Page 78 of The Clover Chapel (Jamison Valley 2)
“What brings you to Prescott, Dash? Nick said you live in Clifton Forge, right?” I asked, sitting in the chair across from him.
“Yep. Came ’cause I thought Nick might want to help me with a car. And I haven’t seen the fucker in months. He didn’t even come back for Christmas this year.”
I frowned, feeling guilty that I had kept Nick from his traditional holiday plans. That he’d stayed in Prescott for me, even though I had been in Italy. I hated that he’d missed time with his family because I had run away.
“What car?” Nick asked from the kitchen.
“Got a 1970 Plymouth Road Runner I’m restoring for a guy in Washington. I haven’t worked on one before but remembered you did back in the day. Thought you could help me get the timing right,” Dash said.
“I can do that. Where’d you leave it?”
“Hauled it up with me. Trailer’s by your garage.”
“Dash is a shit mechanic.” Nick grinned as he handed me my wineglass.
“Compared to you, everyone is a shit mechanic,” Dash scoffed. “Don’t listen to him, Emmeline. I’m fucking awesome. I’d change your oil any time.” He winked.
“Are you hitting on my wife?”
Beer sprayed from Dash’s mouth all over himself and the couch. Nick muttered, “Fuck,” and ran to grab a towel from the kitchen. “You’re married!” Dash shouted after patting himself dry.
“Yeah,” Nick said.
Dash stood from the couch and threw the towel in his brother’s face. “What the fuck, Nick? How could you not tell us? At least me? I would have come to the wedding.”
“Chill, Dash,” Nick said and sat down on the couch.
Dash muttered a curse under his breath and sat too, taking a few long gulps from his beer.
“Our wedding was nine years ago,” Nick said. “In Las Vegas. You were in high school. Don’t get all bent out of shape. I didn’t tell anyone, okay?”
“And in the last nine years, you didn’t think to mention you had a wife? Maybe bring her home to meet your family?”
“We were estranged,” I said. “I’ve been living in New York where I grew up. I only moved to Montana last fall, and now that I’m in Prescott, we’ve reconnected.”
“Uh-huh,” Dash muttered.
Nick gave me a puzzled look but I just shrugged and smiled, silently urging him to let it go. He would have admitted to leaving me in Vegas but I didn’t want him to have to explain our whole ordeal to his brother. He was off the hook for once. Some of those old wounds were starting to heal and I didn’t want them scraped open by hearing our history again.
“May I ask? Why does everyone call you ‘Dash’?”
Both men looked to one another and smiled. “My mom started calling me Dash when I was a little kid. Nick built me a soapbox go-cart and I may have disabled the brakes.”
“It was all we could do to get the little shit to wear his helmet.” Nick chuckled.
Dash shrugged. “I’ve always been an adrenaline junkie for speed.”
“Tell me more about this car,” Nick said.
For the next hour, the brothers talked about cars while I sat quietly, listening and enjoying my wine. I learned that the motorcycle club had a successful garage in Clifton Forge where Dash worked as a mechanic and Nick’s father was the manager.
I noticed that throughout the conversation, they always managed to steer clear of discussing club business. Dash mentioned their father briefly but Nick didn’t acknowledge it or ask more about his well-being.
But it was Nick’s passion for cars and mechanics that surprised me most. I rarely saw him this animated. When he talked about Dash’s projects and gave his brother advice, there was a f
ire in his eyes. I imagined I had that same light when I talked about teaching.
“Emmy,” Nick whispered, putting his hand on my shoulder and startling me awake.
