Page 7 of Where We Stay

“Of course you did,” I tease.

The first bell rings, and Aspen reaches for both of her grandparents’ hands.

“Come on!” she urges, tugging them toward the gate. “I have to show you my picture before everyone else gets there.”

She manages three steps before I call her back.

“Pen.”

She turns and runs toward me. I crouch as she holds out her little finger. We link pinkies, press our thumbs together and kiss them.

Our way of saying we’re always together, even when we aren’t.

“Love you, Daddy,” Aspen says, wrapping her arms around my neck.

I squeeze her tightly before letting her go. “Love you too, baby girl.”

She races back to Mom and Dad, Beachy tucked beneath one arm.

“Have a good day, bud,” Dad calls over his shoulder.

“You too,” I reply, lifting my coffee toward him.

I spend too much time worrying that Courtney’s absence will be the thing Aspen remembers about her childhood.

Watching her walk away with two people who have never missed a single important moment, I remind myself that she’ll remember the ones who stayed too.

* * *

Hartwell Motor Co. is my mechanic business. With my family owning such a huge chunk of this town, I wanted to start something of my own.

From the ground up.

And that’s exactly what I did. I’ve worked with cars my entire life, and some of my core memories are of working on old beat-up cars with my dad.

I take a look at the old Chevy in the garage. “She’s back, I see.” I nod to my best friend and co-worker Knox.

“Yep. Take a guess what’s wrong this time,” Knox says, with an exasperated look on his face. Mary Crood’s Chevy has been in the shop nearly every month since she bought it. I told her it was a bad investment, but Mary has never listened to advice unless it arrives disguised as gossip.

“Battery?” I say.

“Guess again.”

“Alternator?”

“Bingo, baby!” Knox claps.

“Give me a couple minutes to get situated and I’ll check it out,” I reply, walking toward to workshop reception. I say hi to Rory. She is working in my shop as a receptionist while she figures out her ‘purpose in life’. That’s what she says anyway.

“Aurora.” I nod in greeting. All I get in return is a scowl for saying her full name. She hates that.

Knox and I get started on the Chevy, falling into the same rhythm we always do. He removes the battery connection while I reach for the tools we’ll need. Everything with Knox is easy. We’ve been best friends since middle school and have spent enough years working beside each other that we barely need to speak.

Although his idea of a Friday night is being balls deep in some poor out-of-towner, whereas mine is going home, cracking open a cold beer and listening to Aspen’s endless stories about her day.

I’m loosening the alternator bolts when Knox leans farther beneath the hood.

“Hold up,” he says.