Page 71 of Heresy

“A few oil changes. Stuff like that.”

Glancing at the car then back to me, he shifts his weight, crosses his arms over his chest and plants his feet at shoulder width. The stance is a little threatening, given his size.

“And you have a lot of miles on it. Do you travel a lot?”

I took trips back and forth between here and Georgia a few times, but that’s none of his business.

Before I can answer him, he says, “You’ll need these repairs eventually. And by eventually, I mean soon.” Shrugging a shoulder he adds, “You might as well get them now before you have a bigger problem in the future.”

“But $1200? There’s just no way.”

Taking the paper from me, he places it on the desk.

“And your car isn’t safe to drive without those repairs. I tell you what… We can do payments. I feel bad about the circumstances of how you ended up here, but I promise you the work I’m doing for that would cost twice as much at another shop. You can call around and find out for yourself if you want.”

It’s not a bad idea. I shouldn’t be here in the first place.

But then I worry about what’s wrong with the car. If I don’t get it fixed, will I lose control one day and wreck? What if I end up hurt as a result? Or worse, hurt someone else?

Safety is key, and maybe this entire thing was a blessing in disguise. It kept me from finding out my car isn’t safe without risking myself and everybody around me.

“Then let’s do payments,” I tell him.

A smile stretches his mouth wider at the agreement.

Plucking a pen and the contract from the desk, he hands them to me. “All we need is a cosigner, and I can get to work and get you back on the road. Normally we don’t ask for that. But only when the repair is paid in full at the time of service. Company policy and all.”

Fuck…

“I don’t have anyone—”

Shane shrugs again. “Doesn’t matter who it is. A parent maybe? Can you call your mom or something?”

“My mom is dead,” I admit.

“How about your dad?”

Silence falls between us, the only sound that of the buzzing fluorescent lights above our heads.

Looking down at the contract again, I figure Dad may be exactly the person to call. At least he would be able to make sense of all this work that needs done.

“Yeah,” I say absentmindedly, “I’ll call my dad. Can I step outside to do so? This may take a minute.”

A small dimple indents Shane’s cheek when he smiles brighter. “Sure thing. The exit door is over there.”

I toss the pen on the desk but take the contract with me to walk outside. It’s odd how I can feel Shane watching me go, his eyes following me like at the party when he had a woman caged against the stairs.

He has one of those stares that sees all of your parts, like he’s inspecting the muscles and tendons of the human body move like he would the gears and shafts of a car.

Ignoring the feeling, I let myself out into the bright daylight and pull my phone from my pocket.

I thumb through my contacts then hit the button for Dad. Except the phone doesn’t ring. Instead, there’s an electronic voice that tells me the number is no longer in service.

What the fuck?

How long has it been since I’ve spoken to my father? Thinking back, it’s only been a handful of weeks, maybe a month and a half. Why would he change his number?

And why would he do so without telling me?

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