Page 8 of Welded Defender
"Later boys," Nova calls over her shoulder. The door swings shut with a jingle of bells, leaving a vacuum of silence in her wake.
Joon stares at his invoices, his pen tapping once against the counter before going still. His eyes don't lift from the paper. Three years working side by side, and I've heard him sneeze more often than speak. He shifts in his chair, the leather creaking like it's doing the talking for him.
“Joon, do we have any room inside for her car or do we need to wait till morning?” I ask.
“We’re full, but I’ll be done with the Dodge first thing in the morning. There’s room in the lot.”
“Would you mind getting Marcy’s car off the truck and parked while I pull up the paperwork?”
Joon nods. He takes a quick swig of his coffee before grabbing his coat off the back of his chair and heading into the garage.
I look at Marcy. She’s standing in the middle of the waiting area. Her arms wrapped around herself. Eyes wide like she’s ready to bolt any second.
“There’s hot water. You want coffee? Or tea? ” I offer.
She shakes her head. “I’m good.”
I nod and head behind the counter to the computer. I have to push aside a stack of paperwork before I find the keyboard. “Damn it, Nova,” I mutter.
My sister has been trying to fill the role part time as receptionist but organization isn’t her strong point. Neither are numbers or spending much time sitting still. I finally get the ancient PC to boot up and pull up the new client intake forms. The shop feels quieter than usual, like the snow’s pressing in on all sides. When I look up, Marcy’s tracing a finger along the edge of a faded photo tacked to the cork board on the wall.
"Is this your family?" she asks, tapping a faded photograph where five figures stand arm-in-arm on a dock, squinting into summer sun.
I nod, coming up beside her feeling the familiar tug in my chest. "Nova's the only one who shares my DNA. The others just showed up and never left." My finger traces over Joon's serious face, frozen mid-eye-roll as Nova dangles upside-down from Ravi's shoulders.
"Your sister is funny.” That ghost of a smile returns for a split second.
“Nova’s the best. And probably right about me needing supervision.” I run my fingers through my hair as I try to figure out how to approach this next topic. “Do you have somewhere to spend the night? We won’t be able to get to your car until morning.”
I watch her expression shift as my words sink in. “Oh.. right. Of course,” she murmurs. “That makes sense.” She hesitates and then asks. “Is there anywhere I can stay?”
I wince. “That’s the issue. Motel’s closed for the season. Most folks aren’t coming to the ridge in the middle of winter.”
“Is there a bus or—” she bites her lip. “Something?”
"Bus hasn't run since the county cut the budget last spring." I rub the back of my neck, where tension's been building all day. "Closest motel's in Beaumont, and that's..." I glance at the window where snow falls in thick clumps under the yellow streetlight. "Well, you saw the roads.” I hesitate before nodding to the ceiling. “There’s a small apartment upstairs if you want to crash there?—”
“No!” Her response is instant. “No, I’ll find someplace myself.” She pulls up her phone and after a few minutes nods. “There’s a couple Airbnb’s near here. I’ll just book one of those.”
“Are they close?” I ask. The guy at the bar still lingers in the back of my mind. Her fear of him was tangible. The last thing I want is for her to get caught up in something.
She nods. “Looks like there’s one up the street. I’ll just book there.”
"You sure?" I ask. "If you don't like the idea of upstairs, I live outside of town with a couple friends. We have a big couch if you want?—"
"I'm good." She types on her phone, her thumb hovering a beat too long before tapping the screen. "All set." She looks up, her smile tight at the corners, eyes darting to the door then back to me.
I rub my jaw, words forming and dissolving on my tongue. Joon comes back in, keys jangling, and Marcy's shoulders drop an inch. We finish her paperwork in silence broken only by the scratch of her pen against carbon copies.
The snow falls in lazy spirals by the time we step outside, fat flakes catching in the yellow glow of the streetlight. Joon raises two fingers in a silent goodbye before trudging up the street, his shoulders hunched against the cold. Marcy and I linger beneath the shop's awning, our breath clouding between us.
My keys jangle in my palm. "My truck's around back if you need?—"
"I can walk." Marcy's knuckles whiten around her phone. "It's close." She adjusts her purse strap, the zipper catching on her coat. "Thanks for everything, Landon."
She steps into the snow, her boots leaving perfect prints in the fresh powder. At the edge of the light, she glances down at her screen, its blue glow illuminating her face for one moment before she rounds the corner and disappears from sight.
I resist the urge to go after her, to make sure she gets to the Airbnb safely.She doesn’t want your help with this, I remind myself. So I get into my truck and force myself to drive in the opposite direction.
