He moved with the easy, unhurried confidences of a man who knew what he was doing and didn't need to prove it. Dark skin, short beard touched with a little gray at the jaw, eyes that caught the early light and did something she wasn't expecting. They went straight to her, not to the car first, not to assess the situation, not to run through some diagnostic protocol. He looked at her first. Morning, he said.
His voice was unhurried, deep. The kind of voice that had probably talked a lot of frightened people down from a lot of ledges without ever meaning to. "You all right? " Victoria opened her mouth. What came out was not the ospon she'd rehearsed in her head during the 20 minutes she'd been sitting on her bumper. She'd had a whole thing worked out.
Confused expression. Something about the engine making a sound and then just stopping. Maybe a nervous laugh. What came out instead was I honestly don't know. He blinked.
She blinked. I mean, she started the car. The car stopped. I was driving and then it just she gestured vaguely at the open hood. I don't really know what I'm looking at.
He studied her for a moment. Something in his expression shifted. Not suspicion. Exactly. More like he was recalibrating.
The way smart people do when the data they're getting doesn't quite line up with what they expected. "Okay," he said. "Let me take a look. " He walked to the front of the car and stood over the engine. His hands went to work immediately, methodical, practiced. He checked the obvious things first without narrating them.
She watched him and felt absurdly like she was in trouble for something she hadn't done yet. "When it stop? " he asked without looking up. About 20 minutes ago. It throw any lights? Check engine temperature warning?
Anything? No. He looked up at her then. Brief assessing. You come far Atlanta, she said.
He nodded slowly, looked back at the engine, moved to the battery connections, checked the coolant reservoir, did something to what she thought might be the alternator. She genuinely did not know. When's the last time you had this serviced? 2 months ago. Another look, this one slightly longer.
It's a 2009, she added for reasons she wasn't entirely sure of. I can see that, he said. There was something in his voice, not unkind. Ry maybe, like he was trying not to smile and mostly succeeding. Battery connections are clean.
Coolant's good. She's got oil. He stood up straight and looked at her directly. You sure it just stopped. Or did it?
Maybe. He paused, choosing his words. Need to stop for a while. Victoria felt heat climb her neck. I'm sorry.
He looked at her the way a person looks at something when they're deciding how honest to be about what they're seeing. Then he looked back at the engine. Then he looked at her again. Nothing, he said. I've got some tools in the truck.
Let me run a diagnostic. He turned back to his truck and she watched him go and she thought he knows. He absolutely did not know. He couldn't know. But something about the way he'd looked at her unhurried, unimpressed, entirely without the difference she was used to had made her feel for one unnerving second like she was standing in front of someone who could see through walls.
She crossed her arms over her chest and watched the sunrise and told herself to get it together. His name, she learned, was Marcus Carter. He told her that while he was under the hood, not as introduction, but as answer she'd asked, trying to fill the silence, and he'd answered without ceremony, the way people answer questions that don't require performance. Marcus Carter, he said, I run a shop about 4 miles east. Carter's Auto, Victoria, she said, and caught herself before the last name.
Wells. The alias came out smooth as water. She'd practiced that much at least. Victoria Wells, he repeated. You visiting somebody out here.
Or just driving. Just driving, she said. I needed. She stopped. Started again.
I needed to get out of the city for a few days. He didn't push it. He didn't feel the silence with the reflexive small talk she was used to from people who were nervous around her. He just went back to the engine. That silence didn't feel empty.
She noticed. It felt like he'd made room for her to say as much or as little as she wanted and had no particular investment in which she chose. She wasn't used to that. You find anything? She asked after a moment.
Working on it. A pause. Where are you staying? You got somewhere to be? Mil Haven.
The Birchwood Inn. Susan Greer's place. Good choice. He glanced at her sideways. She does those peon waffles on Saturday mornings.
You timed it right. Victoria almost smiled. Almost. How long do you think? Could be quick.
Could be. I need to get her back to the shop and look harder. He straightened up again and wiped his hands on a cloth he'd pulled from his back pocket. Best I don't promise you something I can't keep. She looked at him.
The way he'd said that best, I don't promise you something I can't keep. Was so plain and so unbothered that it lodged somewhere in her chest like a splinter. Her last three relationships had been with men who promised her everything and kept almost none of it. That's fair, she said. You want to ride back with me?
It's early. The shop won't be open yet, but I got coffee. He pulled out his keys. Or I can call you a cab if you'd rather wait. She looked at the old Honda.