There was always an excuse when she wanted something from me.
I was terrified of losing time with Rick and Noah.
The boys were tired, they had plans, something had suddenly come up.
And whenever I pushed back, she’d ask the same question.
“Do you really want to make this difficult?”
I knew exactly what she meant.
But she’d never said outright that seeing my sons depended on giving her what she wanted.
I knew exactly what she meant.
So when she pulled into my shop one Monday morning, I assumed she wanted something.
Then I saw the Mercedes.
The hood was crushed inward.
The driver’s side headlight hung by its wiring.
The front bumper was cracked nearly in half, and the left wheel sat at an angle that made my stomach tighten.
I assumed she wanted something.
Laura tossed the keys onto my desk.
“I need it by Friday.”
I looked through the office window at the car.
“Friday?”
“Yes.”
“Laura, that’s at least a week’s work.”
“I need it by Friday.”
“Then you’ll have to work faster.”
“I already have three cars booked.”
She shrugged.
“Move them.”
I stared at her.
“You want me to cancel other jobs for you?”
“Then you’ll have to work faster.”
“I need my car.”
“So do my customers.”
Her jaw tightened.
Then she leaned against my desk.
“Rick and Noah are supposed to stay with you this weekend, aren’t they?”
“I need my car.”
Everything in me went still.
“Don’t.”
She tilted her head.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t bring the boys into this.”
Everything in me went still.
“I’m not bringing them into anything.”
“You just did.”
She picked up my pen, turned it between her fingers, then put it down again.
“It would be a shame if something came up this weekend.”
I felt heat climb into my face.
“Don’t bring the boys into this.”
