Page 18 of Letters From Avery
“You work early in the morning?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I work at Grady’s Garage on 14th. It’s always a rush in the mornings to get the carry-overs from the day before all finished up.”
“You’re a mechanic?”
“Yup.”
“I’ve been needing an oil change for a while. Maybe I should bring my car in.”
I perked up. "Absolutely. I’d be happy to take care of it for you. When do you want to bring it by?”
Avery thought about it for a moment. “I’m working the later shift all week. I probably don’t even get off before you close.”
“What time do you get off?”
“Six.”
“I can meet you at the shop around 6:30.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that. I don’t want you to have to work late.”
“I don’t mind. Seriously.”
Avery seemed to consider it. “Could we do it tomorrow after work? Tonight will be difficult, but I’m open tomorrow night.”
I smiled. “I’ll see ya then.”
Avery turned to walk away and then stopped. “I’m Avery, by the way.”
I tried not to beam too hard. “JR. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Avery.”
And I meant it.
***
The thoughts in my head were a whirling fury of incoherent flashes as I tried to get some sort of clue about how this was going to go, and I was running out of time.
I sat in the back seat of Jack and Jenna’s SUV next to the car seat securing my niece. Jack was driving, and Jenna was scrolling on her phone. Beside me, Lindsey fixed an intent stare on her iPad and kicked her little feet. Each jolt of the car bumping the road turned mystomach. We’d been driving for a good 20 minutes, and I was no closer to figuring out what to say to my mother when we got to her house.
She must not have wanted anything to do with me. There was, as far as I could see things, no other possible justification for not having sent one single letter or coming down to the prison to visit me even once in all the years I was locked up.
I went from having a loving family and a good support system one day, to being completely thrown away the next.People make mistakes, and I was just a fucking kid. I was so angry with my parents and how they handled everything.
What is there to say?
“Sorry I was in prison when Dad died and had to miss the funeral. Oh, yeah, and don’t worry about not having bothered to even let me know.”
Jack casually mentioned it in one of his letters three months after Dad’s passing as if I had already known. Like it was old news. After I found out, I thought forsureMom would come and visit me. I don’t know why. Maybe it was a stupid fantasy. She never bothered to show up before he died; neither one of them did.
When I went to prison it was likeIdied. When I was growing up, we were a close-knit family. I disagreed with some of my parents’ opinions, but, for the most part, we all got along. I had a very normal upbringing, and if anyone had ever asked me, I would have said wewere a very happy family. Christmases were magical, and filled with presents and good holiday cheer. Mom and Dad always made sure Jack and my birthdays were special. Us kids felt loved, appreciated, and supported. There was never a single moment in my entire young life that I believed there was anything I could do to ever make my parents stop loving me.
I was wrong.
Yeah, I’m not really sure how to come back from that. This dinner was a mistake, and I should have refused. I realized it was much too late for that as Jack turned into the cul-de-sac on which I’d spent the first 18 years of my life. My old basketball hoop was still attached to the garage, and I’d be willing to bet my handprints were still pressed into the cement by the back garden wall.
Oh, man…
“Yay! Nana’s house!” Lindsey exclaimed as Jack parked in the driveway.
