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Ryan backed away slowly, his palms in the air. “Just think about it.”
We’d needed a receptionist for months, but I’d resisted. Hailey suggested we renovate the waiting room, but I didn’t see the value in it. I wanted to do good work, but how comfortable the waiting room was, or whether someone was always available to answer the phone, didn’t register for me.
When I placed the ad for an employee, I felt like an imposter. Like I was filling someone else’s shoes and doing a terrible job.
No matter how good business at the garage was, I worried it wouldn’t last. How could it when I’d always been told I wouldn’t amount to anything?
I slid under the Mustang and got back to work. The familiar tasks soothed me. By the time I was done, I could see what Ryan was getting at. It would be good for the garage to help out a local shop owner, but was that the reputation I wanted? It felt a little like selling out.
We were doing a good deed to get a reporter’s attention. In school, I did the opposite. I did things to shock the teacher and principal. Eventually, I just did what was expected. It was easier that way.
We’d joined the local shop owners’ meetings, but Ryan was usually the one who attended. We occasionally partnered with the other owners for raffle items or coupons during town events, but this was bigger than that.
I wasn’t sure I was ready for the attention. I liked working behind the scenes. I didn’t want to talk to reporters or be known as the nice guy. Not that I could ever be considered that. I was positive Lily thought I was a grumpy asshole, and I was fine with that.
I was still the troublemaker. The no-good kid who wouldn’t amount to anything. It was crazy to think I could be anything else.
Why else would my mother leave me on my grandmother’s porch at twelve without looking back? At the time, I was more worried about my younger sister, Hailey. But the message cut deep. I wasn’t good enough for my own mother. If she could abandon me so easily, I was a lost cause.
Ryan wanted the impossible. He wanted the community to respect me. They might, as the owner of the garage, but I couldn’t get too far ahead of myself, thinking I could be more.
I’d been putting off taking a look at Lily’s van, but I couldn’t anymore. Maybe it would be best to get it done and off my lot. Then I wouldn’t have the owner showing up to check on the progress. Satisfied I was on the right track, I entered the information about the Mustang into our new computer system Ryan hired someone to install, then I headed outside to look at the van.
The sky was gray, and there was a light drizzle. The keys were already in the van. A peace symbol was attached to the key itself, which fit perfectly with the hippie vibe of both the van and Lily.
I moved the old van into the garage, a weird sensation filling my chest. I was doing what Lily wanted. That shouldn’t matter to me, but it did. I wanted to erase the lines on her forehead, ease her stress. I could relate to someone who wanted to restore an antique vehicle. So many wanted the newest vehicle, with all the bells and whistles.
I checked for common issues to start. Camper vans were known for broken wiring and loose spark plugs if they weren’t taken care of properly. I had a feeling Lily was reactive when it came to her van. She didn’t know how to properly maintain it, or she merely couldn’t afford to.
I figured out the main issue quickly but decided to do a full assessment so Lily knew what she was getting into. I’d create a maintenance plan for her so she understood what was involved. Then she could decide if she wanted to maintain it or call me every time she needed a tow.
Something sparked in my chest at the idea of her needing me. I didn’t like her stranded on the side of the road, but I liked her calling me when it happened. It was completely fucked-up. I needed to get my head on straight.
I ordered the parts to get the van running again, and a few others that looked like they might go soon. I liked to anticipate clients’ needs.
It was something I’d do for any client. She could go somewhere else, but I had a feeling she’d feel confident in my work. She’d trust me—at least with her van.
* * *
Over the next few days, I prepared an estimate and fixed Lily’s vehicle. I should have discussed it with her, but I didn’t trust myself around her. I figured the less contact, the better.
I was energized, thinking about the possibilities. I could just see her driving around town with the van, not worrying about it breaking down.
I washed the vehicle, thinking the vintage baby blue van suited her. It was as bohemian as she was. It was her, and I wanted the opportunity to restore it. But I didn’t get my hopes up. Few clients wanted to sink cash into a money pit.
I’d left a message for Lily earlier, telling her the van was ready for whenever she needed it. Then I got lost in another client’s vehicle.
“I thought you were going to call to go over the estimate with me,” a familiar voice came from somewhere above me.
I pushed out from under the car to find a booted foot tapping on the concrete.
I took my time to stand, wiping my hands on a nearby rag. “I said I’d call, didn’t I?”
Lily tipped her head to the side, her arms already crossed over her chest. She wore a dress that skimmed the floor with a cardigan that was slipping off her shoulders. “Yes. You did.”
I winced at her tone. She was right in this case. I should have called. It wasn’t good customer service, but then I wasn’t known for communication.
“It was a simple fix. I didn’t think you’d have an issue with the cost.”
