"Grace."
"Kind of."
"That's not an answer."
"I told her yesterday that maybe I'd pick something up for dinner tonight."
"Did she say you could drive?"
"She didn't say no."
Daniel raised an eyebrow.
Grace sighed.
"Okay. She didn't answer."
"So you decided silence meant permission."
"It was supposed to be a surprise."
Daniel tried not to smile.
"For your mother."
"She always comes home exhausted, and half the time she just eats cereal."
Grace looked down.
"I wanted there to be something warm waiting for her."
That erased most of Daniel's irritation.
He understood badly planned kindness.
He had committed plenty of it himself.
"Where's the food?"
Grace's face went blank.
"Oh no."
"What?"
"The soup."
"What about it?"
"It's in the back seat."
Daniel looked through the window.
Two paper bags sat on the rear floor.
"Probably cold."
Grace groaned.
"This night is terrible."
Daniel laughed.
"No. Terrible is an engine replacement."
He returned to the hose.
"This is inconvenient."
"It doesn't feel inconvenient."
"Give it time."
For several minutes, only tools and metal sounds filled the garage.
Daniel replaced the worn clamp rather than simply tightening it.
Then he inspected the hose itself.
Still usable.
He checked the lower hose.
Belts.
Coolant reservoir.
Radiator cap.
Oil.
The oil level was low.
Not dangerously.
But low enough that he made a note.
Grace watched him.
"How long have you done this?"
"Worked on cars?"
"Yeah."
"Since I was younger than you."
"Seriously?"
"My dad had an old Ford pickup that broke constantly."
Daniel smiled faintly.
"He couldn't afford a mechanic."
"So you learned?"
"Eventually."
"You just... figured it out?"
"Mostly by breaking things worse first."
Grace smiled.
"My mom would say that's a terrible learning method."
"Your mom sounds smart."
"She is."
A pause.
Then Grace said, "She's going to kill me."
"Probably not."
"You don't know her."
"She works emergency medicine."
Daniel reached for a ratchet.
"She spends twelve hours keeping strangers alive. I'm guessing she'll make an exception for her daughter."
Grace laughed again.
Then her expression shifted.
"My dad wouldn't."
Daniel stopped working for a second.
He did not look at her immediately.
"What happened with your father?"
Grace picked at the edge of her sleeve.
"He left."
"How long ago?"
"Three years."
Daniel looked toward her.
Same amount of time.
Three years.
"My mom says he wasn't ready to be a husband or a father."
Grace swallowed.
"I think that's a nicer way of saying he found somebody else."
Daniel said nothing.
"He lives in Arizona now."
"Talk much?"
"Birthday text."
Daniel nodded.
"Christmas sometimes."
He returned to the engine.
Grace studied him.
"What about Chloe's mom?"
Daniel's hand stopped.
There were moments when grief did not hurt exactly.
It simply opened a door inside him.
The room behind the door remained unchanged no matter how many years passed.
"She died."
Grace immediately looked horrified.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."
"It's okay."
"No, I—"
"Grace."
She stopped.
"It's okay."
Daniel placed the wrench down.
"Her name was Melissa."
The name still felt warm and impossible in his mouth.
"She got sick."
"Cancer?"
He nodded.
"Three years ago."
Grace looked down.
"I'm really sorry."
"Thank you."