My dad’s bullmastiff sat by the open garage as if standing guard. Harley sniffed the air, and when he caught my scent, he trotted over and gave my arm a lick, his tail flipping back and forth like windshield wipers on a rainy day.
“How the fuck did hedothis?” Crush dropped a tool, and it clanged on the floor. “That asshole has no business owning a sweet ride like this.” He got down on all fours and grunted his way to a standing position. “Dammit, if I have to fix his bike one more time because he has fantasies about being a biker—”
“Crush, you have a visitor.” His bald-headed coworker, better known as Red, waved at me before disappearing into the office.
Crush turned, motor oil stains on his hands and a blue knit hat covering his head. He rubbed his big nose, and the lines in his face deepened as he looked me over with those blue eyes. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked, wiping his hands on a rag.
“Nice welcome.”
He strutted over, tiny pebbles crunching beneath his steel-toe shoes. “Maybe you showing up this time of day at my job without warning has me worried. Or maybe it’s the fact you’re not wearing a damn coat and it’s snowing.” He gripped my chin and speared me with a glance. “But what really has me guessing is you in a dress. My Raven doesn’t wear dresses. She wears weapons.”
“It’s my undercover outfit. Are you busy?”
“What do you think?”
“Have you had lunch?” I poked his belly. “I’ve got the day off.”
“Then so do I.” He headed back inside and grabbed a set of keys. “Red, take over the shop and close up for me tonight. I’m taking off. If that dickhead calls for his bike, tell him we’ll fix it this one time, but if I see it back in my shop again because of some bonehead stunt, I’m confiscating it for good. He can bitch to the Council all he wants. My shop, my rules. See ya.”
We headed to his red pickup.
“Where’s your truck?” he asked.
“Getting a spit shine.”
“Uh-huh.” Crush pushed the passenger seat forward. “You’ll have to sit in the back.”
“Why?”
“Harley won’t ride back there. He likes the window view.”
I climbed into the back seat. “I’m beginning to see where my place is in this family.”
Crush clicked his tongue when he pushed the seat back in place. The large dog bounded into the truck and turned in circles, sniffing and licking things before sitting down.
When Crush got in, he fired up the engine, and we took off. “Do they sell seat belts for dogs?”
“Oh Jesus.”
“I came to a hard stop last week when some bonehead stopped short. Harley slid onto the floor, and I felt bad all day. Got him some chicken nuggets on the way home.”
“Maybe you should drive slower,” I said, containing my laughter. Crush was driving like an old lady, so I couldn’t imagine him being any more careful.
“I’m gonna look into that seat belt thing,” he said decidedly. “Can’t be too careful. Not when he comes to work with me every day. So what’ll it be? Barbecue or hamburgers?”
After stoppingby Skulls to pick up lunch, I guarded all the food in the back seat while Harley stared at me with slobber dripping from his jowls. I’d talked Crush into buying a big salad, but no amount of lettuce would cancel out all the red meat that was about to plug up his arteries.
“Ahh, the smell of home.” He set the aluminum containers on the round table and went into the small kitchen just ahead.
I held the door open, waiting for Harley to finish pissing on a bush before he trotted up the porch steps and lumbered into the trailer. He seemed so at home, as if he’d always been a part of this family. I gave him a good pat on the side before shutting the door.
My father set the table while I did a small tour of his home. I liked checking in on him to make sure everything was okay. Not just him, but his home. My father worked hard and had less energy these days for small repairs, so sometimes I paid his buddy Wizard to pop in while Crush was at work and fix things… like a drippy faucet or ants crawling in the bathroom.
I turned on the TV for ambient noise.
“Come get it while it’s hot,” he said before singing “My Bonnie” under his breath. Sometimes I wondered if he used to sing that folk song to my mother, but he often sang when he was in a good mood.
“I’m not hungry.”
