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4
MATT
The afternoon passes quickly with no unexpected complications from my routine appointments. The shop is so busy I don’t even get a chance to think about the work I’m doing or Lenore. I move through the actions of each task without really absorbing them. I talk to customers, but I wouldn’t be able to tell you five names by the time I close.
Once it hits six o’clock, I smile and roll down the bay doors, locking up the shop for the night. There’s still plenty of daylight left, but my stomach is growling since I never made it to lunch today. Another drawback of not having anyone else there is that I feel guilty leaving midday. With just me working, leaving means closing the shop. Closing the shop means potentially losing customers, and that’s not something I can afford to do on a regular basis.
Pulling into my driveway, I look at my house, noticing all the little projects I’ve let get away from me. I keep the lawn mowed and the leaves picked up in the fall, but you can see where the house needs a fresh coat of paint. Among other things.
It’s an older ranch that’s just a little too big for me, but it was miraculously available and in my price range when I was looking, so it’s what I got. Mom usually stayed with me while she was in town, and a few years ago—before Steve got his own place—he rented one of the rooms from me.
The major selling point was the large garage, which I’ve since expanded to house my own projects and parts collection.
I hit the garage door opener and idle in the driveway until it’s fully raised. Satisfying silence falls after I pull in, turn off the truck, and slam the door shut, just as my stomach growls loudly. I lock up the garage and head for the house, trying to think of what frozen dinners I have left.
The key is just sliding home when my cell phone rings.
Frustration and hunger wrestle in my stomach as I pull it out of my pocket.
It’s a forwarded call from the shop from an out-of-town number, but I don’t recognize the area code. It’s probably someone with car trouble, and I know I’ll feel guilty if I send it to voicemail.
“Song Automotive. How can we be of service?”
“Uh, Matt?”
I recognize her musical voice immediately and pick up on the panic lacing her tone.
“Lenore? What’s wrong?”
An adrenaline rush has me fidgeting, waiting for her answer. I worried about her earlier, but truthfully, I had a feeling she could handle just about anything. If she was this on edge, something had definitely gone wrong with her car again.
“Well, I don’t think the problem was just running out of gas earlier.”
“Where are you now?”
“Stuck in the middle of an intersection.”
I hear muffled voices through the phone.
“Thank you.” She isn’t speaking in to the phone, so there’s someone else there. Hopefully, they’ll be able to help her push it to the side of the road. Thank god we still have a small-town mentality when it comes to helping people.
“Sorry. Not in the intersection anymore. But I’m blocking a bike path now.” She says the last part with enough sarcasm to tell me she’s over the entire situation.
“Let me call a friend, and we’ll be right there with a tow truck. Where are you specifically?”
“I’m in Sturgeon Bay on the corner nearest the Walmart parking lot.”
“Shouldn’t take us too long, then. Is the guy who helped you staying with you?”
“He offered to, but I feel bad making him wait around with me when I know you’re on the way.”
“Up to you, but just make sure you have a safe place to wait for us. I’m going to call Al now, and we’ll be right over.”
“Thank you, Matt.”
“No problem.”
I disconnect the call and hit Al’s number from my favorites list. I pull my key out of the lock and run back to the truck, silently urging him to pick up his damn phone.
