Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75547 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75547 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
She taps and prints and slides a paper toward me with boxes to initial, and I initial like I mean it. When she asks for an opening deposit, I slide a portion of Kellum’s cash across, and shame prickles but doesn’t burn. It’s a loan. I’m writing it down as such in my notebook before the ink on the signature dries.
When we step onto the sidewalk, light hits me like applause. I hold my new debit card in my hand like a holy card. “Look,” I say, stupidly, to a man who has likely held keys to houses, cars, motorcycles, and all without being in debt.
He looks. “Good,” he raises an eyebrow to question me next, “Lunch?”
I feel like we just finished breakfast, but the bank did take a while. We get sandwiches from a place that wraps them in paper so tight it could be art. We sit on a bench in the shade of a crepe myrtle that gave up on flower duty last week. The sandwich drips onto the paper and I lick mustard from my thumb and don’t apologize for doing what feels normal. It is the best thing I’ve eaten in months, which is confusing given I once ate caviar on a boat while a chef with a tattoo of a spoon on his arm described the different flavor layers of the salt.
“DMV after this?” I ask around a bite, braced for him to say I have things to do for myself you’re on your own or you can wait. Brian loved to tell me I could wait.
He shrugs. “Could. Or we can leave that for another afternoon when you need a win. You pick.”
The permission to choose softens something inside me that I didn’t realize was hard. “We could try the shop. I’d like to get an idea of the place.”
He angles his head. “You ready for men who shout, cuss, and a phone that rings with people who don’t even know what to say call non-stop?”
I picture it and my stomach doesn’t sour. “Yeah. I think so. It sounds like the time passes quickly.”
He smiles and I swear his face lights up in a way I’ve never seen before. His teeth are straight and white and I notice he has laugh lines from a time in life when things didn’t seem to sit so heavy on him.
The shop smells like oil, rubber, and man. The bay doors are up. A fan oscillates like it’s blowing on a birthday cake no one ever eats. A man looks up from the hood of a Chevy truck and grins when he sees Kellum. Then he sees me and smiles wider.
He has long blond hair tucked into a man-bun similar to how Kellum wears his. Kellum’s hair is more of a dirty blond with darker edges and even a little red blended in. He has beautiful hair when I get to see it down after his showers.
“This the girl?” he asks Kellum, not unkindly, just like it’s an everyday thing.
“This is Kristen,” Kellum says, and the way he says my name is not apology or defense. It’s information. He gestures to a stool behind the counter. “Front desk. Computer’s a dinosaur. Don’t let it talk back to you.” He points to the man he was talking to, “Kristen, that’s BW. His woman is Karsci, she pops in from time to time.”
I slide onto the stool. There’s a battered phone on the counter, a stack of intake forms in a plastic tray, a jar full of pens. A chalkboard behind me lists labor rates and a reminder in block letters: DON’T RUSH. CHECK TWICE. I run my fingers over the edge of the desk and feel a notch where someone carved initials years ago and covered them with tape.
“Can you show me the basics?” I ask wondering where the usual person is, but I don’t ask. I’m simply grateful for a job..
He does. He is patient in a way I didn’t expect from a man whose resting face looks like a warning. He walks me through the calendar, how to book appointments without jamming two in the same hour, where the keys go (hooked on tagged loops, labels facing out), how to set the work orders up and put them in these plastic sleeve things, how to run a card when someone wants to pay now instead of later. He shows me the drawer of candy they keep for the kids who come in with parents, and how the moms almost always grab a piece for themselves and pretend it’s for the kid.
“Phone will ring,” he explains, tapping it. “You answer with Hellions Ride, this is Kristen, how can I help you? Take notes, you’ll learn stuff over time, but basic maintenance put in the computer and it will give you the rate. If it’s something you don’t know, you say one second and you ask me or whatever brother is close by. You don’t guess. Guessing gets engines on the side of the road or costs people more than they are prepared to spend.”