Not by text. Please.
I looked toward the stairs.
Lily was asleep.
The house was quiet.
A framed photograph of Hannah stood beside the living room lamp.
For a moment, I felt torn between two different versions of my life.
The man I had become.
And the boy I had once been.
Then I wrote:
Come to the garage tomorrow afternoon.
Mara answered immediately.
I'll be there.
I placed the phone down.
Then sat quietly for a long time.
The past was coming back.
And this time, I had no intention of letting it disappear without an explanation.
Friday arrived cold and clear.
I spent most of the morning pretending to work.
Marcus noticed before ten.
He watched me remove a perfectly good socket from a drawer, stare at it, then put it back in the wrong compartment.
“Caleb.”
I looked up.
“What?”
He leaned against the workbench.
“Are you waiting for somebody?”
“No.”
He raised an eyebrow.
I sighed.
“Maybe.”
“The coffee lady?”
I gave him a look.
He grinned.
“Thought so.”
I returned to the Mustang.
Marcus watched me for another moment.
Then his expression softened.
“Everything okay?”
I considered lying.
Then shook my head.
“Not really.”
He straightened.
“Something serious?”
I looked toward the garage entrance.
“She knew me when I was a kid.”
Marcus frowned.
“How well?”
I swallowed.
“Better than I realized.”
He waited.
I took a breath.
“We spent a summer together at my grandmother's house. She disappeared. I never heard from her again.”
Marcus was quiet.
Then asked, “And now she's back?”
“Yeah.”
“After twenty-four years?”
I nodded.
He whistled softly.
“That's a long time.”
I stared at the engine.
“Tell me about it.”
Marcus studied my expression.