It probably didn’t help that I had to drink Drew away again last night. Seeing her there, so pretty, those black leggings hugging her curves, and Ralph Stern talking to her, touching her like he owns her. I remember all the times I encouraged her to date other guys, and I want to kick my own ass.
She said she’s not dating him. Did she ever? He seems awfully familiar. She asked me if I’d seen her texts. Was she trying to tell me about him while I was hiding in Dover, taking care of my uncle?
Everything about last night swirls in a tornado of anger and frustration in my mind. Ralph Stern lost the creepy-nerd with braces vibe, and he actually looks like the kind of guy Drew’s dad would approve for her. He’s got the name and his church-lady mom, who always looked down on me.
Don’t forget he has that almond orchard he won’t shut up about, and he calls her Andrea. Nobody our age calls her Andrea. He sounded exactly like his judgy mother, and it was all I could do not to punch him in the face at Mrs. B’s table.
It’s the same way they all treated my uncle back in the day, and he was a fucking small-business owner. Now I am.
I have a degree I’ll use when I’m good and ready, I’m a veteran, and I’m still dealing with this shit. Talk about nothing ever changing.
Drew was right. What the fuck am I doing here? I thought I came back to make peace beside Danny’s grave. Done. Now why?
It’s more than that. I know. I’m still here because I want to be sure she’s okay.
She seems to have a good job. She has a nice, pedigreed guy who’s as boring as watching paint dry just waiting for her to notice him. A growl rumbles in my chest, and I know the truth in that moment.
Last night, I held her in my arms. Even if it was less than thirty seconds, my whole body moved to hers. I was home again, safe and comforted. If Drew married someone else, it would kill me. But how can I be with her after what I’ve done, what I’ve become? I’m still so fucked up.
A mug of coffee is in my hand, and I nearly toss it when I open the garage door to find Billy standing right there. He’s again wearing black skinny jeans and a sleeveless black tee with Pink Floyd across the front. In his hand is a stick about two inches in diameter and a short-bladed knife with a thick handle.
He squints up at me. “Hey.”
“Dotty give you my message?”
“She stopped by last night with her husband. Said you needed me to come back today.”
I motion for him to follow me inside. “What’s that in your hand?”
Glancing down, he turns the stick over, revealing deep rivets cut in a pattern along one side. “It’s just something I do to pass the time.”
“That’s pretty good. What’s it going to be?”
He shrugs it off like it’s no big deal. “Don’t know yet.”
“Here.” I open a locker in the back corner and take out the old work shirt I used to wear. It’s thick canvass and has Mack’s Garage in a patch on the front pocket along with my name. “Wear this for now, while you’re working.”
“Do you need me to sign something or anything?” He looks around.
“I can pay you in cash if you need me to.” It’s not my business to ask questions.
“I got my social security card. I’m not doing anything illegal.”
Apparently I’m the asshole making assumptions as well.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean… Hang on.” I take a step toward the office. “I think Mack had an application somewhere you can fill out. Give me a second.”
I go into the glass-encased office just as a yellow Miata pulls in front of the first bay. Billy walks slowly to greet whoever it is, while I dig through my uncle’s old files. It was always just the two of us, but I vaguely remember filling out a W-9.
My fingers land on the off-centered copy, and I grab the old clipboard holding work orders. I’m just walking back into the garage, when a woman rushing up to give me a hug makes me stop.
“I didn’t think you’d ever come back.” I’m surrounded by the familiar scent of perfume and hairspray, and I pull back to see Leslie Grant blinking up at me.
She’s wearing a silky red dress that plunges low in the front, showing off her cleavage, and on one arm is an oversized basket. Billy’s looking at her like she’s one of those old vintage Playboy calendars hanging in the bathroom come to life.
I clear my throat and step back. “Leslie. I didn’t know you were still in Oakville.”
“Where else would I be?” She laughs, and pulls the basket around in front of her.