The next hour was a blur.

People I hadn't spoken to in ten years came to table twenty-four to shake my hand. Some of them were the same people who'd laughed when Chad poured oil in my locker. Some apologized. Some pretended it had never happened.

A woman I didn't recognize told me Sullivan Auto had fixed her car for free when another garage had cheated her.

“You showed me the old part,” she said. “Nobody had ever done that before.”

A man from the football team asked if I was hiring.

Around eleven, Chad came over.

He'd had a few more whiskeys. He wasn't loud anymore.

“Can we talk?” he said. “Outside?”

We walked out onto the terrace. The golf course was dark and wet. It had started to rain. Chad leaned on the stone wall.

“You're killing my dad's business,” he said. “You know that?”

“I'm not killing anything, Chad. I just tell people the truth about their cars.”

“That's what I mean.” He laughed bitterly. “Do you know how much money a dealership service department makes by not telling the truth?”

He looked out at the dark.

“I'm not really vice president,” he said. “Dad gave me the title. The dealership's in trouble. He might have to close the service department. Fourteen mechanics. And I've got a mortgage I can't pay.”