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“Why do you seem so surprised?” I said, walking toward him.
“Well, I haven’t seen you in a minute,” he said with a shrug.
“I know, and that’s why I’m here now,” I responded.
Then, I reached up to hug him.
“Hey, I got grease all over me,” he protested.
“I don’t care,” I said, hugging him tight.
After a moment, he returned the embrace, and I felt the way I always did when I was with him.
Happy.
Safe.
My father had made me feel that way my entire life, and all that had happened over the years hadn’t changed that.
I pulled back and studied him. “What have you been into?” I asked.
I recognized the tell-tale signs of my father knee-deep in a project, and I couldn’t help but smile as I felt that familiar nostalgia.
“One of the semis has a bum motor. I’m tinkering around with it before calling the mechanic,” he said.
“Should we go look together?” I asked.
He looked me up and down, his skepticism clear. I waved him away.
“Don’t worry about these clothes. Let’s go take a look,” I said.
He pulled a pair of heavy work gloves out of his pocket and threw them my way.
I caught them and pulled then on, unable to stop myself from smiling.
This, this, was my home.
My life.
I had grown up in garages, first in small ones, then in bigger and bigger ones as my father’s business had grown.
Had learned how to drive a semi before I learned how to drive a car.
And knew my way around an engine, if I did say so myself.
“What’s she doing?” I asked my father as we approached the truck.
“Got a little bit of a pull and some sputtering.” He’d stepped up on the ladder and eyed the engine.
I stepped up next to him and did the same.
“You check the plugs?” I asked.
“Yeah, changed them out, too, so it’s not them,” he said.
I stared at the engine for a moment and then got to work.
I wasn’t sure how much time passed, an hour, maybe two, but after a while, I pulled back from under the hood and said to my father, “Give her a crank.”
