A Fresh Start

Tasha

I need a fresh start. I never expected I would be starting over at thirty-nine years old. But all my expectations of how my life would go have been flipped on their head, then spun around, and shaken not stirred.

“Come here, baby,” I called to Julia. She reluctantly pulls herself off the couch and away from her glowing iPad screen. I never let her watch that thing, but I’m trying to give both of us grace after the year we’ve had.

“What is it mama?” she asks as she shoves her hands in her pockets. She loves that dress because it has pockets. 

“We’re going to try something. Let’s spin the globe around, close our eyes, and see where our fingers land. What do you think about a little adventure?”

“Oh, goodie!” she clapped. She liked this idea.

“Okay, put your finger down, and… spin!” I tried to sound excited, even though I was begrudgingly trying to make the best out of a bad situation.

“Stop!” Julia yelled, louder than necessary.

“Let’s see here… okay… Vermont.” Well, that is certainly unexpected.

“What is a Vermont?” she asked quizzically.

“Vermont is a state, baby love. Looks like it’s where we’re headed. And guess what babe? They have snow there.” Arkansas to Vermont; not what I would have planned or even guessed in my wildest dreams. 

“Yay! Can we build a snowman?”

“Of course, we can, we can even build a snow kitty and a snow family.” The words came out before I realized what I was saying, and reminded me how things had changed.

We pull into Saint Braver and the first thing I notice is that cars don’t drive so much as meander down the street here. It’s a sleepy town, but quaint. Red brick buildings line the street and are filled with small town favorites: bookstores, coffee shops, boutiques filled with homemade soaps and lotions. As I arrive on Main Street, I turn into a gas station on the corner. I need gas and I know the words that are going to come from the backseat in moments.

“Mommy, let’s go inside! Can I get candy? Maybe they have toys in there!” She says with hopeful anticipation of my answer.

“Okay, precious one. It’s been a long, long drive. And you’ve been such a patient co-pilot. Let’s go.” I surprise even myself with my willingness to indulge her.

We step into the gas station, and it certainly isn’t like any gas station I’ve been to before. It is like a chalet. They are really dedicated to the ski resort concept here, but it’s idyllic, even with the auto repair shop attached. I’m half expecting to find a hot buttered rum machine replacing the icee machines I’m used to, when Julia comes around the corner with a toy hot air balloon with a bear inside. She found the toys. Record time.

“Mommy, can I please? Can I have it? Look at the cute bear! It’s so special to me!” She’s going to make an excellent salesperson one day. Until then, I pick my battles.

“Sure, Jules. Put it up on the counter.” 

            “Anything else?” The salesman asks as he discernably rolls his eyes at our loot. 

            “That’s all for us. We’re just arriving to Saint Braver. Moving here, actually.” I feel immediate consternation for information I am freely offering. I try not to evaporate from embarrassment. I sound like my mother. Too much information. Nobody needs to know this. Especially not the mechanic at my first stop in town. Stop talking, Tasha. 

“Anyway, that’s all. Thanks.” Let’s get out of here.

Milo

Another divorcee. Another woman trying to escape her past. I’ve seen it before: bitter divorce and/or custody battle leads to the desire for a “fresh start” and a quaint New England town is the perfect place. Here she is, indulging every whim of her child. If I had a penny for every one of these “made in china” trinkets I’ve sold, I would be able to drive a Porsche instead of fixing them. I try not to make my disdain as apparent as it feels. I have work to do and this woman makes no difference to me. In fact, the specifics of her move are absolutely trivial. 

“Thanks and have a great day.” I sigh as they walk out the door. The ding on the door is a relief. I walk into the shop and look at my job sheet of the day. Oil change, break change, drive belt replacement, transmission repair… typical day. I shouldn’t be here too late tonight. I walk to The Roasted Bean around the corner for a cup of black coffee before I get back to work. 

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Tasha

            We’ve been in Saint Braver for a few weeks when we start to feel settled and get the lay of the land. Jules is enrolled in school, and I’ve found a few job listings that aren’t positively depressing. She and I have worked together to make our rental house homier. Mostly we bought plants and set up the few countertop decorations we brought from home. But this is home now. At least for now.

            Tomorrow Julia starts first grade and I have a job interview for a “front desk agent” at Skier’s Cottage on the mountain. Jules still isn’t sleeping in her room, but I don’t mind sharing my bed with her. It makes me feel less alone when I hear her deep breaths as I fall asleep.

            “Wake up, sleepy!” I sing-song to Julia as the sunlight creeps through the dusty curtains in our rental house. She gets up and at ‘em fairly quickly and I walk her into school. She does well with drop off especially considering all the changes she’s endured. She takes them each with grace. “Children are so resilient,” they say. I’ve heard it countless times and it rings in my ears this morning. After I was told it so many times, I began to have a physical reaction to it. My teeth grit and my jaw grinds. It’s another way for well-meaning friends to say, “she’ll be fine.” But to me, she isn’t fine right now.

            After dropping Julia at school, I make my way down the frosty road to Skier’s Cottage. I’m rounding the curve just past the rent house when I hit a curb and pop a tire. 

            “Shit!” I yell to no one in particular. I pull over quickly and look. 

            “It’s popped to oblivion,” again, to no one. My breath catches in my throat, and I feel a big knot. Now is not the time to lose your cool, Tasha. Keep it together. But I’ve been keeping it together for four hundred and three days. Without realizing I’ve let go, I feel a tear escape down my cheek. I pull my phone out and look through my murky eyes and do a quick google search. The first mechanic that pops up is the gas station on Main Street.

Milo

            “Main Street mechanic, this is Milo.” I answer.

            “Um, hi. I’ve popped a tire and I need some help. This is Tasha Nicholson, I’m new in town,” a woman shakily says.

            “Okay. I’ll get the tow truck and be there as quickly as I can. Where are you?” I remember her, but I don’t let on. 

            “At the corner of Pine and Club. I have a job interview to get to.” She sounds less shaky, and more demanding now.

            “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Just to teach her a lesson I take my time finishing my cup of coffee. I can’t stand an entitled woman.

            I pull up to the car and Tasha is inside. I knock on the window, and she starts. Jumpy one. She had been staring down at her phone. Check; another expectation marked off my list. Probably on tinder.

            “Hop in the tow truck and I’ll give you a ride. My shop is out of rental cars so you won’t be able to make it to your job interview today.” I tell her with my best monotonality. I could see her eyes were bloodshot and cheeks were red, every woman’s tell for she’s-just-finished-crying.

            “I already called and canceled. Thanks.” She responds with her own carefully curated monotone.

            I hook up the car and hit the crank as Tasha climbs in the front seat. I can see her shivering and rubbing her hands against her arms through the back window. I roll my eyes without even realizing I am doing it. Not everyone can handle the cold. In fact, a lot of people think they can, and then realize it’s simply too much for them. It isn’t even that cold yet. Hold on to your hat sister, I think. I smirk at my own mirth. 

            As soon as the car is on the back of the truck, I pull myself into the driver’s seat. I can feel her eyes on me and I’m hoping she won’t want to make conversation, but we both know better. 

            “You said your shop,” she says.

            “Yep,” I say. I’m not going to freely offer anything to this woman. 

            “Do you own it?” She prods.

            “I do,” I feel myself prickling. “I’m not just a high school dropout mechanic like most people think. I own the shop. I own the gas station. I own this tow truck. I own the rental cars. All of it.”

            “Oh wow, that’s amazing,” she says. I feel myself softening in response to her tone. She doesn’t sound surprised but intrigued.

            “Most people don’t realize I own it. But I worked my way up. I worked for Mr. Williams who owned the shop before me. When he retired, I bought it from him.” I shared more than I intended.

            “How did you end up here? I know you’re new, but don’t know anything else about you. Are you recently divorced?” I don’t mean to assume but, my assumptions are almost always correct.

            A sound escapes her lips and it’s a sigh but almost a laugh and I find myself wondering where this is going. I’m never surprised and now I’m paying attention.

            “Oh goodness, no, not divorced. I wish I was divorced. My husband unfortunately passed away a little over a year ago. It was very tragic and my daughter and I needed a fresh start. We spun a globe, and this is where our fingers landed. That might sound silly but it’s true.” She seemed demure in freely offering so much information.

            “I’m so sorry for your loss.” I said, and I meant it.

Tasha

            I shared more than I intended but less than I could have. I wasn’t ready to share with this man, this stranger, the tragedy that had ripped my daughter’s world in half. I was surprised that Milo was the owner of the gas station and not “just a mechanic,” as he put it. I didn’t know his name because he told me, but because it was embroidered on his shirt. 

            He asked me for my address and thankfully took me home, instead of dropping me off at the gas station. It felt like kindness, in his own way. I brewed a cup of tea and warmed my feet by the fire before I had to pick up Julia from school. Oh no. Picking up Julia from school.

            “Ping!” my phone sounded as if on cue. A text message from an unknown number came through.

            “It’s Milo. I’ll text you when your car is ready. Let me know if you need anything while you wait. Seriously- I’m here to help. And I’m sorry I assumed you were divorced. That was wrong of me.”

            “Hi Milo, thanks for your message. You actually messaged me right on time. I just remembered I have to pick my daughter up from school in two hours. Is there any way you could help me out?”

            “For sure. See you soon.”

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LOCAL MAN KILLED IN HIT AND RUN

A currently unnamed local man has been killed in a hit and run accident on a downtown street. The man was crossing the street when he was struck on the side and thrown into a bookstore, breaking through the front glass display. If you or someone you know witnessed this event, you are encouraged to call police. 

Update*** Police now believe the man who was killed was under the influence of drugs and/or alcohol. Again, if you or someone you know saw the man before or during the accident, please contact local police.