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Thankfully, once I parked, he drove away. I exhaled a shaky breath.
“Why are we here, Mommy?”
I turned to smile at her. “We have to run into this store for a minute. My lights aren’t working, so we have to fix them.”
She tilted her head. “Do you know how to fix lights?”
I rounded my eyes and puffed up my cheeks. “No idea. I was hoping you would do it. You know how, right?”
“No,” she squealed. “I’m only three!”
I snapped my fingers. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot you aren’t a car expert. Well, let’s hope someone inside knows more about cars than us, right?”
“Right!”
I got myself and Nellie out of the car, handing her a granola bar from my emergency stash as we walked in. I hated giving her snacks so close to dinnertime, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
Inside the door of Motor Zone, I came to a standstill. I had never stepped foot inside one of these shops, and I was immediately overwhelmed. Considering it was bright and organized, with rows upon rows of supplies to maintain and repair vehicles, it wasn’t any fault of the shop’s. There was just so much; finding two little brake lights was like a needle in a haystack.
Fortunately, a young Black man in mechanic’s overalls tied at his waist and a nametag reading “Dante” clipped to his shirt approached us with a friendly smile.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
“I hope so.”
“The policeman talked to Mommy,” Nellie informed him. “He had pretty lights.”
Dante shot me a polite smile. “Let me guess, do you have a light out?”
I nodded. “Both brake lights.”
He hissed. “That’s not safe. It’s a good thing you came in. Let me see if I can help you find your lights.”
He led us to the opposite side of the store, walking down a row with what seemed like thousands of different lights. Undaunted by the intense variety, he homed in on the ones I needed.
“Here you go, ma’am.” He pressed the small boxes into my hand.
His arm braced on the shelf beside him, waiting while I studied one of the boxes. Nellie nibbled on her granola bar, dancing from foot to foot.
“Are you hungry?” she asked him.
He pressed his hand to his stomach. “Yeah, I could eat. That granola bar looks good.”
“You want some?” She waved her snack at him like we hadn’t all witnessed her sucking and drooling on it the last five minutes.
“That’s okay, you eat it. I have a burrito calling my name at home.”
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Dante.”
She nodded. “Your burrito is saying, ‘Daaanteee! Time for dinner!’”
He cackled, and I lost track of what I was doing from the overpowering need to squeeze my daughter’s body into my side. Her sense of humor had definitely come from Luca. Her precociousness too. Luca had emerged into the world winking at the nurses…or so our mother had said.
Finally, I found what I was looking for, confirming they were the right lights, and Dante escorted us to the cashier.
“If there’s anything else I can do…” he said, making the offer as he started to walk away.
