The noise. The same one it always makes. The clunk-clunk noise.”
“The clunk-clunk noise?” I frowned and wrote down Doris Applebee, clunk noise. As I did so, Griffin started mouthing something at me.
“Yes. I remember Griffin fixed it for me last time,” Mrs. Applebee said, “but I can’t recall exactly what the problem was. He was so sweet, he didn’t even charge me.”
“I’m sure he can fix it again.”
Griffin was still trying to tell me something, but I frowned at him and held up one finger.
“Mrs. Applebee, could you hold on for just one second, please?”
“Certainly, dear.”
I covered the mouthpiece of the phone and whispered, “What?”
“It’s her bowling ball,” said Griffin wryly, something close to a smile on his face. “She goes bowling with a bunch of old ladies on Tuesday nights and sometimes forgets to take the ball out of the trunk.”
“Seriously?”
He nodded. “I guarantee it.”
I uncovered the mouthpiece. “Mrs. Applebee? Griffin is here, and he wonders if it’s possible you forgot to take your bowling ball out of the trunk?”
In the silence, Griffin’s eyes held mine, and for a second I couldn’t catch my breath.
And then in my ear, “Oh, my stars, that’s right! That’s what the noise was last time! Heavens to Betsy, if my head wasn’t attached to my neck, I’d probably forget that too. That’s what happens when you’re eighty.”
I laughed. “We all forget things sometimes.”
“Well, you tell Griffin I’m going to bring him some nice cookies this week.”
“I will.”
“And make sure he shares them with you. How lovely he’s finally found a bride!”
I glanced up sharply at him. “Um . . .”
“He was my student, you know. Tenth grade English. He sat in the back row and he was always late, but he was always so apologetic about it, I could never be mad at him. Plus, he used to fix my broken pencil sharpener for me all the time. He was so handy!” She laughed. “You’ll appreciate that around the house, I’m sure.”
I thought about correcting her on the whole bride thing, but she was eighty years old and obviously confused, so I didn’t think it would be worth it. “Yes,” I said. “Well, have a nice day.”
“You too, dear. Thank you again.”
I hung up the phone, tossed the note I’d written about the clunk-clunk noise in the trash, and looked over at Griffin. He was back to leaning on the door frame again, arms crossed. “I take it she’s a frequent customer.”
“She is.”
“She says she’s going to bring you some nice cookies this week.”
“She’ll forget.”
I smiled. “She also mentioned tenth grade English class.”
“She was my teacher. Funny how she could probably name every kid in that class from sixteen years ago, but she can’t remember to take her bowling ball out of the trunk.”
I smiled. “For some reason, she thinks we’re married.”
He groaned, his expression pained. “Jesus. I really hope that rumor is not going around.”
“She was probably just confused. She’s eighty, after all.” Taking a deep breath, I put the pen down and tightened my ponytail. “So I was just about to ask you—”
But at the same time, he spoke up too. “Look, I wanted to apologize for—”
We both stopped. Our eyes met, and my heart skipped a beat.
“Sorry,” he said. “What did you want to ask me?”
“Just, um, about lunch. I was going to ask you if you wanted me to go get sandwiches or something?”
“Oh. Sure.” He came off the door frame and moved toward the desk, putting both hands on the counter. “Listen, I’m sorry about earlier. I was pissed about something and I took it out on you.”
“What happened?”
He exhaled. “It’s complicated, but the short version is that first my dad died, and then Swifty Auto happened. We’ve lost a good amount of business to them.”
“Why?”
“They’re cheaper and faster. And they have a fancier lobby. Gourmet coffee and fucking cookies.” He frowned. “But their work is shit. People don’t realize they’re going to have to go back there twice as often, because they’re thinking short-term—they want it done now, for as little money as possible. It’s hard to compete with that.” Pausing, he took a breath. “But that’s not your problem. And I’m sorry my temper got away from me. It sometimes does.”
“Well, I shouldn’t have come back there yelling and pointing my finger. I’m sorry too.” I shrugged. “The truth is, for all I know, car parts do grow on trees.”
He shook his head. “Not for your car, they don’t.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“I’m still checking things out,