“Yeah, and I also know that your dad thinks your time is less important because they’re in relationships and you’re not.”
She shrugged. “I’m not about to change that situation anytime soon.”
“So you’re stuck playing the dutiful daughter, answering every time he cries wolf. It’s not cool.”
Gabe backed out of the door as Shay stepped forward, making it clear she needed to leave.
“I appreciate that you’ve got my back, Gabe, but he’s family.” Shay headed out of her room and down the stairs, while Gabe’s heavy footsteps behind her were an assurance the conversation wasn’t over. It never really was because this kind of thing just continued to happen.
“Do you want me to come with you?”
Shay snorted. “Yeah, that’d go down well.” She poured coffee into her to-go mug then shooed Gabe away from the fridge to get milk. “And you need to be at the garage. The Brewster isn’t going to restore itself.”
“It’s nearly finished. Solo’s lacquering today, and there’s not much else to do until the panels are dry enough to rehang.” Gabe spun her truck keys around her finger like a fidget toy. “I’m pretty much a spare part today, so it really wouldn’t be a problem to keep you company. I could drop you at your dad’s house and wait at Cris’ Café until you call. He doesn’t even have to see me.”
Shay laughed. “Everyonewill see you.” She waved her hand toward Gabe. “You’re not exactly easy to miss.” Her size, color, and presentation set Gabe apart in her dad’s neighborhood. “Then Cris will report to Daddy, and I’ll get earful about bringingmyother lifehome.”
Gabe shook her head. “Okay. I’ll wait outside the county lines.”
“Honestly, I’ll be fine.” She tapped the spreadsheet fixed to the fridge. “And this says you’re supposed to be machining the valve seals today.”
“I could just work late and do them tonight,” Gabe said.
Shay punched Gabe’s shoulder. “Take the hint, buddy. You’re not wanted.”
Gabe chuckled. “Fine. Be a martyr and go through your family drama alone.”
Shay raised her coffee cup and nodded. “I will.” She patted Gabe’s arm as she left. “Thanks for the support, bro.”
“Always.”
The drive out of the city wasn’t as horrific as she’d anticipated, and she pulled into her daddy’s driveway just after eleven. The blinds at the living room window twitched, indicating he’d probably been watching for her since he’d hung up the phone.
The front door swung open, and her daddy hustled out of it, holding out his arm and tapping his watch. “Better hurry, Shanae. You’re cuttin’ it fine.”
“Good morning to you too, Daddy.” She closed her car door gently, though she’d wanted to slam it. Hard.
“Don’t sass me. I told you I’ve got things to do. I don’t have time to be hanging around waiting for you to remember what’s important in life.” He raised the garage door and tossed his car keys toward Shay. “Go ahead. Listen.”
Shay caught the keys and clicked the fob to start the engine on the 2021 Ford she’d all but begged him not to choose. He didn’t share her love of classic cars, and the dealer had clinched the sale with the remote start and heated seat functions. “Bet your Javelin doesn’t heat your butt on wintery days,” he’d said. “Ineedthese for my arthritis.” The arthritis he’d self-diagnosed that Shay suspected he didn’t have. He was still plenty spritely when he thought she wasn’t looking.
The engine came to life first time, sounding as lacking in personality as it had when he’d first driven it off the car lot. “It sounds fine, Daddy.” She popped the hood, surveyed the array of plastic parts, and shuddered internally at its abject ugliness.
“You can’t hear it now. You gotta drive it.”
She leaned in closer. The characterless, generic whirr of the engine indicated there were no issues with it.
“Don’t get your pawprints all over it.”
Shay eased away from the garish chrome finish of the bumper—another thing to dislike—and got in the driver’s side.
Her daddy stepped in front of the car just as she was about to pull out of the wide garage. “Where’d you think you’re going without me? I’ll drive. You ride shotgun.”
She clenched her jaw, swung her legs over the central console, and slid into the passenger seat.
“You better not’ve scuffed my interior with your dirty boots,” he said as he got in. “And your jeans better be clean too. Why you can’t wear a skirt like a lady, I’ll never know. Your momma always looked so beautiful and feminine.” He looked her up and down with unconcealed disdain. “Dressing and acting like a boy; you may as well’ve been another son.”
When she got back to the garage where Gabe would insist on a blow-by-blow account of this, that comment would get a big laugh, for sure. “I wear skirts, Daddy,” she said for maybe the thousandth time since she’d come out of the Army, “but they’re not practical for work.”
