Page 26 of A Simple Regret

She cracks a grin but still looks unsure.

“Have a seat, Maren. Theo and I are going to fix your car.”

Theo runs over to his mom and takes her hand. “Sit,” he says, gently pulling her toward the side of my workbench where a stool is positioned.

“All right, little dude, let’s get to work. We need to determine if it’s the battery or the alternator causing the lack of power. Ready?”

He nods eagerly, his blue eyes wide with anticipation.

I spend the next fifteen minutes diagnosing Maren’s car, explaining to Theo as I go what I’m doing. Some of my earliest memories are of being in the garage with my own dad, helping him tinker on vehicles or small engines and helping him get them running again. It’s where I learned to love mechanics, and I find it a little fun and soothing to show Theo too.

“It’s important to take good care of your vehicle when you get older, because cars can be very expensive to fix when the big things go wrong, and if you take care of the little things as you go, the bigger issues might not happen.”

He nods, as if he completely understands what I’m talking about. He crouches down at the front passenger wheel and points. “What that?”

I crouch beside him, looking to where he indicates. “That’s the brake. All four wheels have them. They help you stop.”

He looks at it carefully, inspecting everything without touching. For a young child, that’s pretty good. All the ones I’ve had to deal with—admittedly, that’s not a big number—feel the need to touch everything.

I hear a shutter, the kind of sound a phone makes when it’s taking a photo, but I ignore it. Instead, I keep my focus on the young boy beside me and answer any questions he has, and as it turns out, he has a lot of them. He’s inquisitive, and I find I’m enjoying the hell out of having him here with me.

We change the alternator, which was the reason the SUV wouldn’t start, and when I notice the date of installation on the battery, I realize it’s pretty old too. “You may want me to go ahead and change this out too. It looks like it’s over four years old, and while you can get five or six years out of one, this brand usually lasts three to five years.”

“Umm, how much is it?”

I shrug and make eye contact. “Probably about a hundred and fifty.”

She winces a little but tries to cover it up and glances away. “Okay.”

“I can put these on my charge account at the shop, and you can make payments if you need to,” I offer, and I’m not sure why I do that. It’s not my problem or concern. I shouldn’t be bothered by the size of the material bill she’ll have, nor how she’ll pay it.

Yet…I want to help.

Why?

“Okay, so around four hundred or so for the battery and alternator. What about labor?” she asks from her stool.

“No labor.” I return my attention to removing the old battery.

“What? No. I’ll pay for your time.”

“I don’t charge my friends,” I mutter, even though I don’t necessarily classify her as a friend. We have history, a messy, ugly, yet beautiful history. The pain is part of the story. It’s what’s paved the road we travel. It’s part of who we’ve become.

She doesn’t reply, and with her son’s help, I change the battery in her little SUV. He can’t see in the engine bay, but he stands right beside me as I detail what I’m doing every step I take. And he’s still right there, taking it all in. At three years old, he’s enthralled, and I let him do every bit I can.

Like hold the 10mm socket wrench.

“Thanks, buddy,” I reply, taking the wrench and making sure everything is tight and ready to go. I quickly replace the spark plugs too, but I don’t mention that to her. Plugs are pretty inexpensive, but something tells me she’d decline my suggestion to change the spark plugs at this time.

When it’s all done, I turn to Theo and ask, “Ready to start it up and make sure it runs?”

He nods eagerly. I place all the tools on my bench and close the hood. Then, I climb behind the wheel and reach for my little friend. I position him on my lap and reach for the key. “Ready?”

He starts to bounce excitedly and jabs his foot in my balls. “Oh, shit,” I mutter, reaching down and adjusting his snow boot.

“Bad Cam!”

“Sorry, buddy. I said a bad word, didn’t I?”