***
“Baby girl, I’m going to need you to get away from the car and take a shower. Or we’re going to be late.”
Elena called out, standing at the threshold of my garage where I had spent most of my morning with my Father and part of the afternoon after returning from lunch. Working on my current project with him had been nostalgic, to say the least, bringing back memories of my childhood and teen years.
Working on cars with him had been a welcome hobby that had stuck as we talked about everything and anything, growing even closer after their divorce. It had been a way for me to vent my feelings silently, to use my anger at him and my mother in the perfect way. He was always there, always ready to listen and hold me close through it. But sometimes, the smell of motor oil and sounds of tool
