“Uh-huh, yep.” Her posture straightens, as if she has something to prove.
Now I do laugh. The low notes are gruff, out of practice. Even to my own ears the tune is rusty and disjointed. When was the last time I laughed for the sake of humor? Probably not since I had a conversation of this length. And I’m talking to a child, go fucking figure.
“I think Peep fits because I prefer to be quiet,” Millie adds.
Solid argument, once again. “Well, all right.”
“High-five?” She lifts her palm.
I don’t leave her hanging, slapping our hands together. “You’re a cool kid, Peep.”
“You really think so?”
“Absolutely. Why wouldn’t I?”
She digs the toe of her shoe into the ground. “I dunno. Nobody ever wants to play with me.”
Well, shit. I’m all too aware of how mean kids can be. People in general, for that matter. “Don’t worry about them. I’ll be your friend. Patch, too. Plus, your mommy and Josey.”
“Okay.” I’m no kid expert, but her easy acceptance has me a little worried. I’ll let her mother handle that.
“Come on, Peep. I’ll show you how to replace a spark plug.”
Millie hurries to catch up when I begin walking. “A what?”
Another chuckle rolls out of me. Damn, this kid is easy to be around. “Precisely my point. You’ve got a lot to learn.”
Healing Hug #6: When emotion steals words. But maybe nothing else needs saying.
The traffic light changes to red and I ease off the accelerator. This is the third one in a row. I’m beginning to believe the universe is attempting to delay me on purpose, forcing me to waste precious moments sitting at these intersections. Millie needs me, and I can’t reach her with all these damn roadblocks. I’m still shaking over the fact that she went missing at all.
When I called Ms. Ross, she was flabbergasted that this sort of thing could have happened. I can’t believe it either, especially that they hadn’t counted her missing yet. Their class is still out on their nature walk, none the wiser. Even after several apologies and promises to never let this happen again, my nerves are fraying to flimsy strands. That level of fear is a very palpable being that I’ve fortunately never experienced until now. A burn flares under my skin, prickling me to move faster. If only Main Street could cooperate.
I check the map again, hoping for a different response. Nope, the directions are still taking me to some address off the grid. Well, that might be extreme. But my destination, Iron Throttle, appears to be in the middle of nothing. It’s safe to assume that’s why Crawford was trekking through the woods. And thank whoever is watching from above that he did. A slow pulse ripples through me while I allow my concentration to center on him.
He’s building quite the exemplary track record as a white knight. It’s some damn good fortune that he’s been nearby during these recent mishaps. This marks a second rescue. I can only hope there isn’t need for a third. Would he be offended if I made him a shirt with Good Samaritan Extraordinaire printed across the front? Perhaps. Not sure Crawford is ready for my level of humor, though he seems to be handling Millie well enough.
My daughter takes a starring role in my thoughts as I make the final left turn and begin crawling up a gravel drive. She seemed unusually calm and serene on the phone, considering her predicament. Maybe the fact that Crawford saved us before made her more comfortable in this situation. Whatever it is, the fact she wasn’t a sobbing mess gives me a slight sense of ease.
A lone concrete building finally comes into view within a clearing up ahead. The utilitarian structure sticks out worse than an abomination in the otherwise natural setting. It’s safe to say Crawford set up his shop out here on purpose because nothing else is around for miles. Word of mouth must be great to get people out here in the sticks for a garage.
As I approach, two hunched figures are busy inspecting a motorcycle in one of the stalls. The crunch of tires rolling over rock shatters the quiet serenity. Crawford lifts his head to catch my puttering entrance. His gaze tracks my arrival, yet he makes no further move to greet me. With a tap to her shoulder, he alerts Millie of my presence. Braided pigtails swing as she faces me with a wide smile and a wave, but that’s all I get from her. She remains firmly planted beside Crawford, her attention returning to the bike in front of them. Well, then. Clearly I’ve been missed.
I huff at their half-baked welcome while shifting my car into park. Taking a moment to calmly breathe is necessary in this moment. With several slow passes, I release the strain from my limbs. Crawford and Millie are still perched on the dirty floor, appearing content and comfortable. Watching them is a useful distraction. He’s animated in his demonstration, one big hand gripping a wrench and pointing at this and that while he talks. Millie eats up the attention. Her smile is infectious, and my mood quickly brightens, the tingle of irritation drifting away.
Millie told me that she wasn’t afraid to speak with Crawford. This ovary-fluttering display proves her words. I try not to get emotional, but my nose is already stinging. My introverted daughter doesn’t talk to just anyone. Her circle of trusted individuals is tiny. It took Josey months before my daughter would grant her with more than a few single-syllable answers. But Crawford? It looks like he’s getting a front-row seat to a one-sided gabfest.
I clutch at my chest, uncertainty keeping me strapped to the seat. Is it weird that I’m jealous? Of what, I’m not entirely sure. As if sensing my growing green monster, Millie twists
