Clay's Hope

Twelve

Monday, after Gabby and Rachel left, I went to Gabby's room to look for my clothes. Most of them were in her bottom dresser drawer. She even had the flannel shirt in there for me. I brought it to my nose and inhaled. Her scent was all over it.

Dressed like a man, I went to the basement and grabbed my wallet from where I'd hidden it after the washing machine incident. My fake ID wouldn't do much for an official job, but I had the feeling Dale's offer hadn't been official anyway.

With my wallet in my pocket, I left the house and settled in for the long walk to South Mitchell.

The garage was easy to find and looked better than most I'd seen back home. The square block building was painted white, but age and weather had dulled its pristine effect. Still, the place looked neat. A stack of four tires just outside the door held a sale sign. Four diagonally parked cars took up the space against the right side of the building, and a small fenced area hugged the left side. Two large bay doors stood open; in one bay, the floor lift had a car jacked into the air.

Dale was standing under the car and looked at me as I walked into the bay.

"Can I help you?" he said.

I nodded. "Gabby sent me. Said you had an opening for her boyfriend."

For a moment, Dale looked at me blankly, then a grin split his face. I'd expected guilt or denial, not amusement.

"I didn't think she'd actually send someone."

She hadn't, but I kept that to myself.

"I'm Dale," he said, coming over to me. He offered his hand, and I shook it.

"Clay."

"I'll be honest; I'm not looking for full-time help. This time of year, everyone starts remembering oil changes and winter tires. Once that's over, I'll be fine on my own."

I couldn't believe my luck. At best, I'd hoped he'd be able to point me to a shop that was hiring so I could use his name as a chance to get in somewhere.

"I'll work for cash whenever you need me," I said. I already knew that working for cash meant no need for my ID.

Dale considered me for a minute. "Cash?"

I nodded.

"This could work out," he said with a smile. "What experience do you have?"

I thought of Sam's truck. "Messing around, mostly."

"All right. Let's do a trial run. Ten dollars an hour. You can start with this oil change," he said, pointing to the car.

I nodded, and stepped further into my new life. An oil change was easy, something basic I'd read in the many books Gabby brought home and something I'd done already on Gabby's car. I found the drain pan he used off to the side, set it under the car, and started the oil draining. I went to the oil shelf he had in back and grabbed five quarts of the winter grade. Dale watched everything I did. It was a test I passed within twenty minutes.

"Good," he said with a nod. "I've got a few more for you to do."

The oil changes were fine. While I did those in the right bay, he pulled another car into the left. This one he didn't hoist up with the lift. Instead, he wheeled over a cherry picker. I continued with my task and watched him struggle for a few minutes. He made the engine look heavy, but I knew from Sam's truck it wasn't too much for me to lift on my own.

"Come give me a hand," he said after a few minutes.

He explained that the engine was slightly wedged and how we'd need to finesse it free so, once we had everything clear, the cherry picker could hoist it.