Page 137 of A Stop in Time
Expelling a long sigh, I sink deeper into my couch. “I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to think of myself as Eleanor Mackenzie even though that’s who I am.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Even saying that name feels and sounds weird.” I trace my finger over the rip in the knee of my jeans. “It doesn’t even matter that Eleanor Mackenzie doesn’t exist and there’s a death certificate to prove it.”
I sink my fingers in my hair and tug on the strands in frustration. “The actual birth certificate I have says Mackenzie Ford on it. And, honestly, I just…feel like a Mackenzie Ford.” I grunt. “God, this is enough to have me going crazy.”
There’s no judgment in Hannah’s eyes, which I’m grateful for. “There’s nothing wrong with recognizing that.” She tips her head to the side. “But moving past this—truly putting everything behind you—will require you to acknowledge the good and bad parts of being Mackenzie Ford.”
She offers a tiny smile and tacks on, “The good news is that you can redefine who Mackenzie Ford is. If you decide she’s a badass owner of a salvage yard who takes no shit, then that’s who she is.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“Because it is. Forgive yourself for what you were forced to do. It wasn’t willingly.” Her brow descends fiercely. “And you were the one who did everything to set things right, so you need to recognize the strength and fortitude that took.
“Not everyone would do that, Mac.” She shakes her head. “It takes great courage to take a stand. To walk directly into the lion’s den and stare death in the face.”
Her tone softens. “If I’ve learned anything, it’s”—she holds up one finger—“not to squander second chances”—she holds up a second finger—“and life’s too short to live with regrets over things you can’t change.”
Raising a third finger, she adds, “That it’s okay to live a life that others don’t understand. Because all that matters is when your head hits that pillow at the end of the day, you know you’re living a life that you’re proud of.”
* * *
The next day
“Thank you. For everything.” What a fucking understatement. But how does one even thank someone for literally saving them? For bringing them back to life?
“Don’t thank me.” Hannah squeezes my hands affectionately. “Just remember what we talked about yesterday.”
“We need to go.” Jonah hovers at her side, his hand at the base of her spine.
My chest pinches at that protective gesture, but I force myself to ignore it and the yearning that arrives at its heels.
He helps her into the passenger side of the vehicle, then moves to draw open the driver’s side door. Pausing there, his eyes land on me.
Jonah might not be the most affectionate person on earth—or even display much of a personality behind that chilly façade—but I owe him and Hannah my life.
His features soften the barest fraction. “Stay safe, Mac.”
“I’ll do my best.” I shove my hands in the back pockets of my jeans. “And you know where to come if you need any car parts.”
His mouth twitches. “That I do.” Then he slides behind the wheel, shutting the door, and cranks the engine.
As I watch them drive away, I do my best to ignore the sense of loss that blooms with their absence.
I head back inside my garage, grateful for the familiarity of it…and the memories related to it that are now fully accessible.
* * *
A few hours later…
I press the button on the hydraulic lift until the Toyota Camry is high enough for me to inspect the underside. I’m behind on disassembling the half dozen vehicles that were towed here while I was recovering.
I had told Annalee I’d come down with a case of mono over the last week, and she’d been willing to pick up some extra hours to help sign for the new inventory of vehicles brought in.
Right now, though, I’m a little overwhelmed by the work that’s piled up that only I can do.
The sound of crunching gravel beneath a car’s tires as it heads up the driveway hits my ears as I inspect the vehicle. My heart leaps in my throat for the briefest instant before my brain recognizes that engine doesn’t rumble like a certain Chevelle.
I roll my shoulders, attempting to evict that stupid thread of hope. “Stop it.”