Her hands were calloused from years under hoods, her nails permanently stained with grease. Every movement carried the weight of a single mother’s exhaustion and unwavering love. Mama Evelyn burst through the door, her hug as fierce as it was warm.
She smelled like vanilla shampoo and after-school dreams. Guess what I made today? Clara smiled as she picked her up despite her aching back. Tell me.
Evelyn beamed. A garage for my toy trucks? It has a hidden room where the secret trucks live. Clara’s throat tightened.
Even Evelyn understood some things are too precious to leave out in the open. That evening, after supper, hamburger helper stretched with leftover pasta and frozen peas, Clara helped Evelyn with her homework at the rickety kitchen table. The overhead bulb buzzed faintly.
The place was small, drafty, and patched together with hope and duct tape, but it was theirs. They laughed over Evelyn’s spelling words, but Clara’s mind was elsewhere. The rent was due in five days.
The garage she leased on the edge of town, the one she barely kept afloat with oil changes and brake jobs, needed a new compressor. Again, she excused herself and stepped outside for some air. The wind coming off the hills had a bite to it.
Clara lit a cigarette. Even though she’d promised herself she’d quit. The stars were faint tonight.
She closed her eyes, feeling the ache in her lower back, the weight behind her eyes. Then she remembered the flyer. She’d seen it pinned to the bulletin board at Thompson’s Gas and Feed Garage for sale, $4,000 or best offer.
Needs work, serious inquiries only, no photo, just an address Milner Road. No one had worked out there in years. Folks around town said it was haunted or cursed.
Clara didn’t believe in either just poor insulation and unpaid taxes. She went back inside and pulled the flyer from her purse. The paper smelled like grease and tobacco, probably from whoever posted it.w
