Page 5 of Heart of Stone
Duck has owned the mechanic's shop for close to thirty years. Now in his late sixties, the guy has forgotten more about engines and motorcycles than I could ever hope to learn in a lifetime.
"Yeah," I lie. "Just peachy."
"So, what's going on? Your cousin bail again?"
I make a noise of affirmation. "Yeah, but this time I—" I swallow hard. The words I’m about to say will turn what is in theory a decision into reality. Sucking in a deep breath, I do what I have to do.
"Yeah, this time I don’t think it’s changing. I’m gonna take custody of the kids."
"Damn. That’s rough."
I nod, aware he can’t see me but unable to speak around the thick lump of emotion filling my throat.
"What do you need?" His question doesn’t surprise me. Duck’s a good guy. He might be a biker and a mechanic, but he knows his stuff, and he cares about each of us. He’s also the first guy to take a chance on me when I was fresh out of school, and for that, I’m grateful, considering how many other places took one look at my gender and decided I was better off in the office than under the hood.
“I need to sell my bike.”
He sucks in a breath. "You sure?"
I swallow. "Yeah."
"What price are you looking for?"
"As much as I can get."
"Got it." I hear him moving around, shuffling. "I might have someone. Let me give them a call."
I push away any regrets I might be entertaining as I watch the girls slurping their milk. "Thanks, I appreciate it."
"Anything else you need? Aside from a shoulder to cry on?"
I chuckle. "You know any good babysitters? Or maybe we could turn the back office into a daycare?"
Duck snorts. "Over my dead body. Don’t get me wrong, my grandkids are cute and all, but no one wants them running around during office hours."
I sigh. "Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but about our health insurance..."
"Don’t worry about it," he says, cutting me off. "You’re covered."
I exhale heavily. "Thanks, I really appreciate it, Duck."
"Seriously, don’t sweat it, kid. We’ve got your back. Now, you need a car?"
"How—how did you know?"
"Call me a clairvoyant or the dad of six kids and 18 grandkids. Either way, you’re going to need transport, especially if you’re thinking of selling the bike."
"Yeah," I admit. "Amanda didn’t exactly leave me with the most useful of cars," I say, thinking of the wreck that’s been sitting in her yard for the last six months. Even I, as good as I am, wouldn’t dare attempt to salvage it. Sure, the parts would be useful, but the car itself is an absolute goner, the engine beyond repair.
"You got anything cheap?" I ask. "Something in my price range?"
"Take the loaner."
I sigh. "I can’t, Duck. That’s for customers."
"We look after family here," he says, ignoring my protests. "And you’re family, kid. Best employee I’ve had in 30 years."
Tears burn the back of my eyes. I’ve never had a dad—just one deadbeat after another that my mom brought home. Some were okay, offering me sweets or candy. Others tried to be a dad, disciplining me or urging my mom to take an interest in my life. But the rest? They all disappeared pretty quickly. The longest stuck around for three months; the shortest, a couple of days. I’m not unfair or resentful, never have been. But I regret not having good people in my life, and Duck and his wife, Maggie, are good people. Really good people.
