Daddy Takes Care

He looked up from underneath the car, an oil smudge on his left cheek. His tanned arms turned the nut one more time and the stream of oil ran out. The brown fluid slowed to a trickle, and then dripped peacefully into the pan. His grey eyes watched the sunrise orange sky. He took his time to slide out from under the car, his back cracking from the effort. He rummaged through the garage to find the red oil can, filled up the car, tightened the cap, and continued a mental checklist of basic car maintenance: windshield wiper fluid, battery fluid, water coolant. She is so forgetful to do these things.

His dirty hands released the hood with a noise that broke the morning silence. He fingered the keys in his jeans pocket with one hand, and looked at his watch on the other: he still had time. He opened the door and tried to sit down, but his long legs protested until he released the lever under the seat. Now adjusted for his height, he grinned at his reflection in the rearview mirror and adjusted it to see the glowing sun behind him. She is so much shorter than he is.

He pulled out a long silver device from the glove compartment and stepped out to check the pressure in the tires. He stooped back into the driver’s seat to release the gas flap. The wind blew through his flannel shirt, and leaves traveled past and settled at the next pump. The numbers swirled quickly as the gas pumped freely. He watched the amount without noticing the price. She is worth it.

He paid, looking at the tired cashier with a fresh good morning. Another look at the clock and he picked up his pace back to the compact blue car. The drive home was a simple right, left, right. He briskly walked up to his white house and opened the door quietly. He rested the keys on the table, got his lunch from the refrigerator, and slipped off to work without a word to the still, steady breathing of the loved ones inside. She will always be taken care of.