Page 12 of Fall Over You

I know it’s probably nice for her to be around her dad and grandpa all day, but the garage isn’t designed for a preschooler. Since I don’t have a car, my only backup plan is to go visit some friends at the nursing home. Playing with Ellie works just as well. I cut a glance at Tyler. “I really don’t mind.”

He shoots me a dirty look. “You’ll probably kidnap her.”

I groan. “In what car?” I thumb over my shoulder to my broken-down Ford in front of the shop.

“I don’t know, you’re in cahoots with half of everyone around here.”

“Well, so are you!” I point out. I don’t actually know that, but I’m making a point.

“Yeah, but they love you. Becca Martin, the doll of Painter Holler.”

“Got that right,” I say. “You’re the sole mechanic, so of course they love you.”

“Being loved and being needed’s two different things,” he says.

God, that hits hard. The same could be said of me. Do people actually love me, or do they love what I can do for them? How I make them feel? How I can make them forget the misery in their lives just by making them feel special?

I glance at my watch. "Well, I've got a couple hours before my next thing. I could hit the park with these two," I gesture to T-Bone and Ellie, "and have her back before Taco Tuesday."

"You should come to Taco Tuesday!" Ellie exclaims.

“No,” Tyler says quickly, but I'm already crouching by Ellie again.

“I think Taco Tuesday is something special for you and your daddy.”

I stand and prop my elbow on the counter again. “It's up to you. I'm happy to spend some time with her.”

Tyler's jaw sets and he looks from Ellie to me and back. “I want text updates every five minutes with photo proof of her wellness. Time stamps.”

“Fifteen,” I counter. “I will update every fifteen minutes.”

“With. Photos,” he emphasizes.

SEVEN

TYLER

"Sheesh, who pissed in your cereal?” Dad asks. I hate when he does that shit. Instead of acknowledging that I might have a valid reason to be in a bad mood, he dismisses it by poking fun at it.

I love my dad. I do. I’m glad he’s around to help with Ellie, see her grow up. But sometimes I wish he’d just shut the hell up.

And yet, I want to talk this out with him, because as much as I hate to admit it, he usually has something smart to say.

“Why does she want to play with her?”

“By she and her, I presume you mean Ellie and Becca.”

I toss my wrench down and stand back. “Of all the people for her to want to hang out with, why does she have to latch onto her?”

“Becca’s a sweetheart and you know it. She’s a bit unconventional⁠—”

I’m not going to stand here while my dad belittles the role Becca has played in my life, and indirectly, in Ellie’s life. “She’s a bad influence, Dad.”

“Becca’s harmless,” he calls from the next bay over.

“She smokes like a chimney and drinks like a fish.”

Dad goes quiet, and I know I should’ve held my tongue. Dad’s a regular at the local bar Becca frequents, and is quite fond of her and her mamaw too. Everyone seems to be willing to overlook Becca’s shortcomings in favor of all her winks and sassy jokes. All I can see is the way she fucked up my life.