Page 24 of Rhodes

I don't know why that question irritates me as much as it does. It could be because I have spent the last hour under this thing and he has been standing here for thirty seconds. Maybe because he showed up at my house, apparently thinking he's the expert.

Either way, I am not handing him the job when I am two minutes from finishing it.

I drop back onto the creeper and roll beneath the Cruiser. The last bolt is already started, so I get the ratchet on it and tighten it down, then reconnect the final wire. Sweat has started collecting beneath my tank despite the cold pavement against my back, and grease is streaked halfway to my elbow by the time I shove myself out again.

I sit up and wipe my hands on the rag before looking at Tallulah.

“Go ahead and turn it over.”

Trey drops into the driver’s seat and turns the key.

The Cruiser catches on the first crank without a hitch, then settles into a steady idle, exactly the sound it is supposed to make.

On any other day, that would make me proud. I did a thing. Something dead brought back with my own two hands, no call made and no check written.

Instead, the satisfaction barely registers, because whatever point there was in doing this folded up the second Trey’s truck pulled in behind me.

“There it is.” Trey lets it run for a few seconds, listening, then gives a nod that irritates me more than it should. “Sounds good.”

“It is.”

He shuts it off, and I crouch to gather my tools.

The sockets have gone cold in the tray. I wipe each one against my thigh before dropping it into the case, then shove the old starter into a grocery bag. Once everything is clear, I jack the Cruiser up enough to pull the stands, then lower it slowly until the front tires meet the pavement again.

Tallulah stands a few feet away with her arms crossed. She has been quiet since I slid back under the car, which is strange enough that I finally look over at her.

“So it works now,” she says.

“It works now.”

She presses her lips together for a second. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I mean it. I just wish you’d asked me first.”

“I saw something that needed fixing. I had the time, so I fixed it.”

“That is exactly what I’m talking about.”

I straighten with the jack handle in my hand, flip the flannel shirt over my shoulder, and meet her eyes. “Your starter was dead, Tallulah. I wasn’t reorganizing your life.”

“No, you were just handling something for me because you decided it needed to be handled.”

“I was helping.”

“I know.” Her shoulders drop a fraction. “That doesn’t mean I need everybody doing things for me before I get a chance to do them myself.”

There is nothing I can say to that without turning a dead starter into something bigger than it is, so I fold the stands and pick them up.

“Car’s fixed.”

Her mouth tightens. “Yep.”

I head toward the garage with the stands in one hand and the bag of tools in the other. Behind me, Trey says something too low for me to catch.

Then Tallulah’s voice carries across the driveway.