Chapter 3: Jordan

I took another swig of water.

At the bottom of the hill, I waited while Frank made googly eyes with all the important parts underneath my hood. He jiggled this and tapped on that. I bit my lip to keep from asking too many questions and simply waited, bracing myself.

“Well,” he finally said, pausing to let the hood fall back into place. It slammed closed, and I flinched as he dusted his hands together before wiping them on a rag he produced from his back pocket. “She’s out of commission, that’s for sure. Looks like a belt and a hose from where I’m standing. Probably more but I’d need to get her on the lift to know for sure. How do you want to play it?”

“Do you think you can fix it?”

He frowned at the car. “I’m sure I can. Question is whether you’ll want to. She’s no spring chicken.”

I caught myself mid-sigh. Swallowed it. My bangs feathered back to my forehead and stuck there. “I understand.”

“How about I tow it up and have a look,” Frank said, jerking his head back toward the garage. “Diagnostic fee gets applied toward labor on any work done.”

He named his fee and I nodded slowly. It wasn’t like I had a choice. “All right.”

“You staying close by?” There went that piercing look again. Perception. I was the new girl in a town where everybody knew everybody. Mom said it’d be that way. Isn’t that why I’d picked this town instead of the one next door where my namesake lived?

“Planned to. Hadn’t nailed down the details yet,” I said. Both honest and vague.

Frank’s expression softened, again his combination of age and wisdom reminding me weirdly of Dad. Lots of things did, though. “I’m not trying to pry. Just want to make sure you’re square. It’s Strawberry Fest weekend so all the motels are booked for miles. Don’t want you sleeping outside. Or,” he gave me a pointed look, “running off before you can pay for the car repairs.”

That last part wounded my pride enough that I caved. “I’m not running off,” I promised. “I’m actually here about a job. I have a final meeting tomorrow. If all goes well, I’ll be sticking around a few months, actually. I figured I’d do a motel for a day or two, and then, if the job sticks, I’ll see about an apartment.”

“Huh.” Frank gave another grunt, same as before. I still had no idea what the sound meant but this time, there was a flash of something in his eyes before it disappeared again. “No apartments available this time of year,” he continued. “All the kids just got back from college. You need a room rental, Casey’s got one up for grabs if you’re not picky. Although short-term stuff is best kept over at the Holiday Inn in Windsor.” His lips twitched and he added, “Your sanity is best kept there too when faced with those two choices.”

He chuckled at what I assumed was an inside joke since I had no idea what he meant. Was this Casey chick crazy? But I did need a room. And Windsor was not an option. Besides, the job I’d come to consult on was at least in this same town so maybe I could walk to work for a while. Or buy a bicycle or something. Hell, if this heat kept up maybe I’d buy an ice cream truck instead.

I shrugged. “Tell whoever Casey is, as long as it’s clean and roach-free, I’ll take it.”

I spent the next thirty minutes at the shop waiting for Frank to arrange the tow. Even though it was only up the hill, it was a bitch of a hill, especially in this humidity. Given the choice, I’d pay for the truck to drag it rather than have to push it myself. Not that Frank gave me the choice. And for that fact alone, I was warming up to him.

Frank stood behind the counter, jabbing at the keys on an ancient, faded keyboard with a frown that somehow still managed to hold his toothpick inside his lips. “This damn computer will be the death of me. Can’t hardly look up a simple parts list without reloading the page sixteen times,” he muttered.

I would’ve offered to help—but technology and I didn’t much get along either. Even my phone was a basic model. For a city girl, I sure was behind the curve of “modern.”

“Sorry, I’d help if I could, but anything with a cord and plug is allergic to me,” I admitted.

Frank chuckled. “I thought all the young people had the magic touch with machines.”

I shrugged. “I was too busy with Legos and blocks to care much for electronics.”

Frank grunted and I finally realized the sound was meant to be an agreement. Or approval. “I like that. You and I will get along just fine. Too damn many kids with no imagination anymore.”

He was friendly, I realized, as I leaned against the wall next to the window unit and listened to him chatter. Perceptive as hell, a quality that put him just this side of nosy. Still. He didn’t push.

“So, what brings you to Grayson?” he asked.

I hesitated and his eyes flicked to me before settling back on the ancient computer screen whose keyboard he was plucking away at. I played with the cap of the second bottle of water I was nursing, going over my prepared story once mentally before I spoke out loud.

“My dad grew up a couple of counties over,” I said carefully. “I had some time between jobs back home and when the Stafford project posted, I thought I’d spend some time here, see small town livin’, as he called it.”

Frank’s brows drew together, his expression forming a question. Before he could ask the only one I didn’t want to answer, I pushed on in a different direction. “I grew up in Hartford. Big city compared to all this,” I said, waving a hand.

“I guess it is, isn’t it? What sort of work do you do, then?” he asked. Eyes back on the computer. Good. Dodged it.