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3rd POV
"We're home!" Missy's voice rang through the house as she skipped inside, two ice creams in her hands and a wide grin plastered on her face.
Behind her, Sheldon followed with his own cup of ice cream, already shaking his head. "Honestly, isn't that too much ice cream? You already ate one there, and now you bought two more?"
Missy stopped, spun around, and held up her left hand. "This one's for after lunch," she declared. Then she raised the other, "And this one's for after dinner!"
Sheldon exhaled sharply, unimpressed. "It's mostly sugar, milk, and artificial flavoring. Too much of it and you'll get fat."
Missy only snorted, "Good. Then I'll stay healthy with sweet chocolate milk!"
Georgie and Veronica trailed in behind them, shaking their heads at the exchange. Both knew perfectly well the ice cream was just a bribe, a payment for their silence.
"…Remember our deal, you two must honor it…" Georgie warned under his breath, narrowing his eyes at both of them, especially Missy.
"Honor what?" Mary's voice cut in from the kitchen. She stood there in an apron and arms with a knife, eyeing the kids with suspicion. "That's a lot of ice cream, Missy."
Missy quickly hid the cup behind her back. "They're for lunch and dinner!" she squeaked before bolting toward the fridge to stash them away.
"Nothing, Mom. I just bought them some ice cream," Georgie said smoothly, before turning to Sheldon. "So… when are Libby and Tam coming?"
Veronica caught his little deflection and shook her head, amused. This time, though, she didn't expose him. She was part of that secret too.
"Mom, do you need any help?" Veronica stepped over, smiling warmly as she glanced at the counter. Mary had already chopped most of the ingredients; all that was left was the cooking.
"…Alright," Mary muttered, though her eyes flicked to Sheldon with a pointed look. "You'd better eat first, 'if' I even let you go to Houston."
Sheldon frowned a little but answered anyway. "Tam and Libby said they'll be here after lunch. Around one or two." His gaze shifted between Georgie and Mary. He is confident that Libby will butter up his mom to let him go with them to Houston, but the way his mom said it really annoyed him.
Mary nodded and took Veronica to the kitchen, Georgie nodded at Sheldon, "Mom, where's Dad?" he called out again.
"Out here! Georgie, come here!" George Sr.'s voice bellowed from outside.
"...I'm going to get changed and play with my train," Sheldon announced abruptly, bolting away to his room before anyone could object.
"…Wha—?" Georgie blinked after him, baffled, then shook his head with a laugh. Looked like Sheldon's spider-sense had picked up the danger brewing outside.
Still, Georgie stepped through the back door, bracing himself for whatever his dad had planned.
Out in the yard, the Harley sat under the sun, still half-taken apart, but this time the air around it didn't feel hopeless.
George Sr. wiped his hands on a rag and looked up as Georgie came out. "There you are. I was just making a list that we need to buy."
Georgie crouched beside the bike, eyes sweeping over the exposed engine. He didn't need long because he'd already gone through it with George Sr. and Sheldon yesterday. "Gaskets are blown, oil filter's trash, cooling fins are clogged, and the wiring looks like a bird's nest. Same problems we saw yesterday. Nothing new."
George Sr. grinned, a little spark of pride in his eyes. "Exactly. Which means we know what we need now. No more guessing. We're gonna fix her for real this time." Pride with his Bike coming back to life. He is courting Mary with this bike, and Georgie comes out of it.
Georgie smirked, "So you finally gave up on duct tape solutions, huh?"
"Hey, hey," George Sr. chuckled, "man's allowed to dream. But you and your brother laid it out clear enough yesterday. We buy the parts, we swap 'em out, and this old girl runs again. Simple."
"Simple," Georgie echoed, though his grin showed he knew better. Still, he liked his dad's confidence. "Alright then. Gaskets, filter, replacement wires, fresh plugs. Maybe a new air filter while we're at it. That's the shopping list."
George Sr. slapped him on the shoulder, this time leaving a smear of grease without even noticing. "Now you're talking. We'll head into the shop, grab everything we need. You'll see, son, by next, this Harley's gonna roar again." George Sr. said but with an awkward tone, "Of course, with your help too…" And glance at Georgie from the corner of his eyes.
Georgie leaned back, glancing at the bike. For once, he could picture it: the engine firing up, the rumble echoing through the neighborhood, his dad sitting proud in the seat.
"Yeah," Georgie said with a nod, confidence glinting in his eyes. "Let's bring her back to life."
But before they headed into town for the parts, Georgie looked straight at his dad.
"…But I want to try it first after we fix it," he said firmly and his tone leaving no room for refusal.
Of course George Sr. shot him a look. "No." and directly reject his proposal.
That single word made Georgie grumble under his breath. "How about you teach me, then? Or at least let me ride with you, I can sit behind."
George Sr. snorted, shaking his head. "Don't be ridiculous. Only women sit behind." A smirk tugged at his lips. "…Unless you're planning on wearing a skirt, then sure, you can sit behind me."
"That's the stupidest rule I've ever heard!" Georgie snapped, glaring at him. Though deep down, he knew he preferred women sitting back there anyway…with her arms wrapped around him, pressed close against his back.
"C'mon," George Sr. said, brushing it off with a laugh. "Let's go buy the damn parts first."
Georgie just shook his head, chuckling as he followed him. Somehow, working on a busted motorcycle with his old man didn't sound so bad anymore.
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Georgie POV
We pulled up at Sparks Auto Repair, the place already buzzing with the sound of wrenches and clanking metal. A couple of cars sat stranded out front, either waiting to be fixed or waiting for owners who probably weren't in any rush to pay the bill.
I noticed Herschel's crew looked short-handed, hustling around but still behind on work.
Dad eased the truck to a stop, and there was Herschel himself, half-buried under the hood of some Chevy. When he spotted us climbing out, he grinned wide, wiping his hands on a greasy rag.
"Well, well, what are y'all doin' in my humble little shop?" he called, joking like he always did.
Dad walked up, shaking his hand with that awkward smile of his. "Yeah, well… I need a favor." Then, of course, he looked straight at me, like I was part of the problem.
See, here's the issue: we're trying to bring Dad's Harley back to life, but Medford ain't exactly home to a Harley-Davidson dealership. Closest one's in Houston. Naturally, Mom didn't want us drivin' that far today and said we should try Herschel's shop first, see if he could dig up some parts.
Problem is… this is an auto shop. Cars, trucks, the occasional lawnmower maybe…but a Harley Shovelhead? Not exactly his specialty.
Herschel squinted at Dad, then at me, lowering his voice. "...What did you do, George? Is this about Mary and Brenda again? I can't help you much there, but I can give you sanctuary here for a while if you need it."
I almost lost it right there and Dad just groaned and looked at him, "No, no, it's not that. I just need a favor tracking down some spare parts for my bike."
That got Herschel smiling again. He clapped Dad on the shoulder. "Bike? You mean that old Shovelhead sittin' in your garage since Carter was president? Lord have mercy, George, that thing belongs in a museum, not on the road."
Then he turned to me, grinning ear to ear. "You know, kid, that pile of scrap is the reason your mama fell for him."
I rolled my eyes and pulled the folded list from my pocket. "Nah, I think Dad's got plenty of charm. Anyway, here…" I handed the paper to Herschel.
He snorted. "Yeah, right." His sarcasm landed square on Dad, who just muttered under his breath, clearly tired of being the punchline.
"Can you help me or not?!" Dad finally barked, scowling.
Herschel studied the paper, scratching his chin. "I could make a few calls to my buddy in Houston. These parts? Yeah, I don't keep 'em here. But he might. I can either have him ship 'em to you, or if he's got 'em on hand, you can drive down and grab 'em yourself."
"Figures you didn't have it," Dad sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Alright. Please call him. Let me know what Houston's got."
"Alright." Herschel tucked the list into his pocket with a grin. Then his face lit up, "Hey, y'all still doin' that barbecue tonight? I'll bring the beer!"
"Yeah," I nodded. "Mom and Veronica are headed out shopping for it later."
"You bet," Dad added with a snort. "And if you're not there, Sparks, I'll drag you over myself."
Herschel just laughed, shaking his head like he'd heard the best joke of the day before Herschel gave Dad a pat on the back, grinning like the devil himself. "Don't get your hopes too high, George. You can swap every gasket, filter, and wire on that Shovelhead, and it's still gonna mark its territory on your driveway. Those old Harleys leak oil just sittin' still."
Dad groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "You know, Herschel, sometimes you're real bad for morale."
"Hey, I'm just keepin' it honest," Herschel shot back, chuckling. "But if you do get it runnin' again, I'll buy the first round at the bar, just to celebrate you pullin' off a miracle."
I smirked, shaking my head. Typical Herschel. Roast you alive, then still offer a beer after.
"Alright, we'll see you tonight," Dad muttered, already steering me toward the truck.
As we climbed back in, Herschel called after us, loud enough for half the shop to hear:
"And Georgie, don't let your old man ride that thing too far. Next time he breaks down, I ain't towing him for free! Just buy your old man a new truck and he will forget his bike!"
Dad grumbled, I laughed, and just like that—we left Sparks Auto Repair with a little less pride on Dad's face, and a whole lot of confidence that the Shovelhead still had some life left in it. At least we know the guy who know the guy.
—-----
By the time we pulled into our home driveway, I see Libby and Tam were already stepping out of the house, both of them wearing the same puzzled look. Exactly what I expected, Libby still saw Sheldon as the little kid with the big brain. Nothing more. No spark and no crush.
"Hey guys," I called as Dad and I climbed out of the truck. "What's wrong? Sheldon's not going with you?"
"…Yeah, apparently not. He said he wasn't feeling well," Libby answered, her brow furrowed in confusion.
"Don't worry about him," I waved it off. "That kid spent half the day yesterday cleaning the entire house like a man possessed. Probably just wore himself out." I said and looked at Tam with a hint.
Tam glanced at me, one brow raised, trying to catch the hint.
Dad, meanwhile, looked just as lost as they did. "Hello, nice to see you," he said, stepping forward with his hand out. "You must be Libby—Sheldon and Georgie's friend?"
Libby smiled politely, shaking his hand. "Nice to meet you, Coach George."
"…Libby, we should go before we're late," Tam cut in smoothly, finally taking the signal from me.
"Alright. I hope Sheldon's okay. Goodbye, Georgie. Goodbye, Coach George." Libby gave a small wave before heading for their car.
Dad watched them leave, then turned to me, clearly waiting for an explanation.
"Sheldon's really sick? He looked perfectly fine back at church," he said, confusion written all over his face.
"Nah…" I shrugged, "You wanna know the truth? My guess—he's brokenhearted." before a little grin tugging at my lips, "Do you want to talk to him?"
Dad blinked, then scratched his chin, "…Hmm. Well, we should probably clean the bike anyway. Parts won't be here for a while." With that, he headed for the garage.
I nodded, understanding what he meant, then stepped into the house.