Still, can't assume anything out here in Texas. We’re close enough to Austin that most people are okay with the gay, but far enough into the sticks that some are not as accepting—dangerously so. He’s a little taller than me but not near as built, so I straighten my shoulders.
I can tell he's in real trouble because he doesn't even try to open up the hood. Even guys who know nothing about cars will lift the hood, but he’s just standing there, looking bereft.
“Looks like you’ve got some car trouble.” I like to state the obvious while putting my hands in my pockets. Makes me look like a real mechanic.
He looks up, and I swear he’s holding back tears. Maybe this is his first time away from home, and he has no idea what to do. “Yep,” he says, his voice slightly croaky.
Ugh.Don’t be a sap, Galloway.
It’s hard not to feel for the guy. I’ve been on my own for a while, but I remember that bewildered feeling. I bet everywhere he's been, people have just about tripped over themselves trying to help him in his cluelessness.
“Hey, I’m Carter,” I say, pointing to the grease-stained tag stitched onto my coveralls. “What's your name?”
“Uh, Knox?” His accent is bone-deep country. Like maybe East Texas.
“You sure about that?”
“Yeah?”
I smile and chuck his shoulder as though I’m so much older than he is. “Hi, Knox. This’s my shop, and I can help you out.”
He hesitates, biting his lip as he pulls against the hem of his shirt. “I can't afford anything. The money I have is for starting college. I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”
Oh,honey. I can’t believe he went and told a mechanic he has access to college money. Fuck, the fact he hasn’t already been rolled for every dime he has on him is a damn miracle.
“Tell you what, no charge for the diagnosis. Unfortunately, that racket it just made? Probably the sound of your engine committing suicide.”
His face goes red, and his eyes well up, but he does an admirable job of not letting tears fall.
I put my hand on his arm, my fingers noting that he’s got lean gettin'-shit-done muscles. “We’ll figure something out. Don't worry about the details yet, and hell, who knows, I might be wrong.”
I know I'm not wrong, but there’s no use in having him freak out here in my parking lot. I walk him over to my office, embarrassed for the mess. “It's usually cleaner,” I explain. “But Bev is on maternity leave, and the guys are too lazy to fucking throw away their damned trash.”
“Okay.” He mumbles his answer, and it occurs to me that he might not care about a few out-of-place files.
“Just hang out here. There's a refrigerator under the desk. Help yourself to a Coke or water if you'd like. Call your folks.”
“My folks are in West Virginia.”
Ah. So a bit farther to the east than East Texas. “You’re a long way from home.”
He shoves his hands into his pockets and nods. I send him a weird wave and head out into the garage.
Tony up-nods me. “You hear that engine out there?” he asks, popping his brows.
“Yep. Got the owner in the office.”
“Bahamas, baby.”
I snort and shake my head. “I wish. More likerent, baby.”
My initial assessment was probably generous based on the amount and color of smoke I saw coming from this car’s tailpipe. I'm guessing multiple failures at this point. I hand the car over to Tony and have him do a full workup. Walking into the office, I stutter to a stop.
“What happened in here?”
Knox looks up from his phone. “Sorry. I clean when I get anxious.”
“Are you saying we’re a bunch of slobs?”
