The bell in the kitchen window sounds, followed by, “Order up,” from Stan the sous chef. I grab the plate and milkshake and place them in front of Regan. She thanks me, and I leave to attend to my other tables and bus a few others.
By the time I get back to where Regan is seated, she has finished her meal and I leave her the bill to pay. I continue to take orders, take out some trash and clean up other tables that have since left. She’s gone the next time I come by. I pick up her check and once again, she’s left a very generous tip. It’s enough to cover the parts needed for my truck with some extra to put away for a rainy day. Though I told her I didn’t want her help, the fact that she did it anyway sends warmth throughout my body. Not in anger like the first time, but at ease. It’s not a feeling I was expecting to have.
Ms. Rosa comes up next to me and gives me a little hip bump. I put the receipt in the drawer and look down at her.
“What?”
She raises her painted on eyebrows. “You know what, Dean. She’s a keeper.”
I scoff. “A keeper? Yeah, maybe in your dreams.”
“Mmhmm…You keep telling yourself that.” She pats my arm. “Now, get your head out of the clouds, table nine needs to be cleared.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say as I finish the rest of my shift.
Finally, I’m able to clock out, and though my bones are tired from a long day, I head to the cemetery to visit Daniel. It’s almost the anniversary of his death. I know my parents will be here the day of, so I usually try to come before or after so I don’t risk running into them. Is it childish? Sure, but I’m sure they don’t want to see me, anyway.
I stand in front of Daniel’s tombstone, tears prickling myeyes. I hate that he’s not here, that I wasn’t there in his final moments. I was off living my own life, not thinking anything could happen to him. I’m so fucking selfish. I brush a tear away that escaped down my cheek.
“What’s up, little bro?” I say down at the stone. “Miss you like always and wish you were here.”
A breeze ruffles my hair; it’s getting long again, and it’s almost like it’s him telling me he’s here with me. I take in a deep breath of the warm summer air. This time of year was always Daniel’s favorite.
“I’m close to getting a spot in the Cup Series. Can you believe that? I’m close to fulfilling what we always wanted. I just need to get Brady out of the way.”
Another breeze, almost in response.
“I think I can beat her. I just wish you were here to see it happen. I miss you so fucking much, little bro. It’s not fair that I get to live out my dreams while you never got the chance to live out yours.”
More tears build behind my eyes, and I allow them to fall. I know deep down that there’s nothing I could have done to save him, even if I was there. Part of me wishes it was me in that accident and not him. He deserved the fucking world.
What do I deserve?
I remember everything from that day. I had a race that weekend, and I didn’t find out about the accident until the race was over. My mom had called over and over; it’s not like I can just answer my phone while driving at one hundred and eighty miles an hour. I could have visited him, it would have been tight, but I could have made it work, but I chose not to. My career was in front of everything else, including him. Now, my career is all consuming. If I don’t make it into the Cup Series, then what was the point of all of this?
TWENTY-ONE
DEAN
After pickingup all the parts I ordered at the local auto supply store, I text Regan about coming by to help like I said I would. I hover over our text thread for just a moment. I take a breath and draft a text.
Me
Hey. I got all the parts I need. Still wanna help?
I wait as I watch the text bubbles appear for her reply.
Regan
Of course. Bethere in 30
I tuck my phone into my back pocket as I start working. I want to at least get a head start before Regan gets here. I still don’t technically need her help, but having the extra set of hands will be nice.
Since the dinner at Watkins Glen, I’ve had this need to just be near here, hear her voice, or just get a whiff of her scent of vanilla. I lick my lips at the memory.
I’m already elbows deep in dirt and grease as the sound of crunching tires on gravel from the shop’s parking lot makes me lift my head up. She struts into the shop, and I perk up at her presence.
“I thought you said you needed my help,” she says, placing her hands on her hips.
