“Giselle. Knox,” she replied, accepting his handshake.
“Knox? You some kin to Remi?” Horace questioned.
“That’s my auntie.”
“So… that means you’re G’s little girl?” Toussaint checked with her.
He hadn’t aged much from the photo, just a few additional patches of gray hair here and there. His goatee and mustache were perfectly lined, and his salt and pepper hair was locked in dreads that he wore pinned down in a barrel style. Aside from that, he was suited up in a monkey suit like the rest of the guys on the floor tending to cars. She found something very comforting in his presence when his eyes sparkled.
“G?” she repeated, not realizing he’d been dubbed with the nickname too.
“Gregory Knox,” Toussaint replied. “You’re his daughter, right?”
“Yeah, that’s him.”
“Sorry for your loss. G was alright with me. Couldn’t knock him for wanting to get out of this small-town living.”
Giselle cleared her throat. The topic of her parents was still a very sore discussion for her. The wound was so fresh; she was afraid of it being reopened if she gave it too much attention. Normally, she’d block and avoid her parents at every cost. Now, she spent her time wishing her phone would ring with an annoying text or phone call from one of them. The agony that had carved a space in her soul with this loss was indescribable.
“Thank you,” she muttered, searching for her purse and phone.
“The car is out front. Heavy pulled it in before he left. Tire is all fixed, and you should be good to go.” Toussaint picked up a folder.
“I guess tell him I said thank you.” Giselle gripped the key fob in her hand and picked up her purse.
“See you later, cutie.” Horace waved after her.
Ego slightly bruised, she strutted through the open lobby of the business, catching the eye of the other mechanics working busily. One guy, known to everybody as Sir, even bumped his head under one of the hoods when he tried to crane his neck. By the time she rounded the driver’s side of Maisie’s car, her phone was alerting her to a new call. Giselle picked up and jumped into the driver’s seat.
“I’m on my way, Mais.” She hit the start button and the dash lit up, showing her that it was a little after nine am.
“Perfect. Mama’s making breakfast, and I have to get to work.” Her cousin sounded like she was shuffling around some things and out of breath.
“On the way.” Giselle shifted gears and took one last glance at the auto shop in the rearview mirror.
Heavy wheeled his F-150 up to the curb of the ranch style house and parked. The street looked like it normally did, kids racing down the block to their bus stops while their parents sent them off and immediately headed to work. A lot of the mothers were stay at home in this neighborhood, except for a few. The front door burst open, and Heavy smirked at the little brown skinned boy who came stumbling out.
“Heavy! You’re late!” Pierre called him out as his mother, Prischa, appeared behind him in the doorway.
“I know. My bad on that.” Heavy dapped him up and nudged the top of his head. “Go get in the truck. Let me holla at your mama real quick.”
“Okay. Bye, Mama.” Pierre stopped long enough to face his mother and give her a warm hug that she returned before kissing the top of his head.
“Love you, baby.” Prischa pushed him along, and he skipped to open the passenger door to the truck and hop in. “Everything okay?” she asked Heavy, skimming him carefully, sensing something different about him that she couldn’t put a finger on.
“Yeah.” He nodded and swiped his beard. “Just had some shit to deal with after the storm last night. The power went out, and I had to take care of some things this morning. Sorry for the delay.”
Her warm button brown eyes absorbed him, not quite buying what he was telling her as she adjusted the blazer to her gray pencil skirt pantsuit. It was obvious she was ready to head off to work as she fingered some of her curls styled into the shoulder length bob she rocked. Prishca might have dressed professionally, but underneath, she had a body most women envied. Working around a bunch of lazy women in the government offices who would throw anything together and let themselves get out of shape kept her on her shit. She dealt with so many caseworkers who looked like crackheads it was ridiculous.
It was why she had to supervise and regulate all them heifers. Trying to lead by example didn’t work because they didn’t like being led by a woman younger than them and more educated. Prischa took her job very seriously, though, because she’d grown up in the system, so she had a front row seat to the bullshit. The work she did mattered to her.
“Look, Heavy, you offered to take Pierre to school. If it’s going to be an issue?—”
“Prisch, what you talking about?” he asked, face crumpling into a frown.
“I mean, he’s not your son. You’re his godfather, and while I appreciate it, I can find a way to get him to school if it’s an inconvenience for you.”
“Did I ever say that?” Heavy scowled, stepping into her space.
