Page 22 of The Charm of You

AUSTIN

I slam the hood of my mom’s sedan shut and use the back of my hand to wipe my brow.

Oil is changed.

Wiper fluid is refilled.

And I make a mental note to grab antifreeze this week. It’ll be a while before the temperatures drop enough to need it, but I like being prepared. No one’s ever regretted proper preparation, that’s for damn sure.

As I hop up the steps to the front porch, a country tune plays from the Bluetooth speaker I set up for my mother. She bobs her head to the beat as she loops a string of yarn over her crochet needle and dips it into place.

Gone are the days when she’d lock herself in her bedroom to be alone.

The adjustment to our fresh start in Sapphire Creek wasn’t easy for her at first.

There were a lot of dark days of witnessing her crumble, and I don’t regret everything I’ve done to attempt to pick up the pieces over the years, including my promise to her that I’d stay near for as long as she needed me.

Her hums carry from her spot, and it eases the worry I’ve carried around like an extra limb.

She’s been particularly happy for the last month. At first, I thought it was because she’s been enjoying herself with the other ladies at their pottery class. Then I figured she was in decent spirits because she’s had a long string of Wess victories, resulting in a slew of apple pies and other baked goods from Paulette.

I’ve happily benefited from the latter.

In any case, I’m glad to see my mother well and thriving. It’s all I’ve ever wanted for her.

“You have one day off a week, and you still spend it working on cars in your own driveway.” From her seat by the front door, she pauses her handiwork to give me a once-over. Then she shifts the pillow behind her back, and the chair she’s perched on squeaks.

Stalking toward her, I ask, mostly to myself, “Has that chair always squeaked like that?”

“What have I told you about mumbling? I’m not losing my hearing just yet, but with you mumbling like that, it’s hard to tell.”

“I’ll get my tools. Probably a loose screw, so it’s an easy fix,” I say, raising my voice even though I’m still mostly talking to myself.

“Austin, dear, have a seat.” She bunches up whatever she’s working on and drapes blue yarn across her lap in a maze of horrors.

I do as she says, but I sit on the edge of the porch swing, anchoring it in place with my two feet firmly planted in front of me, ready to jump into action as soon as possible. “If there’s a screw loose, you could fall through the chair and hurt yourself. Let me fix it real quick. I’ll be done before this song ends.”

“It’s Sunday. You should be resting or out with your friends. It’s a beautiful day. Why are you not taking advantage of it?”

“I already have. I went fishing this morning, didn’t I?”

“At the hour you went, the fish themselves weren’t awake.”

“It’s because it’s so nice that I wanted to get work done on your car. It’s also the perfect day to fix a loose screw. Do you want to fall and break a hip?” I stare pointedly.

“Please.” She tsks. “I could fall through this chair, trip over a step, slip in the shower—there are endless ways to break a hip, Austin. If I fussed over each one of them, I’d never get out of bed in the morning.”

“You’re right—we need a ramp leading up to the front door instead of those steps. I can get some plywood?—”

Her disapproving glare cuts me off. “Our house is the nicest and sturdiest one on this street, even though I’m pretty sure it’s the oldest. We got it for a steal way back when. You’ve done an extraordinary job maintaining it, and I appreciate your hard work. But you can’t protect me from everything.”

“I can try.”

“Why don’t you help me with something I actually need?”

“What’s that?”

She probably has some flowers to drop off at Harper’s nursery in town or some other errand. I mentally run through the other things I need to finish and calculate how much time it all requires. The gap in the afternoon is plenty big before I need to be at the Tap, so whatever she needs can easily fit into my list of tasks.

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