Page 41 of Healing Hearts
It takes me longer than it should to set her down, to let her go, and then I circle around to everyone else, giving the traditional Sullivan hug.
“It’s a fresh start,” my mom says when I hug her. “I’ll come in for the next couple of weeks to make sure you know how all the computer programs work.”
“Oh, you don’t have to—”
“I know that, Trent. Tech stuff comes easily to you, but I want to. We all want you to make a go of this.”
“Okay,” I say, and I make eye contact with Emily over my mom’s head, and I hope she sees in my expression everything I don’t know how to say.
The first week without Bruce is slow, and given that things were a bit slower than normal when he was still kicking around, I’m worried. Instead of keeping my worry to myself, I come home from work on time, and I eat dinner with Emily and Amir.
As soon as Amir is in bed, I pull up my appointment book on the computer, and I show her.
“You have a year, Trent,” Emily says. “And you knew it would be an uphill battle at first. I would say this is normal. I get why you’re anxious—I would be too—but I also think this was to be expected.”
I take in what she has to say, and I try not to let my doubts win. While I took this shop on, and I want it to do well, almost more than anything, the only time I’ve had a real success on my own was when I was putting my skills to illegal use. It’s hard to let myself lean into something real when I’m worried my drug business accomplishment, one I’ve become deeply ashamed of, might be the height of what I’m capable of.
“I’m a good mechanic,” I say, carefully choosing my words, “but maybe I should have been happy with that.”
“You’re allowed to aim high,” Em says, running her hand down my back in a soothing way I’ve seen her do with Amir. “I’m saying this with my whole chest, Trent—your past doesn’t have to define your future. Yes, it still impacts it pretty significantly for the next year, but you’re already building something betterso that when you come out the other side, your path is set in a positive direction.”
“Maybe it’s too early to tell,” I say. “I just...I clung on too hard to the wrong thing when I was a kid, and I took a lot of people down with me. I don’t want to make that mistake again.”
“I don’t think you will,” she says, and she leans over to kiss my temple. “You’re not the same person now.”
I close my eyes at the contact, relish the closeness, and I hope she’s right—that I really do understand when to cut my losses to avoid taking other people down with me.
Chapter Seventeen
Trent
The next day, as though the fates heard my silent begging, I get my first client referred to me by Earl. The woman is from Utica, but Earl has replaced every electric part that his diagnostics have said is problematic, and her car is still throwing codes. He calls to tell me she’s on her way to me, and that he’s going to pick up the tab. I’d love to tell him I can do it for free for old times’ sake, but the reality is that I can’t.
When she arrives, I run my own tests. A couple of the guys who work for me, that I’m only starting to get to know, come over to watch me walk through the problem. The old joke about how many people it takes to change a lightbulb pops into my head, and I hope she doesn’t think it’s amateur hour over here.
It takes me almost two hours to root down to the issue, but I find it. A wire that probably wasn’t attached properly at the factory. She leaves with no more codes showing, and she’s happy with me and happy with Earl.
It’s the first real win since I opened, and I breathe a sigh of relief.Thisis what I’m good at.
“That was impressive, man,” Brett, an older mechanic who worked for Bruce for years, says at lunch. “You were like a bloodhound. Are you going to train a few of us in how to narrow that shit down?”
“I can, yeah,” I say. “If anything comes in, I can work side-by-side with whoever wants to understand how I’d tackle it.”
“Pencil me in for the next one,” Brett says. “I wasn’t sold on Bruce selling to you, but that was impressive.” He wags a finger at me as he returns to his oil change.
Just after lunch, Maggie and Grady show up in separate vehicles. Maggie comes in with a broad grin, holding Grady’s hand.
“We came to get our oil changed,” Maggie says.
“He doesn’t do that for you?” I say, nodding at Grady.
“Fuck off, man,” Grady says, immediately picking up on my double meaning. “We’re getting ourcaroil changed here, and then we’re taking a few shots for social media. Hyping you up, as it were.”
“Hiran is coming to do a story on the shop takeover, too,” Maggie says. “For the local paper. Lots of people read it online or get it in print. He’s getting his oil changed too.”
I glance at my mom, who’s been the one in charge of bookings, and she gives me a slight smile.
“Did you really want me to tell you?” she asks.
