She can do oil changes in her sleep. Tire rotations while drunk and multi-point inspections blind-folded. So being a manager of the town’s most frequented auto shop can get a bit mundane especially when the ache to continue restoring her’68 Plymouth Road Runner sits heavy in her gut and she has to do something about it. She tries to rush Mrs. Sloane back to her car. Now, jacking up her 2015 Ford Focus and changing the oil was child’s play. Getting Mrs. Sloane to stop telling the stories about her husband’s misadventures in roof repair, well that is Chinese checkers. D looks past Mrs. Sloane at her fellow mechanics; the shop ignores her silent cries for help. Two of the guys are raising a car that was waiting for pick up, one is mopping the floor with a dry mop and the last one looks outright ridiculous hammering spare pipes left over from when the shop flooded earlier this summer.
“Yes, Jeff was on that roof one second, and the next was right in the living room, moanin’ about going ‘ah my arm, my arm.’ Took him to the hospital, doc asks well, what were you doing up there, this man says it’s the only place quiet enough to get some sleep, the ass.”
“Yes ma’am. Now we checked everything, and it all looks good, so you’re not due to see us for a while.”
“Speakin’ of seein’, where’s Willie, I hear he was supposed to be back today.”
“He will be in later today, just finishing up some things before coming in. We’ll tell ‘im you said “hey””
“Thanks, D. tell ‘im he should swing by Jeff and mine’s when he gets a chance.”
D all but pushes Mrs. Sloane into her car, and makes her way to the front office, slapping the clipboard and cash on the counter, startling Marco who was entering data diligently.
“Hey, Marco, Mrs. S’s oil change, I gotta check somethin’, holler if you need me.”
“No prob, D. take your time.” She enters the manager’s office, opens her laptop, her bid for a Belvedere front bumper still there. She scans the webpage. Bright red letters slap her in the face “SOLD.” She leans backs and exhales, she lost it, but the price it settles at was above her budget anyway. She tries not to feel disappointed, “Wasn’t the one, is all.” With a sigh, she removes the band around her hair releasing a bit of tension and lays her head down on the desk. Her thoughts drift to Willie. She doesn’t envy being the owner. Even after a heart attack and passing out on the job, he still must worry about keeping this place running, making sure everyone’s paid, parts are ordered, and morale is high. The very idea of a mild irritation such as losing a bid is minuscule by comparison when someone’s check has gotten lost in the mail. And now he’s bringing on a new hire as a compromise with his worried staff and family to lighten his workload. No, she doesn’t envy that responsibility at all. She glances up and checks the time. 11:43. Willie and the new guy were supposed to be in by noon, a nice lunch to help him get integrated. She starts to get up and work on the grime under her nails, ready to devour whatever Willie cooked up, when Marco knocks on the door. “Chuck called, he’s askin’ for ya.” She follows him to the phone, “Hey, Chuck, how’s it?”
“Same ol’ Same ol’ D. So, we got some junkers delivered, and my boys were scrapping them down and I think I found some stuff for that Road Runner of yours if you wanna come look at ‘em.”
She eyes Marco who obviously overheard the whole conversation, he’s shaking his head and she knows he’s right. Willy wouldn’t like it if the manager was missing from the meet and greet, and those parts will be there later in the evening.
“I’ll be there in 5.” And slams the phone on the hook. She avoids the judgmental gaze, and she dashes out the front door shouting behind her, “Just a quick look!”
She hops in her truck and reverses into the road, bound not to take her foot off the gas until she reached T&T Salvage.
4 and a half minutes later she skirts to stop in front of the main office in the middle of a mountain range of wrecked cars and scrap metal. She walks behind and finds Chuck in one of the garages wiping sweat from his brow as he directs his two sons in stripping a car.
“Hey, there, girl. You weren’t kidding about those 5 minutes, were you?” he chuckles as he pulls her into a hug. She clings back.
“Yeah, I’d rather get a ticket than an earful from Willie.”
“Who you tellin’? The parts are in the back, let me show ya.” T&T Savage doubled as the town’s towing company and has brought a lot of business to the shop. It also helps that the two owners are childhood friends and children are practically siblings. Chuck knows D. has been working on that Pontiac Road Runner as a side project for a few years now, and parts for those classics don’t come cheap, so he told his boys to look out for anything that might help. D. really appreciates the support, and even though most of the time the parts are duplicates and just not the right ones, she can’t help coming and chatting with Chuck, showing her appreciation in his efforts. She looks through them, and most of them aren’t even from a Road Runner.
“Not that pile, girl, on the table. Now the car was a later model, but someone took some parts for your year and tried to pass the whole thing off as a 68.” Chuck was right. He has some trim, the hood emblem, back-finish panel, and most of them were too young. She smiled back at Chuck. “Yep, most of this stuff I already have, but thanks for looking out.” He shook his head, “I thought I had something for ya this time” “You did, an excuse for leaving the shop for a bit.” Chuck’s youngest entered carrying a bumper and plopped it on the table in front of them. He nodded at them before heading back. Chuck was asking about everyone at the shop and how they felt about Willie coming back, but she heard none of it because what was just sat in front of her was nothing other than Belvedere front bumper for her ’68. Chuck paused his ruminations when he noticed D. slowly reach for the bumper as if she were afraid if she moved too fast it would fly away.
“See something you like?”
“How much for the bumper?” she says as she picks it up, looking it over for damage she was already figuring out how to fix.
“You tune up my tow trucks when you can, and we’ll call it square.” He reaches his hand out for a shake, but she pulls him into an awkward hug “Thank you so much” before releasing him. She goes to look through the pile harder, perhaps overlooking more parts when the youngest comes in again. “The shop’s callin’” “Huh?” “Marco says you’re fucked.” “Oh, shit!” She picks up the bumper, places a hasty kiss goodbye on Chuck’s cheek before dashing to her truck, but gingerly places the bumper in the passenger seat, before starting the truck and hoping to beat her time going back.
Exactly 3 minutes and 30 seconds later she pulls up in front of the garage. A table has been set up and music is playing. Willie, broad and beastly, stands in front wearing a clean white shirt and slacks, his heavy arm slung across the shoulders of a slightly shorter leaner guy. No one except Marco notices as she comes and stands among the group. Willie notices her, she can tell by how his eyebrow raises, so she shrugs. She’s going to get a scolding later, but he won’t stop his speech.
“-and the Doc thinks I should take it easy for a while, but if you think I’m gonna let ya’ll run around here unsupervised, you’re crazy. This is where Tommy comes in. He’s gonna take the load off for all of us here, so use him freely. I’m just kidding. He’s a good kid, we’re gonna treat him right. Thank you all for taking care of the place while I was gone. It’s good to be back. And I planned to be on your asses for a long time.” Everyone starts cheering and D. joins in. She missed his presence here. Probably more than everyone else. You can feel when Willie’s around. There’s a definitive lightness and comfort that he brings to any space he’s in. Especially his shop. And the shop definitely knew he was gone. As people make their plates and enjoy their lunch, Willie directed Tommy over to her. “Tommy, meet the floor manager and my daughter, D.” She shook his hand and talked over the surprise in his face, “If he thinks you deserve to work here, you must be pretty good. Welcome to the team.” He shook back and nodded before making his way to the table. Her dad started to talk when she interrupted “You should call Chuck and ‘em over, they’ll never forgive you for letting them miss out on your pot roast” It was an irrefutable argument. He laughed to himself as he pulled his cellphone out and shook his head as if to say you’re not out of the woods yet. She makes a plate and takes a seat next to Marco. A couple of hours later, Willie having long since declared today a half-day, and a few of the guys were reenacting their encounter with angry deer. D. having heard this story plenty of times decides its time for more beer. At the food table, she reaches into the bottom of the cooler and pulls out one and scrounges the table for something edible. Tommy comes by and throws some things in the trash. “So how you like the place so far?” she asks as she nibbles on a lone pretzel.
“People are nice, which is good. I didn’t mean to assume, but I figured when everyone said the manager was named D. that it was a guy.”
“I get that all the time, but I was serious, my dad wouldn’t just hire anyone, let alone me. This place isn’t just a shop to him. To us.”
“No, I understand boss,” he says with a smile. He leaned against the table and she did the same. “You know,” he began, “for a while now, I’ve felt kind of stuck in this freefall, it’s been so long now that I’ve just been hoping to hit ground, just to end it all. Then I met your dad, he sat down and listened to me. I said, ‘all’s I need is a chance’ and he just look at me for a while. He finally stood up and said ‘you got one now, you gonna do right by it?’ and here I am. It’s been so long since someone believed in me, since I’ve believed in me. And your dad did that.” He smiled to himself. She chuckled, “Yeah, he’s like that. Get used to it.” She says. They both listen to the story, neither really paying attention
“You mind if I ask what D. means”
She sips her beer before responding, “Dahlia. My name’s Dahlia.”
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