Page 10 of The Woman in the Garage

“Why did you move here?”

“To… run the garage.”

“Do you even know what a camshaft is?”

“A shaft that contains a row of pointed rams used in a piston engine to operate the intake and exhaust valves.”

Did I sound like I was quoting a textbook? Yes. Because I totally was.

See, when I was met with instant and overt hostility from the men at the shop, I decided to open one of my uncle’s old books and learn at least the basics of how an engine worked. I was never going to be on my back under my car changing my own oil. But now at least it wouldn’t feel like a mechanic was speaking a foreign language when they were talking to me about what was wrong with my car.

“Been doing some light reading, huh?” David asked, shooting me a small smirk. “You know that’s not gonna help you with them out there,” he said, waving his mug toward the men in the garage.

“Probably not,” I agreed. “But at least they won’t be able to throw it in my face that I know nothing about cars anymore.”

“How old are you?” he asked, making my brows shoot up.

“Is that relevant?”

“Twenty-two? Three?”

“Five. Older than some of the guys out there,” I reminded him.

“And younger than the rest.”

“You’re older than me. Does it bother you that I’m here?”

His answer to that was to shrug and sip from my mug again. “So long as my paycheck keeps coming, I’ve got no issues.”

With that, he was gone.

I mean, it wasn’t the answer I wanted. David seemed like my only ally at the shop. I kind of hoped he would tell me he was fine with my presence, that I might even be a good thing for the garage.

I guess I needed to stop trying to find friends at my workplace. I wasn’t used to being in charge. My last job had been at this little indie clothing store where we were all just equal. It was the kind of environment where we had fun and laughed all through the shift, then hung out afterward.

I’d left all of that behind.

To come here.

Where everything and everyone was cold and distant, if not outright hostile. Where I was suddenly, unmistakably, horribly alone.

“Ugh,” I grumbled, rubbing at my tired eyes.

If I could just figure out the books, work out where the money was coming from and going to, then maybe find a little spare cash so I could spruce the place up a bit, get a computer, get everything automated, then maybe I could, you know, step away a bit. Let the place kind of run itself. Find something else to do that brought me a little more joy.

Really, I wasn’t sure what I’d been thinking when I’d decided to uproot my entire life without even, I don’t know, visiting this Navesink Bank place, seeing the garage, checking out the house I’d be living in.

Had I done so, maybe I would have seen what a stupid move this all would be before I made the mistake of quitting my job, giving up my apartment lease, and leaving everyone and everything I knew behind.

I could have just… sold the house and the garage. Got an entirely different house. Newer. Less musty. Not so full of junk that I tripped when I tried to do anything.

But no.

I’d gone and taken this whole situation like some sort of sign from the universe that it was time to try something new, to take a chance, to give something new a try.

I could still sell, I reminded myself as I grabbed another pile of handwritten receipts. I could get the house cleaned out and cleaned up while I got the shop’s books in order. That way, when I put them each on the market, they would sell for the best price.

That was motivation enough to get me through the next several hours of writing down everything I came across, putting them in columns, trying to get a better idea of what was jumping out at me as wrong.

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