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3
MATT
Itry to put this morning’s events aside, but I can’t help but worry about the tiny, mysterious woman who’d barged into my day. I watch her car grow smaller in my rearview mirror and take small comfort in the fact that it sounded okay when she started it and looks like it’s running smoothly.
It’s newer—if I had to guess, less than five years old—so realistically, it shouldn’t be having such serious mechanical issues already. They all have their quirks, though.
I drive sedately, not wanting to have a run-in with whatever officer found her car so quickly. Most people treated this road like the Autobahn and floored it on the long, flat stretches.
I hit the assistant button on my phone and say, “What’s my schedule today?”
The robotic voice begins running through my appointments and reminders for the day. I half pay attention as I make my way back to the shop. The tourists have awoken, so there’s more traffic, and people are walking along the streets, browsing for breakfast places.
As my phone drones through my sporadic appointments, I map in the times when I can work on my client’s newest restoration project. I’ve known the guy most of my life as he was a friend of my father. But he knows nothing about cars other than he likes the way they look and treats them like potato chips. More is always better.
This time he’d snagged a muscle car that had all the aches and pains of being unused. The engine hadn’t been taken care of, and the upholstery was going to need to be replaced. Thankfully, that wasn’t my department. The frame and body weren’t in bad shape since it’d been inside for years. Gotta love a good oldie with little to no rust.
I did a quick look over when they hauled it into the shop. Miraculously, it hadn’t seemed to be in terrible condition mechanically, either.
My mind wanders back to Lenore, fascinated by all her little quirks. Her self-effacing humor did little to hide how close she was to having a tiny breakdown. For once, I’m glad I open late on Mondays since it meant I’d been at the gas station getting coffee and mints for the bowl by the register instead of stuck at the shop.
I had to resist my natural inclination to hit on her. Walking back to my car without asking her out was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. The way the sun shone on her hair and highlighted the little flecks in her eyes, making her skin glow. I groan, just thinking about how gorgeous she is.
But she also doesn’t seem like the type of person who’s into hookups, and that’s all I’ve done for a very long time. I work, take care of my mom as best I can, and every once in a while, find something casual to blow off some steam.
My brain made a clear distinction with Lenore, though, insisting she isn’t casual hookup material. The way she carries herself makes me aware of more than just the surface things. I was quick to pick up on the fact that she was uncomfortable riding in the car with me and that she blushed almost every time I looked at her. Plus, there’s something soothing about the sound of her name. It keeps ringing around in my head.
With a jolt, I realize I feel oddly lonely without her in the car next to me. Uncomfortable with that sudden enlightenment, I push all thoughts of Lenore from my head and focus on work.
I get back to the shop and see no one waiting, and no one has called in either. Usually, if I was running this late, my receptionist-manager-clerk would open the shop for me, but she quit last month to move from tourist-reliant Door County to the west side of Wisconsin, where there were more steady job opportunities in the Twin Cities.
Her fiancé was over that way, so the move hadn’t been completely unexpected. I’d put off hiring a replacement until it was too late, so now I was multitasking even more than usual. I’m fairly picky about who I work with, and she’d been with me since I opened the shop. Now I was a one-man crew. It was alright for a little while, but I’m feeling the pressure of keeping up both ends of the teeter-totter, especially on days like today.
A thought had whispered through my mind to offer the position to Lenore after overhearing the conversation with her boss, but from her fancy clothes and overall lack of knowledge about cars, I wasn’t sure how good of a fit she would be. She’d need to be able to help customers with questions, look things up in the inventory, and schedule appointments, largely by herself since I’d be out in the garage.
I unlock the door and switch the welcome sign to open before turning on the lights, noticing the nearly empty mint bowl. I’d forgotten to grab them this morning in my rush to help Lenore, but for now, it’s not something to worry about. I jot it on my to-do list and go to the connecting garage bays, studying the muscle car sitting on the far side. I pop the hood and look at the work I’ve finished so far. The engine is still in place, but I know it’s only a matter of time before I have to hoist it up to work on it. The car will wind up being a daily driver, so I won’t have to worry about finding factory-specific parts to replace the ones too damaged to use safely like I would for a show car. But that also means everything has to be double-checked to ensure it’s road worthy.
I go over the same parts three times, not paying attention to anything I’m doing. Sighing, I pull off my gloves and scrub a hand through my short hair. I can’t focus. My thoughts keep circling back to Lenore and her fussy car.
I suspect the reason the check engine light was on is not as simple as a gas gauge that got magically fixed along the side of the road. In my experience, it’s usually a more serious issue with the timing chain. I didn’t mention it to her because she seemed stressed enough already, but that also meant it could quickly get expensive.
The bell above the front door chimes, so I hustle back into the parts side of the garage.
The one thing that makes me want to hire a receptionist now is the constant back and forth between the shop and the garage. It splits my attention on too many fronts, and things are slipping through my fingers. I’d be much further along with my current project if I didn’t have to start and stop so often. Luckily, Dad’s friend is in no rush, and at least the interruptions mean I’m getting steady business.
After helping the customer carry everything out to their car, I go back to the register and pull the gas tank and funnel from this morning out of the inventory before I forget so our counts will be accurate. It’d be nice to have a spare on hand in the shop to lend out as needed, so I mark it as sold to come out of my expenses at the end of the month.
No one else drops by while I complete routine office work that I hate but force myself to stay on top of so it doesn't spill over into my one day off. It’s a beautiful day outside. Mid-July in Door County brings swarms of tourists. My location is off the beaten path, and I got a deal on the property because of it. The tourism-reliant industries in town could survive only if they got the exposure foot traffic provided. I mostly had local residents for customers, with an occasional breakdown brought in by the tow truck.
I have a solid reputation for quality work at a fair price in the community. Combined with a relationship with two of the major towing companies in the area, I have regular business for the majority of the year. In winter, when things slow down a bit, I do some snowmobile repair and plowing for a handful of private homes in the area. Plus, Dad’s friend with the cars likes to tinker and almost always has something for me to work on.
I log out of the computer and head back to the bays.
It’s hot enough outside that the garage is starting to feel like an oven on preheat, so I use the industrial door opener to lift the front doors of the unoccupied side where Mrs. Jenkins will pull her car in for an oil change.
The wind from the lakes keeps the air cool and faintly scented by the forests it passes through. The smells of the garage make me feel at home, but there’s something special about the air here in the summer that just makes a person feel invigorated.
I’ve thought of leaving and going to a larger town with the potential for more business, but I was born here. My mom still lives here when she isn’t traveling for work or with her crew of ladies, and the thought of leaving her and the friends I’ve grown up with makes my heart squeeze.
