Page 36 of Over the Edge

I nod along to Fletcher's words, but my attention is fixed to where Garrett is selecting his tools from where they’re neatly organized on the far wall. The sleeves of the coveralls are rolled up past his forearms revealing the taut muscles and veins running down to strong hands. Those toned forearms of his should come with a content warning. I bet he sits at his desk most days with his sleeves rolled up and those things out there for anyone to see, completely disregarding that he’s impacting other people’s ability to concentrate.

“Did he learn how to do all of this here?” I ask, seizing the time to get more information.

“Yeah. Annie and him went to school together. His mom, well, she wasn’t the most reliable. One day my dad came by with Garrett ’cause she forgot to pick him up. He was even more damn quiet back then. After that he’d come back with Annie and watch Dad, until my old man offered to teach him the basics.” Fletcher starts to move to an ancient industrial coffee maker. The pot still holds a generous amount of black steaming liquid. He points but I shake my head. Even if I did drink coffee, whatever he’s having would no doubt ruin my stomach lining. “When he went off to Tennessee for that fancy high school he would come back over winter breaks and work as much as he could. I’m not sure if he was bored or what. Smartest guy I’ve ever met, smartest person besides my wife, Emily, but he’s a close second.”

Fletcher pours himself a mug from the sizzling coffee pot and joins me at my vantage point where I’m leaning on the edge of his desk.

“I gotta ask, are you Mariano as in the Mariano that was the drummer in his band?” Fletcher asks, then takes a sip and winces at what I assume is the foul taste. Nothing simmering that long can be good.

“That’s how we know each other. I’m pretty sure I’ll always be his bandmate's obnoxious little sister,” I say, ensuring Fletcher has a clear picture of our situation.

“I hope you don’t take it personally. I think the only person he actually likes is Alina, and she won’t let people not like her.”

A laugh burbles from me. “Yeah. I got that impression.”

“I know I’m the minority in this, but I really wish he kept up with that band. I mean, seriously, he’s so damn good. Like, I’d be pissed about how good he is at shit, but I think it’s the universe making up for the cards it handed him. He always planned on getting one of those jobs with a degree that he could frame in a jail cell of an office. Probably felt like he had to since Alina and a few other folks made up the difference to pay his tuition for that boarding school.”

“His parents weren’t the ones who sent him there?”

Fletcher grimaces for the first time since I've met him. “It was always just his mom and him. But she wasn’t exactly the type to show up.”

Before I can ask more, Garrett pushes through the door with his elbow and Fletcher tosses him a clean rag with practiced ease. I try to picture a younger version of them doing this. I have the creeping suspicion Garrett had the same severe expression he has now as an adult.

“Should be good now if you want to take a look,” Garrett says as he wipes the grease from his hands on the yellow cloth.

There’s something about this exact version of him that I want to keep seeing, the one that’s a little messy and undone. It’s like a secret I want to tuck under my tongue, a piece that I have that he’s hidden from everyone else.

Fletcher nods. “Thanks, man. I’m happy I ran into you.”

“No problem.” A digital alarm goes off and Garrett pulls his phone from his pocket to silence it. He looks at me. “Well, we’re done. Time to go.”

The statement is jarring. The words take a moment to hit me full force. God. Did he set an alarm to go off at the end time of the invite I sent him? Is that why he was checking the time when Fletcher stopped by earlier, not because he wanted to stay with me, but because he felt obligated? A lump settles in my throat making it hard to breathe.

“So desperate to get rid of me that you set an alarm?” I joke, but at the same time there’s a deep ache. He’s been clear about not loving the idea of vacation, but I never would have guessed he’d be this eager to get away from me.

“I’m just staying organized,” he says.

“Great.” I match his curt matter-of-fact tone. “I’ll get going then.”

“I’ll walk you back.”

“No, it's fine,” I insist as I feel a prickling heat build behind my eyes. “I’ll see you for our next appointment when you’re obligated to put up with me.”

I don’t give him the chance to make me feel more insignificant than he already has and walk away.

14

Garrett

“That’s one way to end a date.” Fletcher fails to conceal his amusement as he lifts his mug to take a sip.

“Wasn’t a date,” I say pointedly. Maybe for a moment it felt like it was, with her full attention on me and the way that, despite the alarm on my phone, I could have let it go on forever.

“Even if it wasn’t, you’re still an asshole,” he says, then places the mug on the desk beside him. “Just because you’re pissed about being here you shouldn’t take it out on her.”

He’s right. I hate the way her face fell before she all but ran out of the garage. I should have gone after her. I should have done something; I just didn’t want to make things worse.

I use the rag he’s given me to aggressively scrub at the grime collecting in the creases of my knuckles. “That’s not what this is about.”

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