She sure didn’t. But Dad and I need to find our own dreams to work toward, too. Some of hers, yes, but I think we also need a few new ones. Just for us.

“Are you going back to class?” I ask. I don’t want to mess up the fragile peace we’re finding, but I need to know. Maybe part of me wants to know if this is something Dad honestly wants, or what Mom wanted for us all.

I look at him, afraid of the answer.

When Dad answers, he chooses his words carefully.

“I think so, Emms,” he says. “But not quite yet. Got a few things need wrapping up first.”

“What kind of things?” I know I sound suspicious, but who can blame me with all the bad surprises here lately? But Dad just hands Mom’s guitar back to me, looking like his mind’s already someplace else.

“You’ll see” is all he’ll say.

32

Pinch the Moon

I get edgier and edgier as Sunday approaches, which of course I can’t hide. On Friday evening, Dad—who actually came in early today—gets tired of jumping back to avoid his toes being driven over and pulls me up short.

“Enough of this,” he says. “You’re wearing holes in the floor. Come on, Emms. Could use some help in the shop.”

That sounds so good I don’t stop to ask why he’s suddenly changed his mind—either about stopping me from working out there, or now suddenly deciding to let me again. I throw my hair into a ponytail, pull on a ball cap, and follow him outside.

Dad’s shop is way too big to belong beside a regular old place like ours—it could be a legit commercial one. He built it from the ground up and put in three entire work bays. Two of them are equipped with full lifts and everything else you need for a complete auto shop. He collected or traded for things for it over the years, and Mom used to joke that the shop was her biggest competition. When we go in and Dad flicks the lights on, at first I don’t realize what I’m seeing.

When I finally get my jaw closed and look away from what’s standing in the third bay, my eyes meet Dad’s. He’s got a smile on that I haven’t seen in … well, a long time.

“Surprise?” he says softly.

The third work bay is filled with a real half-pipe, made of solid metal supports and a slick, sanded-wood surface that curves up on both sides into a perfect bowl. That’s not all. Low, wide wooden steps run up along the side on one end. A solid railing with handgrips, wide enough for me to pull myself up while towing my chair. At the other end of the half-pipe is a landing pit, huge and perfect and filled with big chunks of foam.

Perfect for landing in without banging yourself up.

My eyes go blurry. “I thought you locked the door because you didn’t want me helping you anymore.”