Jake took another drink.
“It belonged to my grandfather.”
“Sentimental.”
“Expensive way to be sentimental.”
Claire looked toward the rusted body.
“What year?”
“Sixty-seven.”
“How long have you had it?”
“Four years.”
“And it's still not finished?”
Jake looked offended.
“You want your Mercedes done properly?”
“Yes.”
“Then never rush a man restoring a Mustang.”
Claire laughed.
For the next two hours, she remained.
Jake worked.
Claire talked.
Sometimes the conversation stopped completely.
That did not feel awkward.
Jake discovered that Claire preferred quiet more than he expected.
She asked about Lily.
Jake asked what she did.
“Business.”
“That answer got less informative overnight.”
“It remains accurate.”
“What kind?”
“Manufacturing.”
“What do you manufacture?”
“Problems, mostly.”
Jake smiled.
“That sounds honest.”
Claire looked at him differently.
“How do you always know exactly what's broken?”
Jake continued tightening a bolt.
“Because I never pretend something is fine when it isn't.”
Claire went quiet.
Jake glanced over.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That looked like something.”
Claire shook her head.
“Keep fixing your truck.”
“My customer’s truck.”
“Whatever keeps you emotionally distant.”
Jake laughed.
“Now who's diagnosing?”
Claire returned Saturday morning carrying donuts.
Jake stared as she entered.
“You realize your car doesn't become finished faster because you feed the mechanic.”
“I’m conducting an experiment.”
“What experiment?”
“Whether you're always this unpleasant.”
“Results?”
“Inconclusive.”
She placed the box down.
Jake opened it.
Boston cream.
His favorite.
He looked at her.
“Observant again?”
“You chose one yesterday.”
“That is disturbingly attentive.”
Claire sat.
Lily arrived around eleven.
She entered through the side door wearing jeans, sneakers, and a sweatshirt from her school robotics club.
“Dad?”
Jake looked up.
“You're early.”
“Mom's not picking me up.”
The sentence landed awkwardly.
Claire noticed Jake’s face.
Lily corrected herself automatically.
“Mrs. Sanders.”
Jake nodded.
“Right.”
Lily’s mother had been dead for nine years.
Sometimes the old word still escaped.
The habit had survived the person.
Claire said nothing.
Jake appreciated that.
He introduced them.
“Lily, Claire.”
Claire stood.
“Nice to meet you.”
Lily examined her.
“You're the Mercedes.”
Jake closed his eyes.
“Lily.”
“What?”
Claire smiled.
“Apparently I am.”
Lily looked toward the shop.
“Dad says your alternator is weird.”
“Your father talks about customers at home?”
“Only interesting problems.”
Jake gave Lily a look.
She ignored him.
Claire asked:
“You want to be an engineer?”
Lily’s face changed instantly.
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
“Mechanical.”
“Maybe automotive.”
“Maybe robotics.”
“I haven't decided.”
“You don't need to.”
Lily looked surprised.
Most adults asked fourteen-year-olds for permanent career decisions as if adolescence was a contract negotiation.
Claire continued: