She laughs and pats my cheek. “You are definitely iconic. Anyway, I was just out walking my Bernita and wanted to drop by a treat for you and Owen.”
“We will never turn down your treats, Mrs. Harmon. Thank you. You are the best.” I lean down to scratch Bernita’s ears.
She waves to Owen through the glass window of my office and heads out. He’s definitely scrolling again. He barely looked up when she came in and he usually loves seeing Bernita. He has begged me for a dog, but there’s no time for a dog. I barely have time for Owen. I’m drowning here, and something needs to give. I need a miracle at this point.
I might be exhausted, broke, and drowning a little here. But I remind myself that I’m Poppy Murphy, and I can fix anything. As long as it has an engine. Life, bills, and stress, however, I haven’t figured out how to fix yet. That’s an after-work Poppy problem. Here in this shop, I can fix things I know how to fix. And fixing things makes me feel better.
Overall, it was a pretty good day. I wrapped up several projects and made money to cover at least half of the bills I have stacked up. Half is better than nothing.
I decide the day is finally over and get washed up. Owen is still curled up in my chair. He looks like he’s napping now, phone resting on his chest.
The air in the shop shifts, heavy and tense. That’s when I see a shadow beyond the threshold. Then, Dad fills the doorway, and everything in me goes tight.
He has that sagging, tired look that used to make me worry about him when I was younger. I started realizing he never worried about us, though. I was only sixteen when my mom died, and he pretty much died when she did, too. I had noparents after that. Not only did I take over raising Owen when he was barely a few months old, but I had to finish raising myself, too. I was pretty much like a teenage mom with no support from my still living dad, who also worked me like a dog here at the shop so that I could support him and my brother.
Slowly but surely, he stopped working the shop and disappeared for weeks on end with his friends. At first, I pretended my dad was in the back working. But really, he was gone, and I just fixed everything and kept the shop going. I got through high school working nights and weekends to cover bills. After high school, I took classes at the local trade school to earn my auto-mechanic certifications. Maggie, a close friend and basically a fairy godmother to our town, paid for my certifications. I kept the shop going during that time, too. My certificate is proudly displayed on the wall in a thrifted frame. I look at it sometimes and remind myself that I did that.
I wipe my hands on a rag and toss it over my shoulder, trying to be casual, when I really want to scream at him for being the piece of shit father that he is. “Sully.”
No greeting in return, not even a friendly smile or even a glance at my face. He states, “I came for my check.”
No, how’s Owen? Or how are you guys holding up? No, do you need anything? Just here for the check. Typical Sully. He doesn’t care about anything besides getting my money, which I earned, and that he feels entitled to because legally his name is still on the shop. It’s bullshit, but if I want to keep Owen safe and the shop going, I have to play his games. And my dad is a real asshole if I don’t do what he wants.
I glance toward the office and see Owen shift and blink awake, like he feels the tension. His eyes find my dad through the glass. I see his face light up for an instant, then dim quickly. And I hate it when Sully does that. I hate it, loathe it. He breaksOwen’s heart every single time he comes around just like he used to break mine.
“Give me a minute,” I tell Dad. I want him to go as fast as possible.
I crack the register, count out the contents, and slide it over to him as he watches me.
His eyes narrow as he counts out the cash. “This is short.”
I nod. “It’s either pay you or buy groceries. And Owen also needs basketball shoes. You’ll have to get the rest next week.”
He doesn’t even blink at the mention of Owen’s name. His gaze flicks up toward the office as Owen steps through the doorway. Dad’s eyes move to me and narrow. “You’re worried about groceries?”
“We have to eat.” I stare at him.
He lets out a humorless laugh. “I’d be more worried about the house and where you’re going to live. You need to manage your money better. You know what is owed to me, and I expect it when I come. Not a week later.”
I do my best to keep a neutral face and not show any emotion. Because if I do, he’ll use it against me, and I’ve learned to give him what he wants so he’ll be gone quicker. But this time he’s got me worried.
“What’s going on with the house?” I stammer, trying to sound casual. We had an agreement.
“It’s going into foreclosure. You’ll have to figure something out.” He glances up the back stairs to the apartment that Ollie rents above the shop. “Move in with your little boy toy.”
I ignore that jab and say, “That’s our home, Dad. The only home Owen has ever known. You said you’d cover the mortgage payments until he’s graduated.”
“Yeah, well, things change,” he clips out.
“What do we need to do to get the house out of foreclosure?”I ask, frustrated, mentally calculating how much money I could come up with, and it’s not a lot.
“Figure it out,” he huffs with irritation in his voice.
“Why are you even here?” Owen asks, glaring at him.
Dad says something under his breath as he stuffs the money in his pocket, turns, and leaves without acknowledging Owen.
Bastard.
