The Chance

But he also thought, I could really use some leveling. Some mellowing.

Three

Laine brought her midsize SUV to Eric on Tuesday, the day after they talked. It was a new model and in excellent condition. If he subtracted the cross-country miles from the odometer, she’d only put a few thousand miles on it in a year. Ordinarily he’d have Norm or Manny service the vehicle, but he did it. He found nothing wrong with the car, so he washed and detailed it. Himself.

Eric had four employees. Norm, who had sold him the station, was trying to avoid going on cruises and Elderhostel trips with his wife, so he kept working. No doubt he told the missus it was absolutely necessary to help out during this ownership transition, but he was more honest with Eric—he wanted to unload the station and put the money in the bank but he wasn’t quite ready to indulge in retirement activities that sounded like sheer torture to him. Nor could he fathom spending day after day with his wife.

Manny had come with Eric from Eugene after Eric sold his body shop there. Manny was a good friend from way back and had a wife and a passel of kids. Howie had worked part-time for Norm, was about the same age, didn’t do much—if any—mechanical repairs and the two of them gossiped, drank a lot of coffee and pumped a lot of gas. From the look of the place when Eric took over, neither one of them ever pushed a broom or applied a rag to windows or other surfaces. Both of them might quit before too long because if there was one thing Eric hated it was a dirty shop. Classic car collectors especially liked the garage to look like an operating room. He pushed both of those old boys hard.

And then there was Justin Russell, a lanky, moody seventeen-year-old, who was either troubled or very shy and reminded Eric of himself at that age. Eric suspected he’d hired Justin out of some desire to groom him. It was almost like some sort of psychological experiment, as though by straightening Justin out he could make up for his own delinquent youth. So far that wasn’t happening. But Eric was, if anything, stubborn.

Justin worked hard, had good hands under the hood and remarkable instincts for a kid who hadn’t tinkered with engines much.

Eric went into the bathroom, scrubbed his hands, swiped water over his face for good measure, rinsed his mouth and gave the mirror over the sink a shot of glass cleaner. He wiped out the sink with the paper towel he’d used to dry his hands. Then he appraised himself in the mirror. He had taken off his coveralls and was wearing a mechanic’s uniform—dark blue pants, light blue shirt, Lucky’s sewn onto the shirt. His name was embroidered on the pocket. He’d opted for the new business name since he’d been feeling pretty lucky. There was a part of him that wished he were dressed as a civilian, but this was who he was—a mechanic, a body man. His uniform was clean—he always donned a jumpsuit over his clothes when he got into or under a car engine. His hands were clean, even under the nails.

And then he found Manny and said, “I’m going to deliver a car. I won’t be gone long.”

“Yeah, boss.”

He drove the few short blocks to Laine’s house. He turned off the car. He had her cell phone number and called it from the driveway. “Is this a convenient time to drop off your car?” he asked.

“You don’t have to drop it off,” she said. “I’ll come and get it in an hour or so.”

“Ah, I’m in your driveway,” he said. “If I can just leave the key fob somewhere, we can settle up when it’s convenient.” She didn’t say anything and he waited. “Laine?” he asked. And then he watched as the front door opened and she walked outside, an astonished look on her face. She was dressed the same way as when he’d seen her other times in the diner—yoga pants, heavy short-sleeved sweatshirt over a long-sleeved T-shirt, tennis shoes, blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. She looked like a young girl. A very pretty young girl.

Eric got out of the car and handed over the key fob. He pulled out a receipt from the inside pocket of his jacket. “We serviced the brakes, changed the oil, gave it a lube, rotated the tires and I checked over everything. You’re in very good shape, no surprises. I’d recommend service checks regularly, which depends on how much driving you do. Your car is well cared for.”

“You should’ve just called me,” she said. “I would have come for it.”

“No problem. I was happy to bring it over.”

“But I was going to use plastic to pay for it.”

He pulled his iPhone out of his pocket. “You can do that now if you want to or you can come by the shop another time.” He popped an attachment for scanning onto his phone. “Whatever works for you.”

“I didn’t expect you to get to it today,” she said, obviously still surprised.

“We weren’t busy. But there’s no rush on—”

“No, I can pay you now. Come inside, Eric.”

“I don’t mind waiting....”

“For Pete’s sake, come inside!” And she turned to precede him into the house.

Eric stood there for a second. He hadn’t meant to disrupt her day, just wanted to make an effort, show he was both a businessman with great customer service and...well...a gentleman. He followed her a bit slowly. She’d left the door standing open and he entered. It was just a few steps past the foyer staircase into the great room.

“Wow,” he said.

There was a fire ablaze in the hearth, cozy furniture complete with pictures and hangings on the walls, throws on the chair and sectional sofa, a panoramic view of the bay out of the back windows, flowers on the table and wonderful smells coming from the kitchen. Something was simmering on the stove and Laine used an oven mitt to pull something out of the oven.

“Wow?” she asked.

“It’s so...domestic,” he said. He ran a hand through his hair, looking around. It was earth tones with splashes of lavender and blue here and there. And there was some red but just some, not much. Welcoming. Warm.

“It’s a home,” she said with a laugh.

“I know, but aren’t you single?”

“I am.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve only seen you out for a run and you said you do computer research. The only girlfriend I’ve had in the past few years was that web designer. I don’t think she knew where the kitchen was. And she was allergic to housework. But she loved her computers.”

Laine took off the oven mitts and grabbed her purse. “If I’m going to live here, it’s going to be comfortable. And I like to cook. Not all the time, but it relaxes me. I’m having company for dinner tonight, but I also do this for myself. What happened to the girlfriend?”

“She dumped me for a computer programmer. I bet they live in squalor and are either thin from starvation or getting fat on take-out.”

He saw a framed picture of Laine with a man—a very good-looking man. They appeared so happy. Then there was a second picture on the sofa table, a picture of two little girls. For a second he felt almost sick. She couldn’t have lost her family! That would be too cruel.

She found her credit card and presented it. “My nieces,” she said. “You don’t seem to be too traumatized. About the computer girl.”

She didn’t explain the man, but that was all right. He swiped the card and presented the screen for her to sign. “We probably weren’t right for each other anyway. The biggest thing we had in common was that we worked a lot.”

“Well, what drew you together? Ever ask yourself that?” She scrawled her name across the small screen.

“A friend. You know—one of those friends who can’t stand to see a single man on the loose and has to do something to hook ’em up. Don’t friends do that to you?”

“No,” she said. “Apparently none of my friends were ever concerned.”

“Never married?” he asked.

She just shook her head. “I haven’t dated that much. I travel a lot in my job.”

“But you do computer work. How do you travel for that?”

“No one likes sending people to training, seminars, leadership workshops or temporary duty to other divisions like the government does. To me, the computer is a tool. I’m no more fascinated by it than that. When I’m not working overtime or on the road, I have other interests. I’ve always liked to cook. It reminds me of my mother, who loved to cook.”

“Wow.”

“You’re getting turned on.” She put her card back in her purse. “You just met a woman who likes to cook and live in clean environs and you’re actually getting turned on.”

“No, I swear...”

“Yes, you are! I think you’d marry me right now if I’d promise to love, honor, vacuum and cook.”

“Seriously, no...”

“It’s because you live in a motel. And probably because none of your friends are trying to fix you up,” she said. “You’re looking for a domestic.”