one else appeared, so Casey took a look around the space. Tires adorned the far wall, among them a few that looked like they might fit Rosemary and Lillian’s old bike.
Taking the chance of scaring the mechanic, she walked over to the side of the car where his head should be and squatted down. “Hello?”
Still no response.
Getting up, she went to the other side of the car and tapped one of the protruding feet with her shoe.
Both feet shot up, banging the thighs of the man on the undercarriage of the car. In a moment, he scooted out from underneath, on his wheeled lorry.
“Sorry,” Casey mouthed at him. Then, “Aaron?”
The man—or kid, really—grinned up at her, then leapt off the pallet with surprising grace. He held up a greasy finger and trotted over to a shelf, where he punched a button on the sound system. The silence in the garage was staggering.
“Hey, Casey.” He sauntered back toward her, wiping his hands on a rag. “Sorry about the music. It helps the day go quicker.”
“Sure. But can you hear afterward?”
He laughed. “Most days. Although sometimes I pretend not to hear when Mom asks me to do something really nasty.”
“Um-hmm.”
“You’re not going to ask me to do something really nasty, are you?” He looked suddenly like a child, waiting to be told he must clean out the litter box.
“Absolutely not. All I want are some bike tires.”
“Oh.” His relief was palpable. “That’s easy.” He walked over to the wall, gesturing for Casey to follow. “What size do you need?”
“Not sure. But I have the bike outside.”
“Let’s see.” He changed directions, headed toward the front of the shop, and outside. His eyebrows rose at the sight of the bike. “Not exactly brand-new, is it?”
“Nope. It’s just what Rosemary and Lillian had in their shed.”
Understanding lit his face. “No wonder, then. But the tires are standard. Why don’t we bring it on in.” Grabbing the handlebars, he steered the bike into the garage and put it up on a rack. In no time at all he’d placed a tire iron under the rubber and stripped the tires from the rims. “Rims look good. The tires are just worn out. Rubber and tubes.” He glanced at the clock. “It’ll only take me a few minutes, if you want to wait.”
“That would be great. Unless you need to fix the truck first.”
“Nah. This won’t take that long. Have a seat…” He looked around for something not occupied by tools, papers, or greasy rags. “Hang on.” Disappearing into a small office, he returned with a battered folding chair. “It’s not pretty, but it’s clean.”
Casey smiled. “If only I could say that much for myself.”
His eyes narrowed playfully. “I don’t know. You look pretty clean to me.”
Casey barked a laugh, and Aaron turned to pick new tires off the wall, which he held up to the bike. “Look good?”
“Perfect.”
He set to work, whistling.
“So have you worked here long?” Casey watched his black-smeared fingers, marveling that she hadn’t noticed them at rehearsal.
“Since I graduated from high school.”
“And that was what? Last year?”
He glanced back at her. “How young do you think I am? I’ve been out three years.”
“And you came here right away?”
His ears reddened, and Casey could see his jaw bunching. “Pretty much. I’d thought about college…” He shrugged. “But that didn’t exactly work out.”
Casey wanted to ask why, but wasn’t sure she should be that personal. After all, she’d known the kid a total of two days. If you could call the little she’d seen him “knowing.”
“And Jack? He’s your brother, right? A year younger?”
“That’s right.”
“Does he work here, too?”
He was quiet for a moment as he spun the front wheel of the bike. “No. He works down at HomeMaker.”
“Really?”
He stopped the tire and moved to the back one. “For now, anyway. We were surprised he lasted through Christmas.” He turned to her. “You heard about that?”
“I heard.”
“Well.” He was back at the tire. “Somehow he got missed when the lay-offs happened. His whole section did. But it really doesn’t matter. He’ll be out of a job come a month or two, anyway.”
“Any ideas for where he’ll go next?” Not college, apparently.
Aaron shook his head and gestured at the garage. “Not here. The owner can barely afford me, let alone another guy. It’s just me and him, and when he’s not here…” He shrugged. “We do what we can. It’s not like folks have the money to be doing work on their cars unless they absolutely have to, anyway.”
All of which explained the unmanned cash register at the front, and the one guy she’d found at the station the day before.
“Do you get other customers? Other than from town?”
“Some.”
“People who work at HomeMaker?”
He looked at her sharply. “A few.”
“The CEO?”
He snorted. “Karl Willems bring his car here? I don’t think so. He’d never trust us smalltown hicks with his precious Cadillac.”
“What about Rosemary and Lillian? Do they bring their car here?” The Orion in the garage looked undriven, but that could’ve been from the care.
“Their old Civic? When it needs it. But they don’t drive that much, and Civics don’t need a lot of work, so…” He plugged an air compressor onto the back tire’s air valve and gave it a pump. In a few seconds he was done and swinging the bike down from its perch. “Good as new.”
Casey wondered about the Orion, but didn’t want to bring it up in case the ladies did, indeed, take it elsewhere for service. “Thank you, Aaron. What do I owe you?”
Aaron wheeled the bike back to the front of the garage and stepped behind the cash register, where he scribbled on a receipt pad. “Two new tires, plus installation.” He ripped off the sheet and held it out to her.
She pulled some bills from her wallet and placed them in his hand. “Keep the change, okay? I am allowed to tip you?”
He blinked. “I guess. No one’s ever tried before.”
She smiled. “There’s a first for everything.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. And thank you. Now I won’t have to come down to the air pump every morning.”
“Too bad. I could use the company.”
She mounted the bike, enjoying the feeling of the firm tires. “Just because I won’t need air doesn’t mean I can’t come by.”
“Sure. And I’ll see you at rehearsal tonight, anyway. Right?”
“Right. Now—” She tilted her head toward the garage. “Back to your hip hop.”
He grinned. “Until the next customer scares me to death.”
She waved, and pedaled the bike out to the road.
When she looked back, Aaron was gone. She could already hear his music.
