pull him towards the Escort.
"Wait," he said. He took a second to calm down and think.
"That's not my car. Come with me."
He picked up his tackle and the fish and led her, still crying, to his lake house.
Samantha’s Story
If Mary didn't drop by the garage with lunch for Victor, the odds were good he wouldn't take the time to eat. She walked into the office at one p.m. and Samantha Davis smiled at her.
"I was thinking you might not come in today. He hasn't even taken a break all morning. I told him I'd get him some KFC, but you know how he is."
Mary certainly knew how he was - their ten years of being married to each other was proof of that. To say that Victor was a hard worker would be a severe understatement. Five days a week, he left their house at 6:30 every morning and drove to Missoula to his "Fix it Right Garage." He did just that for the next ten hours, before returning home to chores around the house and to spend time with her and the kids. On Saturdays, he only worked in the shop until noon.
"Sam, would you set out the lunch? I'll go make the big lug get washed up."
"Sure Mary, he's stubborn today though. He's got a bad one."
A "bad one" was a problem car that didn't want to be fixed. Victor had been in charge of a vehicle shop in the army until he volunteered for Ranger school. If any of his mechanics failed to fix something right the first time, Victor made them stay on the job until they got it right. After Ranger school, he no longer worked on vehicles; he was assigned to do other jobs – things he was never allowed to talk about.
But he never lost his love of being a mechanic, of solving problems and making things work right.
So when a "bad one" appeared in his garage, he tended to obsess over it until he discovered and repaired the problem. Normally, it didn't take long - Victor was very good at diagnosing. He could see in his mind how one part fit into another, how the energy flowed through a machine. He charged less than most shops, but had the best equipment and was the most efficient. He repaired roughly twice as many cars as a normal mechanic. Mary knew he worked hard for her and for the kids - and for himself. She knew how he was.
When she walked into the garage, she didn't see him at first, but she heard a tapping sound behind an older looking SUV. She walked around the side of the vehicle and smiled at the sight of him - seated on a little stool, just staring into the wheel well, tapping parts with a small hammer. It reminded her of how she could test the reflexes of a patient by hitting their knee with a little rubber hammer.
"What so interesting?" she said.
He turned and looked at her in mild surprise. "It's the damnedest thing. I think I figured it out though."
He rose and walked toward her. "Get yourself washed up before you touch me, Grease Monkey," she said. She was wearing her white lab coat over a set of blue scrubs. Above her breast pocket was embroidered, "Mary Hammel, PA-C" and below it, "Physician's Assistant."
He laughed and walked toward the bathroom. As he did, Victor lifted his right hand above his head and inscribed a circle in the air - kind of like a halo. It was their private signal, it meant, "Everything's okay. I love you." Mary went to make sure his lunch was ready.
***
Mary walked back to the break room. "You look great today, Samantha." As expected, she'd set three places at the table. Their break room was spotless and so was the garage - Samantha saw to that.
"I thought I'd let my Indian flag fly." She had her thick dark hair in two braids that were tied with beaded leather thongs she'd made herself. Her long face with its brown eyes and high cheekbones made her heritage obvious. She wore a western shirt and jeans.
Samantha's mother had been Chippewa. Sam’s father was white, but he had abandoned his family before she was even born.
***
Four years ago, when she was fifteen,
"Wait," he said. He took a second to calm down and think.
"That's not my car. Come with me."
He picked up his tackle and the fish and led her, still crying, to his lake house.
Samantha’s Story
If Mary didn't drop by the garage with lunch for Victor, the odds were good he wouldn't take the time to eat. She walked into the office at one p.m. and Samantha Davis smiled at her.
"I was thinking you might not come in today. He hasn't even taken a break all morning. I told him I'd get him some KFC, but you know how he is."
Mary certainly knew how he was - their ten years of being married to each other was proof of that. To say that Victor was a hard worker would be a severe understatement. Five days a week, he left their house at 6:30 every morning and drove to Missoula to his "Fix it Right Garage." He did just that for the next ten hours, before returning home to chores around the house and to spend time with her and the kids. On Saturdays, he only worked in the shop until noon.
"Sam, would you set out the lunch? I'll go make the big lug get washed up."
"Sure Mary, he's stubborn today though. He's got a bad one."
A "bad one" was a problem car that didn't want to be fixed. Victor had been in charge of a vehicle shop in the army until he volunteered for Ranger school. If any of his mechanics failed to fix something right the first time, Victor made them stay on the job until they got it right. After Ranger school, he no longer worked on vehicles; he was assigned to do other jobs – things he was never allowed to talk about.
But he never lost his love of being a mechanic, of solving problems and making things work right.
So when a "bad one" appeared in his garage, he tended to obsess over it until he discovered and repaired the problem. Normally, it didn't take long - Victor was very good at diagnosing. He could see in his mind how one part fit into another, how the energy flowed through a machine. He charged less than most shops, but had the best equipment and was the most efficient. He repaired roughly twice as many cars as a normal mechanic. Mary knew he worked hard for her and for the kids - and for himself. She knew how he was.
When she walked into the garage, she didn't see him at first, but she heard a tapping sound behind an older looking SUV. She walked around the side of the vehicle and smiled at the sight of him - seated on a little stool, just staring into the wheel well, tapping parts with a small hammer. It reminded her of how she could test the reflexes of a patient by hitting their knee with a little rubber hammer.
"What so interesting?" she said.
He turned and looked at her in mild surprise. "It's the damnedest thing. I think I figured it out though."
He rose and walked toward her. "Get yourself washed up before you touch me, Grease Monkey," she said. She was wearing her white lab coat over a set of blue scrubs. Above her breast pocket was embroidered, "Mary Hammel, PA-C" and below it, "Physician's Assistant."
He laughed and walked toward the bathroom. As he did, Victor lifted his right hand above his head and inscribed a circle in the air - kind of like a halo. It was their private signal, it meant, "Everything's okay. I love you." Mary went to make sure his lunch was ready.
***
Mary walked back to the break room. "You look great today, Samantha." As expected, she'd set three places at the table. Their break room was spotless and so was the garage - Samantha saw to that.
"I thought I'd let my Indian flag fly." She had her thick dark hair in two braids that were tied with beaded leather thongs she'd made herself. Her long face with its brown eyes and high cheekbones made her heritage obvious. She wore a western shirt and jeans.
Samantha's mother had been Chippewa. Sam’s father was white, but he had abandoned his family before she was even born.
***
Four years ago, when she was fifteen,
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