Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 49348 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 247(@200wpm)___ 197(@250wpm)___ 164(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49348 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 247(@200wpm)___ 197(@250wpm)___ 164(@300wpm)
“I’m heading in. I’ll give you a few minutes to get your head on straight. I can still remember the day I met your grandmother. I told her I was going to marry her one day. She didn’t believe me, made me work for her attention. Knocking on her dad’s door was the scariest damn thing of my life. It was all worth it.” I’ve heard the story a thousand times, and I’ll hear it a thousand more. Some might get annoyed or tired of it. Not me. It’s a memory I want to hand down to my children one day, reminiscing about the days I sat on the floor as a kid, listening to all the stories, Grams doing needlepoint while Gramps talked. She’d interject when the story wasn’t told right, they’d get into a spat, and we’d all laugh. Mom included.
“Appreciate it. I won’t be too long.” Gramps grabs the door handle. Now that I’ve got my finger off the lock button, it opens easily. He uses the oh-shit handle to swing his legs out first. The years are getting harder on his body. The bigger truck he used to drive has been downgraded to something a bit smaller yet still works for his long legs. I made sure of it when we went to the car dealership, and it wasn’t me who persuaded him either. He called me and told me to take a ride with him. Gramps drove, and I listened to what he had to say even when I stated a hip replacement would put most of his problems to bed. An old fall from his escapades of being on a ladder without anyone there to watch over him. It’s something the doctors say eventually he’ll need to have surgery for. He wouldn’t hear of it. He was done with hospitals, only went to his doctors because I scheduled his appointment, and if he didn’t show up, I was notified right away.
“Take your time, but the next time, I’m bringing my truck. Either that, or I’m going to need a damn step stool.” He gives me grief anytime he can. It keeps him youthful. My truck isn’t jacked up or on big tires, and it damn sure isn’t squatted like some of the kids have running around these days. It’s a diesel, bigger than most trucks, and comes with a different suspension kit. There are running boards that slide out when you open the door, but Gramps refuses to use them. Stubborn old goat.
“I’ll run to the store later to get you a squatty potty, too.” He turns around, gives me a look I was once scared of when I was a snot-nosed teenager. Now I just smile.
“You do that, and I’ll put laxatives in the next dinner I cook you.”
“Fine, have it your way. A walker instead.” He shakes his head, grumbles under his breath, calling me a dickhead, and I laugh at his antics. It’s not until he shuts the passenger door that I close my eyes, the back of my head meets the headrest, and I think about everything Carsynn. How I’m going to convince her to give me some kind of a chance, though with the pretty blush and the small looks I caught, that may not take too much. The one factor that concerns me is I’m her landlord. I’m hoping she’ll be okay with it, and if she’s not, I’ll sign the damn lease over to Gramps’ name, allowing him to handle it from here on out. Then there’s getting the bay started and ordering the new tow truck. Those two items will be the easiest: a few phone calls, a hefty bill to pay, then it’ll get sorted. I don’t expect the new bay to be finished until spring. The weather is expected to turn worse tonight and into tomorrow. Which reminds me, when I take Gramps home, I need to chop some wood, or he’ll be without heat if the power goes out. Another reason I wish he’d have moved in with me or into the apartment, though I guess it’s a good thing now he didn’t, or Carsynn would be out of a place to live. Still, the generator only runs my house. Fuck, I should have added the apartment to it, but when I built the place, it was for family. I didn’t think I’d be renting it out, and Gramps could always walk the few hundred feet to my place if it got too bad.
I open my eyes. There’s no use sitting in my truck worrying about shit I need to get done. Now is the time to get started on my to-do list. I’d like to get my head back under the hood instead of under a car to hook up and haul off. My head finally on straight, I take the keys out of the ignition and follow my grandfather inside. I’m sure the bookkeeping is a damn nightmare. He’ll help me get caught back up and cuss me up a storm that I need to hire help. When he owned the place, Grams or my mom would help keep the shop stocked, the bills paid, and would work the front desk. Sometimes they’d call when a mechanic was too busy or didn’t have the balls enough to tell the customer they needed this or that and it would cost so much. It’s the one job I haven’t found the right candidate for. The thought gives me hives even now. So, for now, I’ll bide my time until I can’t take it anymore or until Gramps quits coming in every few weeks to give me a hand. I already know who he’ll suggest should I bring it up and, hell, maybe this time he’s right. It’s also another way to tie Carsynn to me. That’s right, the thirty-two-year-old Gabe McCoy has plans, one that includes the pretty waitress being mine in every way possible—my wife, the mother of my children, and working right alongside me. Exactly where she belongs.