“There should be a lever to the bottom left of your steering wheel.”
I waited at the front while he opened his door, fumbled for far too long before I heard the latch loosen. It took me just seconds to find the locking lever and I pushed it to the side. I had the hood raised and was checking the oil when he met me at the front. Based on the obvious sweet smell he already mentioned, I already figured the problem, but I might as well check it.
“It’s impressive you know your way around an engine.”
“Because I’m a girl?”
I kept my head down. No way was I telling him how I learned how to do basic mechanic work.
“Apologies if that offends you. Also, because you’re young and still in school.”
I’d brought out paper towels with me figuring I’d need them, so I wiped off the dipstick. Oil was at a good level and good color.
Sliding it back into place, I asked, “Do you get regular maintenance on this? It’s only a few years old, right?”
“Six. And yes, I get maintenance. If I forget, my son usually takes it in so I’m not sure when the last time it was serviced.”
Of course. He had far too many other more important things in his life to worry about a vehicle he could probably turn in tomorrow in order to buy something brand new.
He surprised me when he stated, “My bet, at a place like this, there’s a high turnover.”
“Sure. Probably.” I was bent over his hood, propped up on my tiptoes due to the height of the engine in his SUV. I found the coolant cap and untwisted it. That’s where the smell was coming from, I was almost sure of it. A syrupy tang was in the air that had nothing to do with the pancakes I’d served to a customer earlier.
“You been here a while.”
“Few months.” The first couple jobs I had were rougher. One in a rundown garage where the male workers liked to crack jokes about my ass while I was in a position similar to this. I lasted two weeks. One of them grabbed my ass and when I told him to knock it off, two other mechanics came up to his side. All three caged me in. Had it not been for the sound of the garage opening, a sign the boss was returning from his lunch break, I don’t know what would have happened. I called Ellen that night and told her if she couldn’t help me find something else I’d be going back to prison for assault.
Getting out of prison was almost worse than being in it. At least inside, you knew your role. You found a clique and you were relatively protected. Mine was pretty low security but that didn’t mean entirely safe.
Still, some days I wished for those metal bars and small windows and dreary, gray chipped walls.
Outside, I was nothing. No one. Just another ex-con who screwed up.
Except I didn’t. Which made it all the worse.
“You’re a good worker. Take pride in your job.”
“I’m a waitress on the late shift at a diner that serves questionable people, present company excluded, of course, but I’m not exactly going places.”
“What do you do during the day?”
Why was he so damn curious all of a sudden? My ire spiked and I cleaned off my hands, stepping back and leaving the coolant uncapped.
“Community college.”
“So you are motivated to go places?”
That was enough questions for the night.
“Coolant,” I said. “You’re low on it. That’s probably the grinding noise, but it’s definitely the smell. Might have a leak in the lines somewhere I can’t see. Think we might actually have some in the storage room if you want me to check. Enough to get you home safe, anyway.”
“You keep coolant in a diner?”
“Not all of us have the luxury of triple-A or glamorous vehicles.” I pointed to the emblem at the front of his SUV. He flinched and I almost felt bad for being rude to him. He’d always been kind, at the very least, polite.
He didn’t deserve the sharp edge of my tongue because I had issues.
I wiped my hands on the towel again. “I’ll go get that coolant for you,” I muttered.
It wasn’t until I got inside I realized how bad my heart was racing. This guy, he was acting different. Pushy, almost in a way I didn’t expect from him. And yet, his voice said he cared.
I didn’t like that either. He didn’t know me enough to care about me or my motivations.
My hands shook and it took a moment while I dug through our back closet to find the coolant. I saw Chaz use it once for the dishwasher’s car, that was how I knew we had it.
When I came back out, shakes and heart rate under control, Mr. Valentine was pacing in front of his SUV.
“I didn’t mean to offend. Or judge. That isn’t my place.”
“No worries.” I was getting used to it. Months of living in a halfway house when I first got out meant whenever I stepped foot onto the bus near it, I got lots of looks.
I poured the bottle into the uncapped tube and when it was done, closed everything up.
The hood slammed closed before he spoke again and this time, his voice was almost fatherly.
Which made me want to cry again. And that pissed me off.
“My company could use hard workers like you. Motivated. Smart. Dedicated. I see you working here, wondering why you’re the only one putting in so much effort. It’s a good quality. Admirable.”
It’d been so long since I’d had a compliment given, I forgot how to express myself. Thank you were probably the appropriate words, but they stuck in my throat.
“If you want, I can get you a job.”
“No thanks.” Odd, how I had no trouble using the words to brush him off. “I can take care of myself.”
More than being capable, it was my driving force. Somewhere inside me, I still had that burning desire to make my parents proud. It didn’t matter they wanted nothing to do with me. Someday, if I ever got to see them again, I wanted to show them what I did without their help or money or support. I wanted them to know I’d made something of myself, by myself.
Besides, I didn’t know what Mr. Valentine did, but I wouldn’t take an offer from a stranger. They rarely came without strings.
“I should get back to work. You’ll be good, but get your car in as soon as you can.”
“Will do.” His hand slid out of his pocket. A white card was in between his fingers. Something green beneath. “Take this. You ever need anything, want that job, or at least a chance at it, call me. My company isn’t the largest, but we’re successful. Pays well. Best benefits I can manage.”
I took the card because of the green beneath. I didn’t help him with his car for a tip, but I was no fool. It’d make him feel better, help put food on my table, money for the bus and laundry. Maybe I could splurge on Chipotle, a luxury in my life, if he was feeling really generous.
“Take care, Mr. Valentine.”
He grinned. A wide smile with perfectly white straight teeth. “It’s David.”
Not gonna happen.
He was a customer. He wasn’t my friend. We’d never be on equal footing.
I went back to the diner, went back to work, studying during breaks which I had a lot of because it was a slow night.
And when I got home that night, I dug through my tips, chucked the white business card into my garbage can and unfolded the cash from him.