“You’d keep my children from me over a car repair?”
Her expression barely changed.
“Don’t make me prove it.”
There it was.
No excuses about plans or sick kids this time.
“You’d keep my children from me over a car repair?”
She was telling me exactly what my weekend with my sons would cost.
And as usual, I couldn’t say no.
For a few seconds, I couldn’t speak.
Then I looked through the glass at the Mercedes again.
“Fine.”
Laura smiled.
She was telling me exactly what my weekend with my sons would cost.
“I knew you’d understand.”
I didn’t understand.
I just knew that I couldn’t risk my time with kids over a car.
***
For days, that car took over my life.
I called customers and apologized. I moved appointments.
I couldn’t risk my time with kids over a car.
One guy cursed me out.
Another told me he’d never come back.
By Wednesday, fixing Laura’s car wasn’t just costing me time.
It was starting to cost me the business she’d always said I’d never be able to build.
I ordered parts on credit because Laura wanted factory replacements.
The damage was worse than it looked.
One guy cursed me out.
Every new problem meant more money I didn’t have and more hours I couldn’t spend on my customers.
I worked until midnight more than once.
On Wednesday, my employee Miguel found me sitting on the floor beside the Mercedes eating crackers from a vending machine.
“You know she should be paying rush rates for this,” he said.
I worked until midnight more than once.
“I know.”
“And you’re not charging rush rates.”
“No.”
He looked at me for a second.
“This about your kids?”
“She should be paying rush rates for this,”
“Isn’t it always with her?” I remarked.
Miguel sighed.
“Man.” He shook his head. “She knows you’ll do anything if she puts the kids in the middle.”
I didn’t answer.
I didn’t have to.
“Isn’t it always with her?”
Finally, the Mercedes looked like it had never been wrecked.
The final invoice was $7000.
That number is still burned into my head.
Parts, labor, paint, alignment.
I cut the labor lower than I should have because some stupid part of me still wanted Laura to leave without another fight.
The final invoice was $7000.
She arrived at four with Brent.
He walked around the car slowly while Laura stood beside him with her arms crossed.
I handed her the invoice.
“Everything’s listed there.”
Brent crouched near the left fender.
I handed her the invoice.
“This panel gap looks uneven.”
“It isn’t.”
He dragged one finger along the paint.
Then, without warning, he wiped his fingertip on the front of my work shirt.
“There. Dust.”
