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I go to reach for her arm but she’s too quick, even for my reflexes. With a flick of her wrist, I’m splattered all over my t-shirt, arm, and half my face with blue paint. I look down with an amused smirk, surveying the damage before looking up at her with my arms wide.
“Well, now you’re in trouble, baby…” I advance towards her as she shrinks back, giggling. “And you owe me a hug!”
She squeals as I tackle her around the middle, jostling her pallet, and I’m thankful she had the brains to drape everything in here first because paint is flying everywhere as we wrestle and laugh, making memories that I have no idea will pull me through my darkest times.
* * *
Luna
Kaleb putsthe truck in park in front of one-story establishment built from solid grey bricks and black side paneling. There are three bay doors, all of which are open to display what’s going on inside.
As I step out and shut my door, I can see that a car of some kind occupies the first and third bay, while the skeleton of a Harley sits in the middle one with a man on a stool nearby tinkering with its engine.
I hear drills and zip guns adding to their own melody to the classic rock blaring through the sound system as Kaleb leads me through the door with Shane Automotive displayed in electric orange above it. The smell of must and grease fills my nostrils as we walk through a small vestibule that shows us to an even smaller office, with harsh fluorescent lighting and a steel desk that you can’t see the top of as it’s littered with things like invoices, inventory lists, owner’s manuals to various vehicles, as well as unopened mail and folders.
Standing behind the desk is a man with overgrown black hair, several days’ stubble, and bags under his eyes. He looks like the state of the desk might very well represent that of his mind. But what’s really curious about him is the infant strapped to his chest. The little angel gnaws away happily on his pacifier, seemingly oblivious to his dad having a nervous breakdown.
“Jackson,” Kaleb greets as we stroll in, and the guy looks up and reaches his hand out.
“Kaleb,” he sighs in return as if he’s in a vice that’s squeezing the life right out of him. “Thanks for coming down.”
“Yeah, sorry it took so long,” Kaleb says and places a hand on my back. “This is my wife, Luna.” The guy gets an amused grin on his face as he shakes my hand.
“Since when are you married?” he asks, raising a questioning eyebrow.
“Don’t worry about it,” Kaleb replies, dismissing his question, not wanting to get into it – and I get it. Time is precious at the moment and he leaves in a few days, knowing the business is already starting to flounder. Kaleb knows that whatever he can do before he leaves will be a Hail Mary, and I hate the idea of one of the few things he has in this world going under. “What’s going on, man?” he asks attentively.
Jackson gingerly takes a seat in the chair behind the desk, careful not to disturb the baby he’s wearing. “About one good thing, and the rest is shit,” he conveys honestly. I can tell the guy is weary.
“Jax, I’m sorry,” Kaleb laments sincerely as he takes a seat on the edge of the desk, a few papers crunching underneath him. “I don’t know the first thing about running this place, and I don’t know what to do, but I’ll do what I can before I deploy. I can see you’re drowning, but what’s the one ray of hope you just mentioned?”
“I’ve got an interview with a new mechanic in a little while,” he slumps back, and it disturbs the child who drops his pacifier and starts fussing. Jackson’s eyes close and he looks like he’s praying for a meteor to take him out.
In the last few days, Kaleb’s told me little bits here and there about how Pops had this shop running like a well-tuned Harley, but since he passed, his head mechanic has had to step up, doing both the bulk of the work as well as trying to handle the business end. By the looks of things, he can barely keep his head above water, not to mention he looks deliriously tired. Even not knowing him, I feel for him, and I step forward, holding my arms out.
“Need a break?” I offer. “I love babies.”
“Oh my God, you freaking angel,” Jackson exhales, and I can already see relief written all over his face. I bend to retrieve the pacifier from the floor before taking hold of the baby boy who looks to be around six months and pull him from his carrier. Kaleb gives me a small smile, gratitude radiating from it as I carry the baby towards the office door. There’s a utility sink just outside the office door, and I take the little guy to go clean his pacifier as the two guys talk.
“Tell me about this mechanic,” Kaleb begins as he settles in, wanting to hear more, and Jackson leans forward, resting his elbows on the messy desk and starts ticking off qualifications on his fingers.
“Third generation mechanic, grew up in an auto shop and knows his shit from Acura to Z cars. He’s looking for full time, and has taken college business courses.”
Kaleb’s eyes dart around like he’s looking for the catch. “That all seems great,” he shrugs. “If the interview goes well you could hire him on as lead, and he can be your right hand in the office,” he suggests, already looking relieved as I look on from across the small space where I’m swaying the baby on my hip. The little guy has his pacifier back in his mouth and so all is right in his world again.
“He took said business courses from jail,” Jackson huffs and sweeps both hands outward as if he’s laying this bombshell neatly on the disaster of a desk, as Kaleb’s mouth drops open slightly and his gaze wanders off somewhere towards the back ceiling.
“So… what was he in the clink for?” he asks. He’s probably like me, hoping it was for parking tickets or bootlegging DVDs or something.
“Get this – street racing and grand theft auto.”
“What the fuck?” Kaleb practically laughs. “Okay, he’s clearly not from here,” he says and rolls his eyes.
“What, you never raced your motorcycle or your truck around here?” I chide him as the baby starts grabbing at pieces of my hair.
“Sure, I did,” he admits and gives me a pleased smirk. “But cops around here don’t give a shit, and there sure as hell aren’t cars nice enough to steal.”
“He’s from somewhere outside St. Louis,” Jackson explains. “Just moved here – or will move here if he gets the job.”
