Page 43 of Fixing Hearts

Twenty-Six

E velyn stood in the middle of the blocked-off street outside Fuller’s Auto Repair, clipboard in hand, checking her list. It was not quite ten-thirty in the morning, and the block party was supposed to start at noon.

“All right,” she muttered, scribbling something next to Power cords for band stage — Jo?

and circling it twice. “Let’s try not to panic. ”

“Talking to yourself is fine,” Jasmine called from nearby. “As long as you don’t answer.”

Evelyn spun to find her sister at the edge of the garage bay entrance, teetering on the second-to-top rung of a ladder, a spool of fairy lights looped over her shoulder and a stapler in her hand like a weapon.

“Very funny,” Evelyn replied. “Be careful and make sure those are high enough not to strangle somebody.” She turned to check Sophie’s lighting project. She was positioning another string of industrial-quality lights on a rented gaffer’s pole. “Sophie, put that three inches higher.”

Sophie groaned. “Three inches? Really?”

“I’m eyeballing symmetry,” Evelyn said with a nod. “And if you want your photo ops for the Pose with a Mechanic selfie station to look good instead of something from a backyard prom, then yes, three inches.”

“I told you,” Jasmine called from the garage. “Put her in charge of anything and she’ll have us re-landscaping the block before lunch.”

“But can we all agree everything is looking perfect?” Sophie said, hands on hips, as she stood back and examined the work happening around her. “It’s giving the street a festive queer-market vibe.”

“As long as it is also giving a well-wired and OSHA-compliant vibe, I agree,” Evelyn muttered, checking another task on her clipboard as done while she walked to another station across the street.

Brooke and Mica hunched over a folding table, arguing over the art on a chalkboard sign that read BE A MECHANIC FOR A DAY — $20 DONATION. “Did you just draw abs?” Mica asked Brooke, squinting.

“I did,” Brooke replied proudly. “It’s a cartoon wrench with abs. Sexy wrench butch. Motivation.”

Mica raised one eyebrow. “You’re not gonna make me wear a tank top and flex for people, are you?”

“No promises,” Brooke said with a giggle.

Evelyn stifled a laugh and tried to keep things moving. “Hey, you two,” she called, striding toward them. “Abs or no abs, can we make sure the Venmo QR code is clearly labeled?”

“Logistics queen strikes again,” Brooke said.

“I prefer the term benevolent overlord,” Evelyn said dryly.

Mica gave her a two-finger salute, but her gaze quickly returned to Brooke.

It held there for a long beat before Mica shook her head and turned back to the sign.

Hmmm , Evelyn thought. Is that flirting between them?

She filed that away, not at all sure how she felt about one of her best friends and Mica.

She moved on. At the back of the parking lot, Rosa placed colorful bottles of different kinds of soda into a giant cooler filled with ice.

Mr. Diaz stood beyond the table, near where the two giant barbecues were being set up, his arms crossed over his chest, clearly supervising every move his sons made.

“You know,” he called as Evelyn drew closer. “You may have missed your calling.”

“Oh?” she asked, stopping to stand beside him.

Mr. Diaz smiled. “You should be running a city,” he said. “Or an army.”

With a laugh, Evelyn shook her head. “Thank you,” she said. “But I’m not sure I’m ready for that. This is stressful enough.”

He gave her a sideways grin. “It’s going fine,” he said. “You and Jo and the team worked hard. Everything will go smoothly.”

Behind him, two men who looked a lot like Mr. Diaz maneuvered a second industrial grill into place. “Your sons?” Evelyn asked, and Mr. Diaz nodded.

“Yeah,” he said with a hint of pride. “Good kids. No idea how to marinate anything, but strong and good-looking like their mother.”

Evelyn smiled. “That’s all you really need,” she said, then hesitated. “Thanks again for helping with all of this. Paying for all the meat. Everything. I mean it.”

Mr. Diaz waved a hand. “Jo needed help,” he said. “She’s family. Like you are starting to be.”

Feeling a surge of unexpected emotion at his words, Evelyn swallowed. “Thank you,” she said, stepping away. “But before I get emotional in the street, I’m going to go check on the stage.”

“Tell Jo to plug the power strip into Bay One instead of Two,” Diaz added. “Those outlets are wired for more juice.”

“Got it.”

By the time she crossed to the street, Evelyn spotted Jo standing at the edge of the makeshift platform they had constructed near the front of the garage.

Two connected risers, borrowed from a friend of Mica’s, were wide enough for a three-person band and a few stools.

Jo had an extension cord in one hand and her phone wedged between her shoulder and ear, her brows furrowed as she listened, nodding.

Evelyn walked up the ramp as Jo hung up.

“Talk to me,” Evelyn said. “You look stressed.”

Jo snorted a laugh. “Only a little. Acoustic amp’s shorting out,” she said.

“The kid from the band said we can make it work by running an aux feed through the bass rig, but honestly…” She lowered her voice.

“I don’t know. They’re nineteen and smell like weed and cheese fries so their credibility is a little suspect. ”

“Well,” Evelyn said, stepping close and brushing a bit of dust from Jo’s cheek. “Good to know as long as they sound halfway decent.”

With a shrug, Jo looked down at her boots. “I don’t want this all to fall apart.”

“It won’t,” Evelyn said, touching Jo’s wrist. “And if it does, we’ll fix it on the fly.”

When Jo lifted her gaze, Evelyn saw gratitude mixed with nerves in her eyes. “Thank you,” she said. “I would never have been able to do this without you.”

Evelyn leaned in and kissed her gently. “You’re allowed to let people help,” Evelyn whispered before she pulled back. “Now plug that power cord into Bay One.” She smiled when Jo looked a little confused. “Mr. Diaz says it has more juice.”

Jo hadn’t sat down once in nearly five hours.

Standing near the edge of the crowd, beer in hand, she took in how her garage and all the space around it had been transformed into something else entirely.

A proper street party. Music pumped through the air and the band that had shown up looking like they just crawled out of bed was actually pretty damn good.

The lead singer had some pipes, and the bass player held a steady groove that had neighbors half-dancing in line for food.

The grill station pumped out burgers and dogs so fast that they’d had to make another emergency run to the grocery store.

Kids darted around clutching balloon animals and cotton candy.

A face-painting booth had sprung up near the sidewalk thanks to one of Mica’s cousins.

Next to the face-paint table, Mica and Brooke manned the community cornhole bracket like they were refereeing a world championship.

Evelyn had managed to get one of the local breweries to donate prize growlers, and apparently that had heightened the stakes considerably.

Everywhere she looked, people from the community were having a good time.

And all of it, every detail, every glitter-sprinkled face and bit of string-light charm, was thanks to Evelyn.

Taking a sip of her beer, Jo caught sight of her near the raffle table, clipboard in one hand, laughing as she explained a silent auction to a woman wearing a cardigan with dogs wearing sunglasses on it.

Evelyn looked amazing. Not dressed up like Sapphire nights but more casual in an olive tank top and cuffed jeans, with her ponytail messy at the nape of her neck.

Jo’s chest tightened, and she didn’t try to stop it.

She makes things happen , Jo thought. And she made people care about the shop.

A part of her wanted to walk over and kiss Evelyn as a thank you for all of it, but she knew it wasn’t the right time or the place.

But there will be, she thought. Before she has to go on the road, and lots of times after that.

The idea of a long-distance relationship didn’t freak Jo out anymore. She knew that somehow, it would work.

Walking the edge of the party, Jo checked out the cornhole action and Mica slid away to meet her. “Wow,” Mica said, beer in hand, surveying the street. “It’s happening.”

“You doubted me?” Jo smirked.

“Oh, every minute,” Mica replied with a grin. “But then Evelyn rolled in like a hurricane, and now look, the block has become a smash hit.”

Laughing, Jo nodded toward the large Venmo donation sign between the garage bays. “It’s working, though. I glanced at the running total an hour ago and almost passed out. People are being more generous than I could imagine.”

“That’s amazing,” Mica said, more serious now. “For real. You pulled it off.”

“No,” Jo said, her eyes back on Evelyn in the crowd. “She pulled it off.” Before Mica could respond, Jo noticed something was happening at the far end of the crowd. A small commotion by the folding chairs that people had dragged beneath a few awnings for shade.

Jo had barely stepped forward when a slim woman who Jo guessed was in her late fifties emerged from the crowd. Her eyes were narrowed, shoulders set, and she did not look happy. “Excuse me,” she said, her voice loud above the others. “Who is in charge here?”

Oh boy, Jo thought with a sigh. Here we go. “Hi there. That would be me I guess,” she said, plastering on her best customer-service smile. “Welcome to the party.”

The woman pursed her lips. “This is very loud,” she said. “You do realize that?”

“Yes, a little,” Jo said gently. “That’s sort of the idea.”