Page 2 of Needing His Touch
“Sure thing, hon. Everything’s out and ready to be made for the basics when it comes to lunch. You don’t have to worry, Carsynn.” His chef’s hat is askew on his head, and the white apron he’s wearing is stained, mainly in the midsection. Denny is a burly man, tall in stature, yet he’s a softy deep down inside. I think Nikki plays a big part in his personality. They both are nicer than anyone ever has to be, going the extra mile for their employees.
“Thanks, Denny, I really appreciate it.” After eating more breakfast food than I cared to in the past couple of weeks, I’m thankful for the reprieve.
“Go have a seat. I’ll bring it to you.” I nod, swallowing the golf-ball-sized lump forming in the back of my throat. In Virginia, no one was nice like this, and if they were, it was for their own reason and not out of the goodness of their heart.
“Thanks.” I put the plates in the sink to soak and wipe my sweaty palms on my own apron. Another plus in the pro column about The Sunshine Diner is the uniform, or lack thereof. As long as you wear the shirt they provided for you, a few ranging in color from white to butter yellow, to black, Nikki and Denny are perfectly happy. My last job in Virginia was not that way. I’d have to wear a dress-like smock. It didn’t matter the weather or that customers would try to play grab ass, you wore what you were told, and you kept your mouth shut. I know for a fact Denny and Nikki would never allow that to happen. It’s a different pace of life, a different atmosphere, and one that I’m finding I really love.
“Go on. This won’t take but a few minutes. Ol’ man McCoy enjoys your company, considering his grandson being out of town for as long as he has this time around. I’m sure he likes the company as much as you do.” Denny is talking about Gabe, Mr. McCoy’s one and only grandson. He talks about him wistfully on my days off. Days where I have gone over to his house once a week since we formed our friendship. Bernie works fast, a smooth talker in making someone feel like you need them in your life, and vice versa. We’ll sit down in his living room and chat. When I noticed his pile of firewood was dwindling, I got to work on bringing more in. That’s when he told me about his grandson. He waited until the second time I visited him at his house to drop that little bombshell.
“I like the company, too,” Mr. McCoy admitted earlier he enjoyed my company. Gabe has been out of town in a neighboring state, dealing with a natural disaster, a flooding. I guess the relief money was too good for him to pass up. Bernie likes to joke that we probably passed one another on the interstate. Doubtful, as I was coming from the south and Gabe was heading to the west-ish area of Vermont. Ugh, directions never were my strong suit, and still aren’t, as my drive to Plaine Hills was a disaster. Anyway, Gabe McCoy owns McCoy Auto and Towing. He’s the owner but has a few guys to run the shop while he is out on the road making extra money. The way his grandfather tells the story, he’s using the money he makes to help buy another tow truck and a new bay for his shop. Right now, with him out of town, the guys are using a car tow dolly. Not the best, yet they’re making it work. It’s not like the small town needs a tow truck driver every day. It’d help all the guys take shifts for being on call. Of course, this is all Bernie’s version. Thankfully, I haven’t needed any assistance in the mechanic department or needed a tow.
“More coffee?” I ask the customers sitting at the bar after grabbing the pot to refill Bernie’s cup. It’s a wonder I’m not addicted to what seems to be everyone’s go-to around here. Back home, they’d choose between sweet tea, coffee, or juice. Here it seems like they only ever ask for coffee, and on the rare occurrence, water.
“Yes, please.” I take care of them and then head to Bernie, doing the same to a few other customers along the way who sit in Olive’s section, since right now, all I have is Mr. McCoy, until the next hungry patron walks through the glass double doors.
“Alright, Bernie, I’m all yours.” I make it to his table, slide into my seat with a sigh, and pour his coffee sitting down. My body is loving the small reprieve.
“Good. Next time, we’ll eat together. I feel like a damn fool eating with a pretty woman in front of me, when she isn’t doing the same,” he grumbles. I quirk a smile, having no problem hanging out with him while his food doesn’t get cold, plus Denny won’t take too much longer, so we’ll be eating together.
“Tell me about what’s on the agenda today,” I change the subject. He responds, and we talk until my food is placed in front of me. I wolf it down, hunger hitting me because I’ve been up for several hours, and when it’s time for Mr. McCoy to go, his hand reaches out to mine and squeezes it gently.
Each time, I have to suck back the tears that threaten to fall.
He has no idea what a simple touch means, a hug, or even having a conversation that’s not one-sided or where the other person isn’t beating you down. It’s all I could ever want, here in this tiny corner of the world, away from my parents, who never cared, and finding my own way. I’m finally breathing freely for the first time ever.
2
GABE
“Goddamn motherfucking, cock-sucking son of a bitch,” I say under my breath, looking down at the palm of my hand. There’s a jagged cut beneath my thumb. The dirt and grease are not helping matters, and now I’ve got to add stopping by a walk-in clinic to my never-ending to-do list. This day started bad and is turning worse by the hour, between putting this car on a winch, my phone ringing incessantly in my chest pocket, and the onlookers watching my every move. I’m ready to throw my tools into my truck and blow this popsicle stand. Except I can’t, and I won’t. There’s too much on the line, too much money I’ll lose, plus I’m not looking to get blackballed if I walk off the job.
I finish putting the flooded car up on the bed, hitting the lever to flatten it so it’s not an incline, and shake my head. A damn good thing tomorrow is my last day on this job, then I can head home. Though, if I can’t clean this damn wound out myself, I’m gonna be even more behind and unable to leave once the last of my slips are fulfilled. Then I’ll be on my way to help the shop out. As it stands, it has four bays, only two of which have lifts, and one tow truck. It makes it damn hard when I’m the only auto repair shop as well as tow truck driver within a thirty-mile radius. The money I’ve been making for these the past few weeks while leaving the shop to my best friend, Travis, and another guy who’s newly hired, Danny, will go right back into the business. When I took this side hustle, I was only supposed to be on it for a week, but one week turned into three, and now I’m at the end.
Once the car is on the flatbed and strapped down, the gawkers disperse. A good thing because my temper can’t handle too much more today. I’m tired as hell, my body aches, and I’m about over drinking coffee for the energy alone. Not to mention it’s getting colder out every day. I walk to my driver’s side door, open it with my good hand, pull the lever to the seat up, and locate the first aid box. The elbow on my bleeding hand pushes the seat back in place while I open the lid once the kit is on the seat. A bottle of water sits untouched in the cup holder, another one in the cooler I’ve got in the passenger seat. I try to make as few stops as I can in order to get everything taken care of during the day. Working through the night isn’t a whole lot of fun, and I try my best to make sure that doesn’t happen.
“Shit.” Uncapping a bottle with your non-dominant hand is a pain in the dick. I end up using my teeth while holding the water with my left hand. Meanwhile, my phone stops vibrating only to start up again. My lips curl into a smile even while dealing with my bleeding hand, knowing that the old man gets impatient and worries like an old lady. He’s got ample reason. He’s buried his wife, his daughter, who was my mom, and then finished raising me. The man hasn’t had an easy day in his life. He’s worked hard, watched me bust my ass to earn my shot at McCoy’s Auto Repair, and when Grandpa Bernie was ready to retire, well, he didn’t give it to me without strings attached. Every dime I saved went right into an agreement. I’d given him a lump sum and made monthly payments. There were contingencies. If I defaulted on a payment, he’d take the shop from me and sell it. All my money would go down the drain. I knew what Gramps was doing—he was molding me into the man I am today, one who doesn’t go back on his word and works his ass off to prove his worth.
I clean up the gash, noticing it’s not deep enough to warrant a hospital or walk-in clinic. It doesn’t take me long to clean it up, wiping the wound with antiseptic, grabbing the gauze, wrapping it around my hand to hold it tight, and then using the brown ACE bandage to go over it. The skin on the palm of your hand is impossible to use a Band-Aid on, and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna fuck with it while I’m knee-deep in horse shit.
My phone starts vibrating as I finish dealing with putting the supplies back in the first aid kit. I grab it out of my chest pocket, not bothering to look at the display screen. There are only a few people who would be calling me on repeat: Gramps, Travis, or the sheriff’s department regarding good ole Grandpa Bernie. Usually, because he’s out trying to do something he shouldn’t, pulling someone out of the ditch if I’m not available, digging some hole for God knows what, and the last time it was for Gramps hot-rodding a little too fast down the main highway.
“Can’t a man work in peace, old man?” I answer the phone, not an ounce of annoyance in my tone. There’s no way he could ever piss me off, even when he calls my phone repeatedly until I answer.
“Can’t you answer a man on the first call? And you’re damn right old. Older than you, that’s for dang sure. Which means you should pick up the phone when I call. What if I was on the floor, saying ‘Help, I can’t get up,’ or needed advice on wooing a lady?” I’m trying to hold back my laughter. The day he makes me get him a damn device to wear around his neck is the day he’ll put my ass in the ground. As for flirting with a woman, yeah, right. He’s full of shit, so deep I need hip waders to get out of the pile of manure.
“You got a young filly that has your heart pitter-pattering?” I ask, shaking my head as I climb into the truck, throwing my phone in the cup holder once I hit the speaker button. The tow truck is older and doesn’t have Bluetooth. A pain in my ass with all the time I’ve been on the road lately.
“As a matter of fact, I do. For you.” Luckily, I hooked the car up, strapped it down, and am ready to put my truck inDrivewhile rolling my damn eyes.
“Not this again, Gramps.” He’s been on a tangent ever since a new girl landed in town and he took her under his wing. At first, I was worried. A quick call to Travis, then to Sheriff Sanders, and everything was put to bed. Denny and Nikki wouldn’t have hired the woman if she were shit. And seeing as how she sat on the front porch the first time she spent a few hours with my Gramps, it eased the tension in my gut.
“Oh, this again. Get your ass home boyo. Someone else is going to snap Carsynn up, and then you’ll have to fight to get her back.” He’s been telling me this since two days after I left, not about Carsynn. That didn’t come up until recently, but he’s been annoying about describing her, telling me every detail about her. Going so far as to say how she reminded him of his wife, my grandma when they were young and in love.
“I’ll be home tomorrow night. Does Carsynn know you’re trying to hook her up with your grandson, old man?” I ask him, starting my commute. Our conversation can last as little as a few minutes to a few hours. It doesn’t matter what he talks about. It could be about the Farmer’s Almanac and their prediction, and I’d still give him the time of day and day of the week. The man gave a lot his whole life. Bernie and his wife, Grandma Winnie, married young. She was from Canada and immigrated via a work visa. Once they were happily in love, they were married and had one child, my mother, Naomi. I shake my head, really not wanting to go down memory lane, not when the anniversary of her death is right around the corner.
“About damn time. Now tell me. Did you make enough to keep your ass home for a good long while? It’s about time you quit taking these jobs here and there. Surely, you’ve got enough money in the bank now to do what you want and not have to take another job for three weeks next year?” He’s asking a pile of questions he already knows the answers to. When I left this round, I told him it would be the last time. I’d take the equity out of the shop if need be. The place is paid off, and I could have taken a loan from the bank, except I’ve got a penchant for being a tight ass when it comes to money. I can’t imagine where I got that from. Thank you, Bernie McCoy.
“Yep, I’m too damn tired for this shit. I’m not getting any younger. The shop will be in good working order after this check, and we’re staying steadier now that the other place closed down six months ago.”