“Father?”
“Never knew him.”
“Then who took care of you?”
She looked down at the fuel tank.
“People.”
Terry stepped forward.
“What people?”
Sky did not answer.
Gregory saw fear now.
Real fear.
Not embarrassment.
He gave Terry a small shake of his head.
“Enough.”
Terry frowned.
“We need to know.”
“Not this second.”
Gregory looked at Sky.
“You hungry?”
She answered too quickly.
“No.”
Everyone recognized that lie.
Lucy walked toward the back room without comment.
Five minutes later, she returned with a turkey sandwich, an apple, chips, and bottled water.
She placed them near Sky.
“You don’t have to be hungry.”
Sky stared at the sandwich.
Then at Lucy.
“Thanks.”
She ate the entire thing in less than four minutes.
Nobody commented.
Jimmy found her another tank.
A paying job this time.
Not a customer’s final tank.
A practice piece intended for a club bike.
Sky painted until almost eight that night.
Every so often, someone gave her something small.
A fender.
A helmet panel.
A scrap piece of sheet metal.
Nobody formally invited her to stay.
Nobody formally asked her to leave.
When the garage began closing, Sky disappeared into the back office.
Terry found her twenty minutes later asleep sideways on the small couch with her jacket still on and the backpack beneath one arm.
He stood in the doorway.
Gregory came up behind him.
“This is a problem.”
“I know.”
“She’s a minor.”
“I know.”
“If she ran from somewhere, we can’t just keep her.”
“I know.”
Terry looked at him.
“You gonna say anything besides I know?”
Gregory stared at the sleeping girl.
“She looks like Hollow around the eyes.”
Terry’s expression softened, but only slightly.
“That doesn’t make this legal.”
“No.”
“Greg.”
“I said I know.”
Terry lowered his voice.
“I’ve got three kids.”
“I know that too.”
“I’m not being heartless.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“I know what happens when adults decide good intentions are enough around a child.”
Gregory finally looked at him.
“So do I.”
That ended the argument for the night.
Lucy left a blanket over Sky.
Jimmy put a bottle of water beside the couch.
Gregory turned off the office light.
Sky slept almost thirteen hours.
The next morning Terry arrived at seven twenty and found her sitting on the rear loading step with a notebook on her knees.
She was drawing.
He handed her coffee.
Then remembered her age.
“Actually, no.”
He took it back.
She stared.
Terry returned with hot chocolate.
“Better.”
“I drink coffee.”
“You’re fourteen.”
“So?”
“So I’m old enough to make arbitrary decisions.”
Sky accepted the cup.
Terry sat beside her.
For a while neither spoke.
Then:
“You running from somebody?”
Sky kept drawing.
“Maybe.”
“Police?”
“No.”
“Parents?”
“No.”
“Foster family?”
Her pencil stopped.
Terry saw it.
“Okay.”
Sky closed the notebook.
“I was in a group home.”
“How far?”
“Two counties.”
“You leave without permission?”
“Yes.”