Chapter 18
Poppy
House Again by Hudson Westbrook
I’m sitting at my desk in the little office off the auto shop, and I still can’t believe this is my life.
Last weekend I married my best friend, and this week I’m having fun teaching kids.
And Mr. Fisher has been fun to work with, too.
You can tell he’s tired and done. He’s ready to retire.
But he seems like a good man who genuinely enjoys what he does and is happy to pass on the torch.
The high school smells like oil and metal and floor cleaner, and the windows on the bay doors let sunlight spill across concrete floors that have already seen better days.
The kids are loud and curious and actually listening.
I love it here. I love the hum of engines and the way my hands feel after a morning of teaching, rather than just fixing things in a rush.
Ollie’s on speaker phone, static crackling softly from the firehouse. “How’s your day going?” he asks as I finish my lunch. Some of the teachers asked me to go in on takeout, but I’m still trying to catch up on bills. But it feels great to have co-workers finally and to be included. Someday.
“Great,” I say, smiling at nothing. “I think I might actually love my job.”
“That makes me ridiculously happy for you, baby,” he says. “I’m on shift but keep me on. I want to hear everything.”
I’m just about to tell him more when Mack pops her head in the doorway, eyes bright.
“Hey,” she says. “I talked to the counselor. I’m officially switching to auto tech.”
“Hey, Mack!” Ollie calls through the speaker like he’s announcing a celebrity sighting.
“Hey, Ollie!” she shoots back, equally serious about it.
“That’s amazing,” I say. “I’m proud of you. You’re going to have a lot of fun.”
She grins, rocking back on her heels. “Yeah. I wanna learn from you. A bunch of my friends are trying to switch, too.”
My chest does that warm, expanding thing again, the one that sneaks up on me when I’m not paying attention. “I’d love that.”
“See?” Ollie says smugly through the speaker. “Absolute legend.”
I snort. “I don’t know about that.”
“I didn’t think us girls were really allowed out here. I mean...I guess we were. But it didn’t feel very welcome. We’re glad you’re here. One of my friends Emily and I are thinking about getting an old car to restore. My dad even said he’d try to help us find one to work on.”
I smile at this because this is exactly what I wanted it to be like for the kids.
I never took shop class when I went there.
Mostly because my whole life was a shop class outside of school.
School was the one place I could go to escape the shop under my dad’s thumb.
But the fact that kids are excited about this and choosing it makes me feel good.
Kinda like what Ollie’s doing coaching basketball.
Making places safe for kids that need them.
Mack beams. And just like that, the shop feels exactly like it’s supposed to.
A knock taps against the doorframe, and a woman steps inside with a clipboard tucked against her chest. She’s young, probably not much older than me, with black rimmed glasses and a friendly smile.
“Hey, gotta run,” I tell him. “I’ll call you later when I’m off.”
“Bye,” he says and disconnects.
“Hi, I’m Elena,” she says, shaking my hand. “The guidance counselor.”
“Poppy,” I say, offering my hand. “Nice to meet you.”
She glances past me at the shop floor, where a group of girls is crowded around an engine in the bay. “You’re becoming quite popular, Miss Murphy.”
I laugh. “Thanks. I’m having a lot of fun, and I’m really glad to be here. And actually it’s Mrs. Kendrick now.”
Elena smiles wider. “I heard. Congratulations! We’ve had a ton of requests for kids to switch into auto class. Mainly female students. They’re very excited.”
I smile. “That means a lot.”
“It should,” she says. “You’re doing something special. The kids are all really enjoying the class. Of course, everyone loves Jim, but it’s fun to have someone new around who gets more kids excited.”
We chat for a while, and after she leaves, I sit there for a second and let it sink in.
I eat my lunch at my desk, answering emails and jotting notes for tomorrow. I catch myself smiling again, like my face doesn’t know how to stop.
I’m teaching. I’m helping kids. I’m building something solid.
For the first time in a long time, my life feels like it’s moving forward instead of just holding steady.
And I love it.
Owen wanders in like he does every afternoon after basketball practice, backpack slung low, already mid-conversation with a few of the kids. They’re bent over an engine bay, heads together.
“No, see,” Owen says, pointing. “If you listen when it turns over, you can hear it hesitate right there.”
The older kid looks impressed. “You know a lot.”
He shrugs, trying to play it cool. “I’ve been around my sister a lot. She’s the teacher here.”
I watch from my desk, smiling and aching all at once.
Owen shows a couple of the kids how to check a belt, confident and careful, not bossy. He belongs here in a way that makes my chest swell, and he’s not even in high school yet. And then it hits me how different this is from when I was his age.
I wasn’t hanging out after school, having fun.
I was working at my dad’s shop. Doing the jobs my dad wasn’t keeping up with to make sure our bills got paid and learning that my value came from what I could do for someone else.
Back then my dad treated me differently.
Extended praise and encouragement. But was it genuine?
I think he just wanted me to work for him like a slave and take care of Owen.
He never seemed to care what I wanted. I blink and wonder would I have chosen this life if I had a chance?
I shake it off and think it doesn’t matter now. I want this life I’ve made. It’s a pretty great life, actually.
I don’t want what I had for Owen. I want him to be a kid. To chase whatever makes him happy. Basketball, or engines, or something we haven’t even imagined yet. Lately, he really seems to enjoy the horses out at the Wilder Ranch, so there’s also that. Life is too short not to do what we love.
Ollie wants that for him, too. We’ve talked about it. Neither of us had a childhood that felt soft. We worked hard and were expected to be grateful for it.
Owen deserves better than Sully. Hell, I deserved better than Sully.
When we leave the school, it’s already getting dark. We swing by the general store for groceries. I grab a basket and fill it without doing the math in my head. Chicken, pasta, vegetables, and a brownie mix.
The relief is huge. I can grab groceries without counting out the total beforehand. Having a solid paycheck is everything right now.
Then I see him. Sully stands near the coolers, eyes sharp and cold when they land on us. On Owen. Then they move to me.
I lift my chin and keep my shoulders back, even though my pulse is hammering.
He glares at me for a long, ugly second before his mouth twists into something mean. “Looks like you still owe me money.”
Owen turns, brows knitting. “What’s your problem?”
“My problem is I want what’s mine,” Sully snaps, voice sharp and slurred at the edges. “You don’t get to just cut me off. Half of that business is mine.”
I don’t flinch. I don’t raise my voice.
“That’s not true,” I say evenly. “And you know it. You stole all the tools and sold them off. Even some that were mine. And you took half the money for the past ten years. I’d say we’re pretty even on the business if you ask me. You also never supported Owen. You owe us, if anything.”
He steps closer, too close, and grips the front of my cart hard enough that it jerks to a stop. The metal rattles, loud in the aisle. A couple people glance over.
“You think you can just walk away from me now?” he sneers. “Heard you got yourself a husband. You think that fixes this?”
Owen stiffens beside me.
I feel something settle in my chest. Cold. Solid.
“There’s a court order,” I say clearly. “You’re required to stay away from me and from Owen. You’re not supposed to be here talking to us at all.”
His eyes flash, wild and unfocused. “That paper doesn’t mean anything.”
“It does,” I say. “And every word you say right now is another violation.”
His grip tightens on the cart. His jaw works like he’s chewing on rage. “You’re going to give me my money,” he growls. “You don’t get to decide this.”
“I already did,” I shove the cart forward, breaking his hold, and step past him without waiting to see his face. I don’t give him another second of me.
I look down at Owen, keep my voice calm, normal. “Do we need milk?”
He blinks, then nods like he’s taking his cue from me. “Probably.”
He reaches into the cooler and grabs a gallon like this is any other grocery run.
Behind us, something crashes. I hear cans clatter and a cart slam into a display. Someone curses under their breath. I hear Sully shouting, angry and unhinged, the sound of him storming off echoing down the aisle.
I don’t turn around.
I keep walking. One hand steady on the cart. The other brushing Owen’s sleeve, grounding both of us.
For the first time, I don’t feel like I’m running. I feel like I’m done.
“Hey, let’s go pick out your favorite cereal, too,” I say as we move through the store.
“What do you think he’s going to do?” Owen whispers nervously when we make it to the cereal aisle.
“I don’t know, buddy.” I shake my head. But I know one thing for sure, I’m not letting him intimidate us anymore. This has to stop.
Back at the apartment, I tie my hair up and get to work. Cooking feels like love when I get to do it like this. I get the brownies and cookies baking, and I make dinner. I pack everything up while Owen sets the table and sneaks chocolate chip cookies when he thinks I’m not looking.
Ollie’s on shift, so we load up the truck and head to the station.
Laughter spills out the front door when we walk in. The guys light up like we’re expected.