“Yes you can.”
“It would be too easy. Like bumming off your parents. If my fresh start is back here in River Bend, then it has to be on my own two feet . . . not yours.”
Jo frowned, then sighed. “I get it. The offer is always open.”
Melanie moved in for a hug.
They both stretched out with the empty bottle of wine between them.
Through the quiet, Jo muttered, “I don’t remember the last time someone pinched my ass.”
Hope bounced on Melanie’s bed at the butt crack of dawn. “You’re wasting our vacation sleeping, Mommy.”
“I’m up. I’m up.” She ran a hand over the sand in her eyes and attempted to shake sleep away. Hope was already across the room and pulling the drapes open.
“Oh, Lord.” One too many glasses of wine. I’m such a lightweight.
“It’s not raining,” Hope announced.
And the sun was burning her eyes like a vampire’s. Shoving the blankets to the side, she padded across the room and slipped into a bathrobe.
“C’mon, sweetie, let’s find you some cereal and a TV.” To quiet and entertain her while Melanie sought out a shower.
The smell of fresh coffee warmed her senses before she reached the bottom floor.
Jo had made a pot and left a note.
Make yourself at home. I’m at the station . . . you and Hope should stop by. Your car is at Miller’s . . . yes it is still Miller’s and in the same place. Feel free to use my car. I have the black-and-white. I’m really glad you’re here.
Jo
Melanie played with the keys as she read the note. “I’m glad I’m here, too.”
After finding a cartoon channel and setting Hope up with breakfast, Melanie worked her way to the bathroom.
An hour later Melanie had Hope by the hand and the two of them were walking through town. JoAnne’s car was still safely tucked in her garage. After hours of driving the past few days, it felt good to take the slow route. As they walked through town, memories did a fine job of making her smile. The wooden white gazebo sat in the center of a small, grassy park in the center of town. The memory of her and Mark playing tag as children had her hearing his laugh. She could almost smell the hot popcorn that accompanied every holiday spent outside in that very spot. Melanie pointed at storefronts, told Hope what had occupied each space when she was a kid. Most of them were the same. Fresh coats of paint, a new facing on the building, but everything felt familiar.
They rounded on Second Street down to Miller’s Auto Repair. The tow truck occupied one parking space, an old Ford pickup sat beside it. Inside one of the two stalls in the garage was her car. The hood was open, a light hung from inside where the mechanic must have left it. Inside the garage, loud heavy metal music blared.
When Melanie didn’t see anyone, she attempted to call over the music. “Hello?”
Silence . . . well, from a person who wasn’t on a radio in any event.
Melanie stepped deeper into the shop. “Hello?”
“Hold up.” She heard the voice of a man.
She stopped in front of the open hood of her car. Whoever had been looking at it had taken off bits and set them to the side. Computer code would be just as foreign as the underside of a car. She didn’t know her way around an engine and wasn’t going to pretend to now.
The volume of the music diminished and someone called, “Hey there.”
Melanie turned to a familiar face. “Hello, Mr. Miller.”
Mr. Miller had owned the shop for as long as Melanie could remember. He worked on everyone’s car in town at some point. At six two or better, with a good extra forty pounds on him, Mr. Miller had always appeared intimidating. Until he smiled like he was now. Then he was a big teddy bear. “Melanie Bartlett? Richard’s girl.”
“That’s right, Mr. Miller.”
“Well I’ll be. You are all grown up.” He pulled a shop towel from the side of her car and wiped his hands. Not that the stains would disappear after five years of hard scrubbing.
“Ten years has a way of doing that,” she said with a grin.
“And who is this?” He smiled at Hope.
Hope held her hand tight.
“This is my daughter, Hope. Say hello, honey.”
“Hello, Mr. Miller.”
“So polite, too.” He winked and Hope attempted to wink back.
“How is Mrs. Miller?”
“Fine, just fine. I’m sure she’d love to see you. You’ll have to drop by the house and bring this cutie with you.”
It was hard not to smile. Mrs. Miller loved to bake, hence Mr. Miller’s slightly large girth. Dropping by was a favorite pastime when she was a kid and always resulted in a take-home package of something sweet.
“We’ll do that.”
Mr. Miller rounded in front of the car. “This yours?”
“Sorry to say.”
He made a few tsk-tsk sounds and his smile started to fade.
“That bad?”
“It’s not good. Luke is digging deeper to make sure, but . . .”
She had to wade through the bad news before the name Mr. Miller had used sank in. “Luke is still here?”
“Of course.”
Despite her dead car, she smiled again. She couldn’t wait to catch up with her old friend.
Mr. Miller started talking about oil levels and starters . . . something about a block. Everything he said was all over her head.
The sound of a motorcycle drew their attention to the front of the garage.