“Good.”
The Single Dad looked down.
“Why?”
The Son shrugged.
“She explains math better.”
Then walked away.
Monday morning, the Woman arrived at 7:58.
Not eight.
Not 8:01.
7:58.
The Single Dad was already underneath another truck.
He heard her enter.
“Morning.”
“Morning.”
She placed a travel mug on the desk.
Then stopped.
The office looked exactly as she had left it.
Which was apparently unacceptable.
By 9:20, the desk was empty.
By ten, she had reconciled two months of parts receipts.
By eleven, she had found four unpaid invoices totaling more than three thousand dollars.
At 11:43, she discovered another warranty claim.
The Single Dad came inside for coffee.
She was on the phone.
“Yes, I understand.”
Pause.
“I have the original service date and the manufacturer documentation in front of me.”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
“I’ll hold.”
She covered the receiver.
“Coffee’s terrible.”
The Single Dad looked at the pot.
“I know.”
“Why do you drink it?”
“Habit.”
She uncovered the phone.
“Yes, I’m here.”
The Single Dad poured a cup.
Leaned against the door frame.
Watched.
She did not notice.
Or pretended not to.
At noon, she stood.
Closed her laptop.
Grabbed her keys.
“I’ll be back at one.”
The Single Dad nodded.
“Okay.”
She left.
No questions.
At 1:03 she returned.
Sat down.
Started again.
By Friday, the Single Dad had collected nearly four thousand dollars he had not realized the business was owed.
He put the deposit slip on the breakroom table.
Stared at it.
The Son sat nearby eating cereal after school.
“Is that a lot?”
The Single Dad looked at him.
“Yes.”
“Did she find it?”
“Yes.”
The Son nodded.
“She’s good.”
The Single Dad looked through the window toward the office.
“Yes.”
“She is.”
Three weeks passed.
The shop changed faster than the Single Dad understood.
The Woman created a callback list.
Then a parts-tracking sheet.
Then a vendor reconciliation system.
Then she replaced the appointment whiteboard with scheduling software.
The Single Dad resisted that one.
“I know the board.”
“No.”
She stood in front of it.
“You remember the board.”
“That’s different.”
“It works.”
“You double-booked three customers last week.”
The Single Dad frowned.
“Two.”
“Three.”
She pointed.
“Tuesday.”
“Thursday.”
“Friday.”
He stared.
“Fine.”
The software went in.
Two weeks later he could not imagine the shop without it.
Appointment reminders went automatically.
Parts orders had tracking numbers.
Jobs older than forty-eight hours triggered alerts.
Customer callbacks stopped disappearing into memory.
The phone became less frightening.
The Single Dad did not realize how much he had feared it until he stopped.