After checking out the Lexus, I drove it to Ms. Jill’s Roti Shop and back. “The transmission needs to be fixed,” I told Natalie as I stepped out of the vehicle. I used the moment as an opportunity to show her that I knew what I was doing by explaining what caused transmission problems.
    “How long will it take to fix?”
    “Well, not long.” I pointed at a Mazda. “But, I’ve got another car to work on today. So perhaps, a day or two.”
    Natalie pouted, clearly unhappy with this piece of news. I was turned on by the way her lower lip appeared fuller. “Fine.”
    I spun the keychain around my finger. “You need a ride home or anything?”
    Natalie shrugged. She seemed uncertain.
    “I insist,” I said. “I don’t want those pretty manicured toes to get all dirty while you’re walking on this dirt road.”  
    She stuck her hands into the snug pockets of her short jean skirt as if she were thinking. “Okay, sure.”
    I parked the Lexus in the garage before we got into my Nissan, the kind of vehicle you saw everywhere on the street. I was embarrassed by the dusty dashboard, sure that if I traced my pointer finger on its surface, there would be a visible line left. “Excuse the mess.”
    Natalie took a glimpse of the back, where there were ripped seats, a few random, small car parts, and an oily t-shirt thrown onto the floor. She yawned and shrugged. “It’s not that bad.”
    I smiled and started the engine. “Where to?” I shifted gears and turned the steering wheel. I placed my hand at the back of Natalie’s headrest while I reversed before turning the car around to face the road. She smelled delicious, kind of like a grapefruit.
    “Home. Just a few minutes from here.”
    I pressed a bit harder on the gas, taking a quick glance at her. “You live here?”  
    “Yeah, on Lennox Road.”  
    “How come I’ve never seen you then? There’s no way I would miss your face in a crowd.”
    Natalie dipped her chin, blushed. “I go to UWI. I lived on campus my first year, but decided to move back home this year. Too much roommate drama.”
    Huh, so she wasn’t too much of a foreigner. I exhaled loudly. I didn’t understand the roommate thing since I had never had any, and had lived on my own since I was twenty, when my parents and younger sister moved to St. Vincent after my dad’s job transferred him. It was only my brother and I; he slept most days, working nights as a security guard at Piarco Airport.  
    “So you’re going to the University of the West Indies. How come?”
    “My dad’s originally from here. We lived in Rhode Island until my junior year of high school. Dad had been thinking of setting up his own business, leaving the corporate rat-race. Then when my grandmother got sick, he decided to pack up everything so he could make sure she was receiving good care down here. He started Sweet Thang,” she added, as an afterthought.
    “What! You mean your father is the man behind that brand?” I chuckled. “The lemon-lime punch and passion fruit are my favorite flavors, girl.”
    Natalie laughed too, gazing outside the passenger window.
    We