Chapter One #2
Lincoln smiles. “Well, there you go. More business.”
“Until this new place gets in the towing queue.”
“Let’s not worry until there’s something to worry about, okay, Carter?”
I nod. He’s right. I’m not even a big worrier. I learned early on—right after Christian’s mom left us—that worrying about his condition, how I was going to raise him, and how I’d support a kid, was energy better spent on other things. Things like becoming the best dad and mechanic I could be.
Dropping Lincoln off, I’m pleased to see a few cars in the lot.
Despite the weather, people are still coming in for service, repairs, or just to buy parts from our store.
Our store. The new place doesn’t have a store.
That should give us an advantage—our versatility.
Our shop is a cross between an AutoZone, a Jiffy Lube, and a collision repair place.
Suddenly feeling better, I loop around the back and make my way out onto the street and toward the interstate.
Flashing red and blue lights let me know where I’m going when I get there. Two police cars and an ambulance are blocking the exit that I end up backing up onto, going the wrong way. They’ve stopped all other traffic, so I’ve got a safe approach straight to the crash site.
Seeing an accident, and especially an ambulance, always gets my heart pounding. No matter how many times I’ve done this, there’s always that worry that someone was badly injured, or even killed. Yeah, it’s happened. And yeah, it sucks bad.
One wreck still haunts me to this day. I got to the accident scene before the passenger was fully extricated from the car.
It was a young boy—maybe eight or nine years old—and he was already dead.
I went home that night and crawled into bed with Christian, holding him tight and wanting to bubble-wrap him until… well, forever.
Not seeing anyone in or around the car, I maneuver the truck as close as I can get to what used to be the front bumper. I hop out and ask the closest cop, “You ready for me yet?” It’s not unusual to have to wait while reports are made and pictures are taken.
“Single vehicle accident. Hit a patch of ice on the exit ramp. Bounced off the guardrail and into that tree.”
I hear a child crying and my heart lurches as I turn my head toward the ambulance. A mother and young girl sit in the back, both wrapped in a blanket. I nod toward them. “They okay?”
“Not a scratch on them. New car. Lots of air bags. And thankfully, a well-installed child safety seat.”
I blow out a relieved breath. “That’s good.”
Like I always do, I head over to the driver and hand her my card. “This is where the car will be. We can check it out today and I can call you or your husband this afternoon.”
The woman—brunette, petite, and with the most incredible green eyes—looks up at me as if she still can’t believe what happened.
Not an uncommon thing. Her eyes pool with tears.
She’s of course upset about the accident.
But I’ve seen a lot of people after accidents. She seems devastated on a deeper level.
“It’s just me.” She looks at her daughter. “I mean, it’s just us.” She glances over and winces at the sight of her wrecked car. “All of our things are in there.”
“You can grab your purse before I take off.”
She shakes her head. “No. I mean all our things. We were… leaving.” Her words trail off as her eyes close, like she has no idea what she’s going to do.
Leaving? The way she says it guts me. Leaving where? And leaving why? For a new job? A new life? Or is it something else? The fear behind her eyes tells me there might be a whole lot more to it.
“Ma’am?” the officer asks. “Since you’ve both been medically cleared, I’d be happy to drop you somewhere.”
She stares up at him with a blank expression. “I wouldn’t even know where to go. I was just pulling off for coffee.”
“Train station?” the man asks. “You have a New York City address.”
She shakes her head vehemently. “No. Not there.” She looks back at the car. “And all our things. I…” She looks at me now. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Why don’t you ride with me back to the shop?
It’s warm. There are a few restaurants within walking distance.
” I look at her feet, clad in tennis shoes, hardly fit for trudging through snow, especially with a young girl of only four or five.
“Or we can pick up something on the way. If you want coffee, I know just the place. And we have a great waiting area with couches and a television. Some kids toys even. An old PlayStation.”
The little girl wipes a tear. “A PlayStation? Mommy, can we go?”
She looks at her daughter, brows furrowed in apparent confusion. “What do you know about PlayStations, Amelia?”
“Ms. Kinney had one.”
“Is that so?” She studies her daughter like this is brand new information.
She looks at the cop and the paramedics, who are all waiting for her to decide what to do.
“It’s up to you, ma’am,” the cop says. “But I’m a state trooper, not a local. This man probably knows more about the town you were heading toward.”
The woman looks up at me warily. Is she trying to figure out if I’m a serial killer?
I hold out my hand. “I’m Carter. I have a child as well, and it’s just us. He’s older than… Amelia, was it?”
She nods. “I’m Kenna.”
“Nice to meet you, Kenna. Why don’t you get your purse, and I’ll get Amelia’s booster seat.”
“It’s a car seat,” Kenna says. “She isn’t heavy enough for a booster yet.”
I regard the young red-headed girl who, even covered with a bulky blanket, looks petite like her mom. And, like her mom, she has incredible green eyes. What an amazing combination. Red hair. Green eyes. This little girl is going to need bodyguards when she hits puberty.
Unsure of why I feel so protective of the girl and her mom, I head over to the car, already mentally assessing the damage as I near it.
No way will it be fixed anytime soon. It’s a nice car.
Not your run-of-the-mill Honda. We’ll probably need to special-order some parts.
And there’s a lot of body work to be done as the entire front right quarter panel is smashed in. There’ll be engine damage for sure.
Entering through the rear door, I unbuckle the car seat and anchor.
I grab what looks like a diaper bag, but it’s not filled with diapers or formula.
Snacks, books, and juice boxes litter the floorboard where it all spilled.
I quickly put everything back inside, then, at the last second, reach over and pick up a stuffed animal.
No, not a stuffed animal. It’s an animal head—an elephant to be exact—but there’s just a blanket where the body would be.
A smile crosses my face. Christian used to have one of these when he was little. His had the face of a bear. He carried it everywhere. And because it was part blanket, it was easier for him to hold onto while navigating with his walker back before he used forearm crutches.
I look back at the girl, wondering if she’s as attached to this thing as Christian was to his.
In fact, I think I still have his ‘boo-boo’ stashed away somewhere.
Probably in the box filled with a bunch of other childhood things like his going-home-from-the-hospital outfit, his first lost tooth, a lock of hair from his first haircut, and the many many drawings he’d done.
I still add to it from time to time when he gets a great report card, an award, or certificate of accomplishment, which—proud dad moment—he seems to earn on a regular basis.
I put down the bag and car seat and head over to the little girl. I crouch down so I’m nearly eye level with her. “Amelia, this little guy doesn’t happen to belong to you, does he?”
She smiles and snatches the elephant head from me, hugging it tightly.
“Does it have a name? When my son Christian had one like this, he called it ‘boo-boo’.”
“His name is Horton,” she says almost in a whisper.
My cold face cracks into a smile, and I put on my best ‘Horton’ voice. “Don’t give up! I believe in you all. A person’s a person, no matter how small!”
Her eyes light up and I could swear she almost giggles. Almost. And somehow I get the feeling it would be the sound of angels.
Kenna chuckles, albeit sadly. “Okay, now I know you aren’t lying about having a kid. There are not many men who can quote Dr. Seuss books.”
“Why would I lie about having a child?” I hold out my arms and shrug. “And, when you raise a kid on your own, you have to be both Mom and Dad. But I’m betting you know that too.”
She nods. “Mind if we get in your truck now? Amelia is looking cold.”
“Right this way. It’s been running and should be nice and warm. I’ll install the seat in the back row and you can both wait there while I get the car hooked up.”
Her gaze meets the ground. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
“I’ve seen worse. It’s not totaled, if that’s what you’re asking.”
She pinches the bridge of her nose. “I should have waited. But…” She looks at me. “I… just should have waited. I can’t believe we didn’t even get fifty miles.”
There’s definitely a story there. But it’s not the time to pry. Nor is it my place.
“Come on, let’s get you settled in the back.”