I brushed the thought away, but the pain whacked me anyway.
“I just hope our regular customers aren’t being neglected,” Dad said. “We have a reputation to maintain.”
“Yep,” I said tightly. He didn’t need to hear how our rep had already taken a small hit. Not that anyone in town blamed Dad; they all knew how he suffered. But he wasn’t 100 percent, and it was obvious to everyone except him.
I just need to work harder.
Another customer pulled in.
“I’m on it. Mr. McKlowski will be back soon…” I glanced meaningfully at the paperwork.
He laughed lightly and waved a hand. “Get out of here. Your old man hasn’t lost all his marbles.”
I smiled faintly.
No, he’s just lost his wife and his lifelong dream for his son.
I went out, and the phone in the pocket of my dark blue uniform pants rang. My shoulders sagged when I saw the number.
“River Whitmore?”
“Speaking.”
“This is Deborah from the office at Central High.”
“Yes, hi, Deborah.” I sat on the bench outside the main office, blinking into the bright sunshine of that March afternoon. “I drove Amelia to school myself this morning. I watched her walk in.”
She sighed. “Yes, her teachers reported her present for her morning classes, but it would seem as if she never came back from lunch.”
“Shit.” I rubbed my face with my hands. “Sorry.”
“It’s all right.” Deborah’s voice turned hesitant. “River, is it possible that your father might be able to exert some discipline? I know you’re doing your best, but…”
“But I’m just her brother.”
Over the last year, Amelia had started to give up, and the school had given up on my dad. He missed parent-teacher conferences and forgot to return their calls. One of Amelia’s teachers brought in her Honda for an oil change, and we got to talking. From then on, it was my phone number the office staff had on file.
“Her algebra teacher reports that if Amelia doesn’t pass her midterm exam, she’s in danger of flunking the entire class and must retake it in summer school.”
I gritted my teeth. “I understand. I’ll talk to her tonight.”
And take away her phone.
I’d already disabled the Wi-Fi in the house after 9:00 p.m. since she’d stopped doing homework in favor of scrolling TikTok.
“Thank you, River,” Deborah said, pity lacing her voice. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”
“No problem. I’ll handle it.”
I hung up, and as usual, I checked for a text or call I might’ve missed.
Nothing.
The phone went back in my pocket, and I got back to work.
An hour later, as Julio and I stood together discussing a diagnostic on a ’17 Mazda, a white Jeep Rubicon screeched to a stop at the intersection in front of the shop. Mikey Grimaldi was behind the wheel, Chance Blaylock riding shotgun and Donte Weatherly laughing in the back seat. I supposed they were home from college for a visit, and to compare their football highlights.
They all stopped when they caught sight of me. Chance said something that made Mikey snort laughter, but Donte’s smile looked stiff and didn’t touch his eyes. The light changed, and the Jeep’s tires squealed as they drove off.
