I had no idea how ironic his words would become.
The Camaro was parked beside a row of maple trees near Monroe Street.
It was a deep metallic blue, the kind of color that looked almost black when clouds covered the sun and brilliant blue when sunlight touched the bodywork.
It wasn't new.
The car had some age.
But somebody had loved it.
The paint was carefully maintained, the wheels were clean, and the interior appeared far better cared for than most cars of its generation.
A woman stood beside it with her arms folded across her chest.
She wore a red ribbed sweater beneath a dark coat, fitted jeans, and small pearl earrings. Her long brown hair moved in the October wind.
She was looking at her phone with an expression of deep personal disappointment.
When my truck pulled behind the Camaro, she raised her head.
For one strange moment, something inside me shifted.
I couldn't explain it.
There are faces you recognize immediately.
People from school.
Former coworkers.
Neighbors you haven't seen in years.
This wasn't that.
It was more like recognizing the shape of a memory without knowing what the memory contained.
She stepped forward.
“Caleb?”
I climbed from the truck.
“That's me.”
Her eyes searched my face.
For a second, she seemed to forget what she was about to say.
Then she smiled nervously.
“I'm so sorry to make you come out here.”
“Don't worry about it. Let's see what's going on.”
She gestured toward the car.
“It started fine yesterday. This morning I turned the key and nothing happened. I tried again, but I didn't want to make things worse.”
“Smart.”
I looked toward the hood.
“Mind opening it?”
She reached inside the car and pulled the release.
I raised the hood.
Within moments, I noticed a loose battery connection.
The terminal wasn't seated properly.
I checked the surrounding components, then retrieved the appropriate tool.
The problem was simple.
Two minutes of careful work.
But I didn't rush.
I inspected the connection, corrected it, and made certain everything was secure.
The woman watched closely.
“You already know what's wrong?”
“Looks like a loose connection. We'll confirm it.”
She exhaled.
“Oh, thank God.”
I smiled.
“Cars have a talent for picking inconvenient moments.”
She laughed.
“Apparently mine has excellent timing.”
I tightened the connection.
Then asked her to start the engine.
The Camaro came to life.
She gasped.
“Oh!”
I stepped back.
She looked toward me through the open window.
“You fixed it!”
I shrugged.
“Looks that way.”
She climbed out, smiling with genuine relief.