Chapter Thirty-Five
Atlas
"Hi—uh... Mr. Durant."
The voice comes from my right, and I turn to see Aubree standing there shifting from foot to foot.
There's been a definitive change in this garage over the last month. Not just the fact that my office is once again covered in pictures of my life—as it should have been all along—but the energy feels more relaxed.
Not that we've grown lazy; our productivity has actually skyrocketed, and I attribute that to my mind feeling less clouded and panicked.
I'm actually getting full hours of sleep—without nightmares, or with very few. When I do wake up panicked from a night terror, I either call Wendy, who answers every single time, or I'm able to logic my way out of it.
I've realized that, as good as it is to hear Wendy's voice after waking up panicked, I can't use her as a crutch.
And my wife needs her rest even more than I do.
"What's up, Aubree?" I ask, glancing back at the engine in front of me.
Aubree is something I had to deal with the weekend after the boys slept over. We sat down in my office with Michelle, and I explained that I am a happily married man and her behavior—which I didn't realize was flirting—was inappropriate.
She had looked incredibly embarrassed while she apologized sincerely. I in turn apologized for putting her in that awkward situation, and she was really understanding about it.
It's still quite awkward, but I hope it gets better one day. I take it as my full responsibility that I gave the impression of a single man.
Even in the deepest pits of my struggle, I would never betray my wife like that.
Aubree clears her throat, "So, Morris Jefferson called. His truck's been acting up again, and he wanted to bring it in today."
I smile, "Tell him to bring that hunk of junk over now—use those words too and tell him we ain't offering senior discounts to men who refuse to let go of ancient relics."
Aubree blinks, before laughing awkwardly. "I'll just tell him to bring it in."
"Thank you, Aubree."
"So," Aubree clears her throat, and I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. "Penny at Brison is going on maternity leave. Your dad offered to transfer me over there. I'm going to take it."
"Okay," I nod my head, honestly feeling relieved and honestly happy for her. "It's a good spot."
Aubree gives me a small smile, turning to leave before she stops.
"She'sreallypretty by the way," Aubree comments, her voice genuine. When I look confused, she clarifies, "Your wife—Wendy, I mean."
"She is," I murmur, my heart growing warm at the image of her face in my mind. I reach to wrap the wrench I need and grin when I say, "I'm one lucky son of a bitch."
Twenty minutes later, a chugging noise makes its way toward the garage doors as Jordan guides Morris Jefferson's ancient Ford into the bay.
I wipe my hands on a rag and shake my head as Morris walks through theemployee-onlydoor from the reception area.
He smirks when he sees me walking over to him.
"Well, well, well..."
I snort, "That sign says employees only, Morris."
"What sign?"
He plays up theold-mancard, though the shit-eating grin stuck on his face lets me know he's in full control of his faculties. He's made it this long, I'll let him have his fun.
