Clara didn't wait for an invitation. She walked right past the hydraulic lift, her rubber-soled shoes squeaking against the oil-stained concrete, carrying a heavy stainless-steel pot wrapped in a dish towel.
"I figured out long before you did that you didn't have anything in that fridge besides three cans of flat soda and half a stale loaf of bread, Jackson Vance," Clara said, her voice echoing off the corrugated metal walls. She set the pot down right on the corner of my workbench, shoving a box of spark plugs out of the way to make room. "Vegetable soup. Real beef broth, not that canned salt you buy at the quick-mart."
I stood up, wiping my hands again on the rag. "Clara, you didn't have to do that."
"I know damn well I didn't have to," she snapped, though her eyes were already softening as she looked down at Leo. She crouched right down beside him, completely ignoring the grease that instantly smeared the hem of her apron. "Well, aren't you a serious-looking fellow. What’s your name, sweetheart?"
"Leo," the boy said softly, clutching his metal tower.
"Leo," Clara repeated, nodding approvingly. "Good, strong name. Better than the company he keeps." She threw a sideways glance at me before looking back at Sarah, who was watching from her crate with guarded suspicion. "And you must be Sarah. I'm Clara. I run the diner down the road, and I’ve been keeping an eye on this stubborn mule for ten years, so if he gives you any trouble, you tell me and I'll take a skillet to his head."
Sarah gave a weak, genuine laugh, the first one I'd heard since they walked into the diner. "He hasn't been trouble, Clara. He’s given us a place out of the wind."
"The wind’s the least of it," Clara muttered, standing up and dusting off her knees. She turned to me, her expression turning serious, the neighborhood matriarch taking charge whether I wanted her to or not. "You can't keep a sick woman and a growing boy sleeping on a wool blanket and a cot in the back office, Jax. It's November in the Cascades. The frost is going to bite hard by Tuesday."
"I know that," I said, feeling defensive. "I'm working on it."
"No, you're not. You're hiding in here with your bikes and your silence," Clara said, crossing her arms. "Now listen to me. My sister’s old place down on Maple Street has been empty since August. The landlord’s a cousin of mine, and he’s soft-headed enough to let it go cheap if I lean on him. It’s dry, it’s got a working stove, and it's three blocks from the school."
"I can't take charity, Clara," I said, shaking my head.
"It's not charity, you idiot, it's community," she fired back, stepping right up to my chest and poking a finger against the leather vest over my heart. "You made your bed twenty years ago when you rode out of town without saying goodbye to anyone, but that boy didn't make any choices. He’s here now, and he belongs in a bed with four walls around him."
I looked over at Leo. He was watching us talk with wide, solemn eyes, listening to every word as if our argument was the most important thing in the world. Then I looked at Sarah, whose head was bowed against her knees, her shoulders trembling slightly with exhaustion.
"How much?" I asked quietly.
May you like
Clara’s expression softened, the sharp edges dropping away. "We'll talk about the rent after you feed them that soup. I brought bowls, too. I'm not entirely uncivilized."
She turned and walked back toward the bay doors, stopping just at the threshold to look back at me. "I'll talk to Tom tomorrow morning, Jax. Don't do anything stupid before then."
