My heart skips. “I said I’m not going anywhere.”
His voice is uncharacteristically excited. “That’s good, because I think you’re going to want to see this.”
I smile. Anything Dax wants to show me, I want to see.
I sneak downstairs and out the door before my parents can even know I’m gone. Dax only says “hey” when I get inside the car, his eyes running the length of my body, catching on my bare thighs beneath my frayed denim skirt. He’s done that every time, but this time, it’s even more noticeable as I grab hold of the handle and hoist myself in.
“What?” I ask him.
“Nothing,” he says, pulling out of my driveway. But it’s definitely something weighing on his mind. The ride to wherever we’re going is quiet, almost icy. He makes a series of turns that get us to the center of town, but keeps driving once we hit Murphy’s on Main Street. We end up almost near the interstate.
I can tell he’s fidgety, maybe even nervous about wherever it is that he’s taking me.
Where the hell are we going?
Without warning, he hooks a right and pulls into a large parking lot. There’s a large, gleaming white building there, but the windows are boarded up. The lawn in the front is overgrown, and the sign on the front is covered with graffiti. He pulls into the first parking spot and cuts the engine. “What do you think of it?”
“Uh. Wow. It’s a lovely abandoned building in the middle of nowhere. Why are we here?” I ask him, sliding off my seatbelt and pushing open the door.
He grins. “Come on.”
I join him on the sidewalk in front of the building and it’s then that I notice the Available sign in one of the windows. Suddenly it hits me. I whirl around to look at him.
Dax starts talking. “The guy who built this place misjudged how much space he was going to need to house his automotive business. Upkeep killed him. He was looking for something a lot smaller,” he says, kicking the curb with the toe of his boot. “And it just so happens that I’m looking for something bigger to house my business.”
It sounds almost too good to be true. “You’re going to buy this place? But how?”
“I’m tossing the idea around. My mom put money in trust for us before she died. Money she wouldn’t let my dad touch. A lawyer contacted me last month and told me how much it was, and I nearly fell off my chair, Katydid. Sixty-thousand dollars.”
My jaw drops.
“I’m sending Vincent to college with half of it. But the other half is going to be my down payment,” he says. “At least, that’s where my head is right now. I’m putting the offer in today. You’re the first person to hear it, so let me have it. What do you think? Stupid?”
He takes my hand and guides me through the broken parking lot, toward the arched entrance. The building is probably three times the size of Harding’s garage, and even boarded up, in much better condition. I shake my head. “No, not even remotely stupid. More like perfect.”
He rubs the back of his neck anxiously as he leads me to the side, where there are six garage bays. One of the garage doors is slightly open. “My dad would say stupid.”
“This isn’t your dad’s money,” I tell him. “It’s yours.”
“It’s my brothers’ too. I want to do right by them. I think they’ll be into this. And besides, I have to move on with my life. You know, be a real adult and shit.” He grins at me, and his grip on my hand tightens. “Embrace change.”
I stare at him, hardly daring to believe what he’s saying. “Really?”
He tries to lift the half-open garage door, but it seems permanently stuck in place. He bows in half and ducks underneath, motioning me to follow. When I do, we’re in an enormous garage that easily dwarves his old one. Despite being abandoned, it’s already cleaner and brighter, too. The walls are painted white and a covered with framed photographs of fancy sports cars. He guides me over some equipment and into an office and waiting room area that’s already full equipped with all the necessary furniture. Sure, it’s musty and covered in layers of dust right now, but I have no trouble picturing him at the front desk, or working on cars here. I have no trouble seeing the waiting room full of customers.
“Come with me. I haven’t showed you the best part,” he says, his voice echoing slightly in the space.
He leads me out of that area to a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY. When he opens it, he flips on the lights and I find that we’re in a little apartment. I walk down the narrow hall, peering at the kitchen with the gas stove, the small bathroom with the outdated pink tile, and a small living room with a misshapen, rust-colored couch, and something sticks in my brain.