“He yelled at me for forgetting safety glasses.”
Her mouth twitched.
“Good.”
“Can I keep going?”
She stared at him.
Finally:
“One month.”
Caleb smiled.
“One month.”
“I meet Rourke.”
His smile disappeared.
“That’s unnecessary.”
“Then you don't go.”
Caleb groaned.
She smiled.
“That sounded like an adult problem.”
Saturday arrived.
Caleb spent the entire morning dreading noon.
His mother pulled into the Iron Ridge parking lot at twelve fifteen.
Rourke saw the car.
Caleb saw his face change.
“You okay?”
“That’s my mom.”
Rourke wiped his hands on a rag.
“So?”
“She wants to meet you.”
Rourke froze.
Mason looked up from across the garage.
“Oh, this is going to be excellent.”
Rourke glared.
“Disappear.”
“No chance.”
Caleb’s mother entered.
Her name was Elena Mercer.
Forty-four.
Emergency-room nurse.
Five-foot-six.
Not physically imposing.
Rourke looked more nervous facing her than he had facing a fuel leak.
“Elena.”
She stopped.
“You remember me.”
“Yes.”
“I wish I could say the same fondly.”
Rourke nodded.
Fair.
Caleb stepped between them awkwardly.
“Mom, this is Rourke.”
“I know.”
Rourke held out his hand.
She looked at it.
Then at him.
He lowered it.
Mason pretended to organize tools nearby.
Elena noticed.
“You can stop listening from ten feet away.”
Mason froze.
Caleb covered his mouth.
Rourke almost laughed.
Elena pointed toward the office.
“Private.”
Rourke obeyed.
Caleb started following.
His mother turned.
“Not you.”
“What?”
“Private.”
“Mom.”
“Work.”
Rourke looked at Caleb.
“She's scarier than your father.”
Elena heard.
“Office.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The door closed.
Caleb spent thirty minutes pretending not to wonder what they were saying.
When it opened, Rourke came out first.
His face looked tired.
Elena followed.
She looked at Caleb.
“One month.”
Relief flooded him.
Rourke said:
“He stays in school.”
“I know.”
“No riding customer bikes.”
“Obviously.”
“No club business.”
Rourke’s face hardened.
“There is no club business here anymore.”
Elena stared.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes.”
“If he gets dragged into anything related to your past—”
“He won't.”
“If anyone from those days appears—”
“They won't.”
“You can't know that.”
Rourke stopped.
She was right.
“I’ll call you.”
Elena nodded.
Then she looked around.
The old workbench caught her attention.
Her face changed.
She walked toward it.
Caleb followed.
She touched the carved initials.
DM.
“Oh.”
That one sound contained twenty years.
Rourke stayed back.
Elena traced the letters.
“He carved these the first week he worked here.”
Rourke blinked.
“You knew?”
“He came home with a splinter and complained for an hour.”
Caleb smiled.
She laughed softly.