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... spittle flying from her livid mouth, "I mean it, just shut the hell up right now, or we're going to the river so I can drown you in it! God dammit, you are so impossible!" My mission accomplished, I shut up, looking out the side window and pretending to pout so she wouldn't see me trying not to laugh. Just over ten minutes later, we pulled off Welland Avenue and drove around the business fronting the street to the rear lot where another establishment, a moderately sized, gray industrial building stood. We came to a stop in front of its large garage door between a big, deep red pickup truck hitched to a long travel trailer on Mom's side and a shiny, black Harley Davidson on mine. A sign to the right of the garage door and in front of the bike stated that this was indeed Wheeling Auto Service and a man door to the right of that displayed another sign in its window that read 'closed'. "I think they're closed," I offered in a small, carefully innocent voice. She looked at me, her expression hinting that something bad might happen to me if they really were before tersely instructing, "Stay here." Wisely leaving the engine running, she got out and slammed the door, walking around the front of it in the gathering gloom to the man door. The look of relief on her face was plain as day when she tried the knob and found it unlocked. She went in, and after a moment I expelled a slightly bored sigh, turning on the radio to catch Adele in the first thirty seconds of Rolling in the Deep. ...

... Before she could finish the song, the big door in front of me began rolling up with a heavy, clattering roar to reveal a rather large man dressed in dirty jeans and a Harley Davidson T shirt. When I say 'large', I don't mean fat, rather the undefined muscular type. He was easily over six feet tall with big hands. He looked to be in his late thirties, maybe early forties, with a face that was neither ugly, nor attractive under an intact hairline of dark brown. If this was Dave, he was nothing like the men that graced the cover of Mom's trash novels, but this isn't to say that he had no appeal. I didn't realize I was staring until he looked directly at me, holding my eyes while he paused there, the door rolling the rest of the way up of its own volition. With the hint of a smile, he broke eye contact first and started forward, moving for the driver's side of Mom's shiny red piece of shit. For some reason, I wanted to quickly reach over and lock the door, somehow impressed with, but almost frightened of him at the same time. Of course, I didn't. Instead, I cleared my throat and wondered at Mom's choice of mechanic as he reached the side of the car, opened the door and got in beside me. He filled the driver's portion of the small car, the vehicle shaking quite noticeably as his weight settled and, right away, the manly smell of sweat and unidentified automotive dirt filled its confines. I was still gawking, and when he looked at me, I couldn't help but smile with a curious mix of ...