1
I grabbed a rag from the hook and wiped the grease from my hands on the grubby scrap of fabric. With the back of my forearm, I swept the sweat from my brow to keep it from running into my eyes and stinging. The doors to the garage were open and letting in a little breeze, but in the summer heat, it wasn’t doing much to cool the place down.
I looked up at the clock on the wall; just above the tattered calendar featuring Miss March that one of my dad’s employees had put up years ago and never taken down. Apparently, everyone had been so pleased with Miss March’s appearance that they were content to let her reside at Dawson Brother’s Garage for the last ten years. It was ten ’til five and still, there were three cars in the bays and I knew I wouldn’t be getting out of there for hours. My
