The Tiff Singularity (A Collection of Lake Wonder Fiction)

This Godless Endeavor #1: Tiff Learns To Drive (Barely)

The world is near dark. Hands on the wheel, stiff at ten and two, she gives her uncle a quick, terrified look.

She knows how to drive in theory. She read the manuals; she pored over them in secret at the library. There's a difference between theory and practice, though.

At least it's over and she didn't crash. She repeats it like a verse of scripture in the back of her head.

Her uncle knows what he's doing, at least. Uncle Mike is a confident man only in two situations: with his head under a hood or his body behind the wheel. When her parents refused to teach her-- her mother because she didn't think it was "right," her father because her mother said so-- that meant the job fell to Uncle Mike, professional trucker and amateur mechanic.

"You did fine," he assures her. "Especially for your first time behind the wheel. It's fine."

"I almost hit someone!" It tears out of her in a wave of panic she only halts by biting her tongue.

"It was an empty car on the side of the road. Nobody was in it."

"But somebody could have been."

"But they weren't."

"Does it get easier?" It turns her stomach to even ask.

Uncle Mike considers it. "Driving? Yes."

"No, I mean... All of it?"

"All of what, Tiffany May? Use your big girl words."

"Everything." She considers, in her mind's eye, leaning forward with her head against the wheel. Instead, she just worries her hands on the wheel; she clenches it like everything is going to run away from her.

Her uncle narrows his eyes in suspicion. "What are you getting at?"

"Nevermind. I... I'm worrying for nothing. God will see me through, right? Everything works out when you have faith." It's the kind of thing she has repeated to herself under her breath for years, taught to her from the pulpit and the margins of her Bible. She didn't believe it (she hadn't believed it for a while now), but it was better than nothing. The firm comfort of empty platitudes was better than the emptiness of everything else. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize. The answer is no."

"Oh." Tiff tried not to frown. She wasn't supposed to frown.

"And yes. Life's gonna be complicated for you, Tiff. Esther always used to say--" He cuts himself off. "Shoot, nevermind that."

"Esther? Who's that?"

"Your, uh--" He seems to struggle for a way to lie. "Don't worry about it. An old friend of mine. You remember the photo albums. She used to say that things would work out but they would never work out easily."

When Tiff doesn't say anything-- just makes her mind up to think it over and think of nothing at all-- he looks away, through the passenger's side window. He pauses, one hand resting on the door. Oozing the opposite of confidence, Uncle Mike sighs long and deep through his teeth. "I told your mom I would feed you. Get inside."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course, Tiff. We're family." The unstated rule is that it's easier to just go along with whatever Ruth Sheridan says.

She nods. It's enough for her. Maybe it won't get better, but at least she has this.