Hayes. Avery straightened up from the Silverado and grabbed the shop rag from her back pocket. You're in for the scheduled service on the truck. That's right. He looked toward the office.
Darius around. He's in the office. I can get him or I can go ahead and get you checked in. Your truck's oil change and tire rotation is already on the schedule and we've got your bay ready. Richard looked at her for a beat.
Not rudely, just assessing. You the new hire? Yes, sir. Avery Brooks. Been here three weeks.
Where'd you work before? Restoration shop in Birmingham. Before that, dealership service in Nashville. He nodded slowly. What did you work on in Birmingham?
Primarily American muscle. Classic restorations. We did some European work, too. Had a client with a collection of vintage Italian sports cars that kept us busy. That landed.
She could see it. The mention of the Italian cars shifted something in his face. Curiosity overriding the initial resistance. What kind of Italian cars? He had two Ferraris, a 1967 275 GTB and a 1973 Dino 246.
Also, a 1968 Alfa Romeo Spider. The dyno was the most interesting gearbox had been rebuilt incorrectly sometime in the '90s, and whoever did it had gotten creative with the synchros in a way that made it technically functional, but just slightly wrong in a way the owner had been chasing for 15 years. Richard stared at her. You fixed it. It took me 2 weeks, but yes, sir.
Another beat. Then Richard Hayes did something she hadn't expected. He laughed a real laugh, surprised out of him. You know what a 1973 Dino is? I know what it feels like when the synchros are wrong, she said.
Ask me anything. He didn't ask her anything. What he did was toss her his keys. Go ahead and take it back, he said. Tell me what you find.
Avery caught the keys and walked toward the lot. She was almost to the door when she heard Richard tell the empty shop in a tone that was equal parts admission and grudging approval. All right, then. She didn't let herself smile until she was outside. It was a small victory.
She had learned over eight years in this industry to bank small victories carefully because you never knew when you'd need them. That afternoon brought a victory of a different kind, and she didn't see it coming. She was wrapping up the documentation on the Silverado when Lily appeared in the bay entrance. It was a Wednesday, which she had already learned meant Lily at the shop. The girl had established a pattern.
Arrive, eat, do homework, spend 30 minutes watching the shop floor with the serious attention of a foreman conducting an inspection. She had very specific ideas about how things should operate. Avery had the impression she'd inherited the gene from both sides. "My dad said, "You were fast at figuring out the flex plate thing," Lily said, leaning against the bay wall with her arms crossed. Avery looked up from the clipboard.
He told you about that. He tells me about good work. He says you have to teach people to notice good work or they'll only notice mistakes. Avery was quiet for a moment. That's a smart thing to teach someone, she said.
Lily shrugged like it was obvious which in her world it apparently was. Can I ask you something? Sure. Do you like working here? The question was more direct than most adults would manage.
Avery answered it the same way. Yeah, she said. I do. Is it because of the work or because of my dad? The shop was not quiet this time.
Terrence was running an air gun in bay 3 and Deshaawn had the radio up in the back lot, so no one heard it except Avery, which was fortunate because she needed approximately four full seconds before she trusted herself to answer. The work, she said carefully. I've been looking for a shop like this for a while. Good equipment, good reputation, real work. Your grandfather built something solid here.
Lily looked at her with the calm, patient eyes of someone who had asked the question she meant to ask and heard an answer that addressed a different question. Okay, Lily said. She pushed off the wall and went back to the breakroom. Avery stood very still for a moment. Then she picked up the clipboard and went back to work.
It was late in the day, close to closing, when Darius came by to check the Silverado paperwork. He stood beside her at the bay entrance going through the work order. And for a while, neither of them said anything because the paperwork was self-explanatory, and they were both separately and for entirely different stated reasons looking at the paperwork. Richard seemed happy, Darius said fine. Finally, without looking up from the clipboard.
He gave me the keys voluntarily. Avery said that felt like progress for Richard. That's a standing ovation. She almost laughed. It came out as a sharp exhale, the kind that happens when you're not ready for something to be funny.
Darius glanced at her sideways. She looked away. He handed back the clipboard. Good work today. He said it was a simple thing.
He said it the same way he said it to Terrence, to Deshawn, to any of them. Straightforward, professional. No more or less weight than it deserved. She had heard him say it to other people many times in 3 weeks. It felt different when it was directed at her, and she wished very much that it didn't.
"Thanks," she said. He walked away. She waited until he was back in his office. Then she said very quietly to no one, "Get it together, Avery. " The Silverado did not respond. The real test came in week five in a form she hadn't anticipated.
She had been expecting it to come from a customer from someone like Richard on a bad day. Someone who didn't give her keys voluntarily. She had been expecting it to come from outside the shop the way it usually did in her experience. She had not expected it to come from within. There was a mechanic who came in for a short-term contract job in Darius's third week after the staffing shortage.
A man named Gary somewhere in his late 40s who had worked at a large dealership across town and who carried himself with the specific confidence of someone accustomed to being the most experienced person in the room. He was a solid tech. Darius had hired him to cover a backlog of jobs while he figured out the long-term roster. Gary was not hostile. He was something more subtle and in some ways more exhausting than hostile.