Page 12 of Shame

But that doesn’t stop the guilt from eating me alive when I’m trying to do something for me. Like right now, I’m walking intoPig’s to figure out what’s going on with my car. Do I need a car? No. I could call a taxi, take the bus, get a ride from someone at the diner, but Iwantmy car. In the end, that’s cheapest and gives me the most freedom.

I called this place about five times, but the phone just kept ringing. Figured I either had the wrong number or they were busy. I shouldn’t spend money on buses or taxis if I have to pay to fix my car—and I need to fix it. I need my car to get to and from work. I’m already on thin ice with Norman over being late. Not having a car will make that worse because arrival is out of my hands. And, also, it’s a pride thing. I should be able to take care of myself. I’m twenty-five years old, not ten.

The moment I pull the door open, oil, rubber, and something pungent—sweat, maybe—causes my eyes to water.

The lobby, if you can call it that, is small. There are a few stained chairs off to the side that have seen better days. A counter is against the far wall with a glass door behind it that leads to the garage. The walls are black, spray painted with silver to make it look like it’s made of bricks. Framed artwork of cars and abstract paintings on canvases hang on the walls.

I go to the counter, looking around as if someone could be hiding. Where? I don’t know. But the place seems like a ghost town. If it weren’t for the banging and shouting coming from the back, I’d think they were closed.

Wait—maybe they are closed. I pull my phone from my pocket to check the time just as the glass door swings open.

“Afternoon, pretty lady. What can I do you for?” The man who walks in has sandy hair that’s pulled back in a ponytail with a thick beard to match and kind dark eyes.

“Uh, hi,” I say. “My car was brought here yesterday. It’s a—”

“Corolla?”

“Yes,” I answer slowly.

He chuckles. “Haven’t seen a car that old in here in a long time.”

I huff out a laugh, but don’t find it funny. It’s all I can afford. Besides, why buy a new car when the one I have works perfectly fine? Or did, anyway. Guess I can’t say that now.

“Is it a lost cause?” I cringe just thinking about it.

“Hell no,” he says, slapping his hand on the tabletop. “You bring a car to Pig’s, we fix it. That’s how it works.”

“Wait, so you fixed it? But I didn’t know what was wrong with it. How much is it going to cost? What if I can’t—”

“Whoa, calm down. Take a breath,” he says seriously. “Car’s taken care of.”

“Yes, but how much is it going to cost?” I ask, my heart pounding harder. “I-I’m on a tight budget, and I just…”

I knew I would have to pay to fix the car, but I may not be able to do thatright now. As in today, when it’s due. Depending how much it is, I may have to wait a week or two. Make payments or something.

“Miss,” he says firmly, leaning forward. “Your car is taken care of it.”

“Yes, it’s fixed, and I appreciate yourspeedy—”

“Miss, the car is all set.” This time his words are slow and almost questioning, as if he’s wondering if I understand what he’s telling me.

I pause a moment, taking in what he said.

“All set?” I question.

“As in, it’s paid for,” he says almost condescendingly.

But I ignore that, becausewhat the hell?It’s paid for?

“What? How?”

He grins at me. “Shark took care of it. Wait, was he not supposed to?” He narrows his eyes.

“Who is Shark?” I ask.

The man holds my gaze, then starts laughing. “You’re fucking with me, right?” When I don’t answer him or join in his laughing, he stops and clears his throat.

“Okay, not fucking with me. Look, Shark’s a friend of mine. I owe him like a million favors. This is just one. He called me to tow the car and fix it, so I tow the car and fix it. That’s all I know. So, if you want the car, I got the keys.”

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