Chapter 11
The SUV was still cold when Eli unlocked it. The morning air had that thin Saturday chill, and the driveway was damp where the sun hadn't hit yet. Jason stood at the edge of the porch with his black duffel bag at his feet, and I stood between them with the spare car keys tight in my palm. Eli didn't grab the keys. He looked at Jason and nodded toward the passenger side.
"We'll get you sorted," he said. "Rental lot out on the highway. Twenty minutes."
Jason lifted the duffel. "You don't have to do that. I can call someone."
"We're doing it," I said. I could hear how small my voice sounded. "It's the right thing."
Tyler stayed in the doorway. He had his hands in his pockets, the same way he'd stood all morning. Eli glanced back at him.
"Keep an eye on the house?" Eli said.
Tyler nodded. "Got it. Take your time."
Eli popped the back. Jason set the duffel in the cargo area, then closed it gently. I got in the front passenger seat. Jason slid into the back. The interior smelled like coffee and the air freshener Eli kept clipped to the vent. For a second no one spoke. Eli adjusted the mirror, backed out slow, and turned onto our street. The foyer door was still open behind us where Tyler stood, and then we were moving.
On Route 9 the traffic was light. Strip malls and gas stations slid past, flags popping in the wind outside a tire shop. Eli drove with both hands on the wheel. I watched the mile markers count down toward the rental lot we'd passed a hundred times but never used. In the back, Jason leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
"Listen," he said. "I appreciate this. I know I put you both in a weird spot."
Eli kept his eyes on the road. "Your truck's still in the shop till Monday?"
"Yeah. Transmission. They can't get the part till Tuesday now."
I turned halfway in my seat. "That's why you needed the car for the whole weekend."
"Was going to drive to my sister's. She moved to Millerton." Jason's hands rubbed together. "Didn't mean to make it a thing between you two."
Eli's jaw tightened, but his voice stayed even. "It's our car. We decide together. That's all this was."
The lot came into view — a flat asphalt rectangle with a small glass office and rows of white and silver sedans, a sign that read EZ RENT with a wavy flag line. Eli pulled into a space near the office and put the SUV in park. He didn't get out right away.
He looked at me. "We should talk money before we walk in."
I swallowed. "Okay."
"If we split it," he said, quiet enough that Jason could hear but not pressured, "half is about ninety for the weekend. We've got it if we move the grocery budget. Are you good with that?"
I felt the old pull to just say yes fast, to make it smooth. This time I stopped and did the math out loud. "Ninety's okay. I can shift my lunch money and we skip takeout. That's honest. I want to help, but not by hiding it."
Eli nodded. "That's fair. We do it together, then it's real help."
Behind us, Jason said, "You don't have to pay anything."
"We want to," I said, and looked at Eli to make sure I meant it with him, not for him. "Half. As a couple. That's what we can do."
Eli killed the engine. "Let's go."
Inside, the office smelled like cleaner and warm plastic. A woman at the counter in a navy polo stood when we came in. Her name tag said Carla. She smiled, professional.
"Need a weekend rental?" she asked.
Jason stepped forward. "Yes. Just through Sunday night. Something small."
Carla tapped her keyboard. She asked for his license and credit card, checked his age, ran the insurance box. The printer hummed. I stood next to Eli, our shoulders touching. When she said the total — $178.44 with fees and the basic coverage — Eli didn't flinch. He slid his card across, and I put mine next to it.
"Split it?" I asked Carla.
She nodded. "I can do fifty-fifty."
She ran Eli's card for $89.22, then mine for the same. Each machine beeped. She slid the receipts over and a clipboard with the damage form. Jason initialed the boxes while Carla explained gas and mileage. No drama, no raised voices. Just paperwork. Outside the window I could see our SUV, and beyond it the highway.
Carla handed Jason a key fob. "White Sentra, row two, spot twelve. You're good to go."
Jason exhaled. "Thank you."
Eli shook his hand. I did too. Then Jason pushed through the glass door, duffel over his shoulder. We followed. The white Sentra was clean, smaller than our spare car, but fine. Jason popped the trunk and lifted the duffel in. It fit easily. The thud it made when he set it down sounded final, like the house had let go of something heavy.
He turned to us. "Mara. Eli. I mean it. Thanks for not leaving me stuck."
"Drive safe," Eli said. "Call if the truck update changes."
"I will." Jason looked at me last. "And I'm sorry I texted you instead of both of you. Should've asked you two, not just you."
I nodded. My throat was tight. "I should've told you to ask us both. I learned that yesterday."
No hug. No extra promise. Jason got in the Sentra, adjusted the mirrors, and pulled away toward the highway ramp. I watched until his taillights blended with traffic.
The drive home in our SUV was quiet, but not the same quiet as that morning in the foyer. Eli drove slower on the way back. I rolled my window down an inch and let the air in. The radio was off. I could hear the tires on the road and Eli breathing.
After a mile he reached over and rested his hand on the console, palm up. I put mine in his. His thumb moved once across my wrist where my pulse was.
"You okay?" he asked without looking over.
"Yeah," I said. "Relieved. It felt right. Doing it together."
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"It was right," he said. "We helped him without giving away what's ours."
We turned onto our street. Tyler was on the porch steps, drinking from a mug. The spare car was still in the driveway where we'd left it, untouched. The SUV eased in beside it. For the first time that weekend, the driveway looked the way it was supposed to — our cars home, no bag in the foyer waiting to leave.
