Chapter 17:
She had been gone for six months. She sighed softly when she realized the date while drinking her coffee and reading the morning paper. Six months. Fourteen months since her life had irrevocably changed. She tried not to think about that day, crying in Colonel O'Neill's arms. She never cried or at least she never used to. But that day…the fear, the uncertainty of her future. It was still hard to believe sometimes. She really left everything.
"Life goes on," she said to no one as she took another sip of her coffee.
She made the decision to leave the day before she was to report back to the SGC. She left her cell phone, credit cards, her life and drove east out of the Springs with no particular destination mind. She took her time crisscrossing the country choosing to stay on the back roads and stopping often at the small towns that dotted the landscape. She had little choice as her still healing body protested the extended hours in the car. Nights were hard and she slept very little just enough to make it to the next day's unknown destination.
It may have had something to do with her body finally saying 'enough' or her car breaking down or the fact that she was running out of land but she had been here for the last three months. Here being, Frisco, a sleepy town on the North Carolina Outer Banks. It was a tourist town in the summer. A popular destination for summer vacationers known for its secluded beaches and the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse, but during the offseason it was deserted populated by the 400 or so permanent residents and, now, one slightly damaged, former Air Force Major.
Pop's Fix-it was a one stop repair shop-broken appliances to computers to cars under one roof. Well, one roof and the attached garage. Pop inherited the shop and name from his Dad, the original Pop. His real name was William Popper, Jr. hence, Pop, and Sam was his newest employee. Not that Pop wished bad luck on anyone, but he thanked God every morning for Sam's broken down car some three months ago.
It was the Sunday after Labor Day, the tail end of the summer season, and the vacation crowds had started to thin. During the summer, he stayed open seven days a week for the vacationers. This was the last Sunday he would be open before he reduced his hours for the winter. A lot of businesses had already closed or reduced their hours; he was usually one of the last. His, being one of two in Frisco, was also the only service station opened on Sunday. It was late in the afternoon and if he was honest with himself, he was tired and ready for his own vacation to start.
Pop saw her walking up the road. He immediately thought she looked odd in jeans and a long sleeve t-shirt. It was still hot and god-awful humid, the temperature hovering around 90 the last few days, summer had not released its grip on the state yet. He was surprised when she stopped in front of his store, paused a moment as if trying to figure out what Pop's Fix-it was all about, and headed toward the door.
Her face was flushed and sweaty from her walk and could tell the air conditioner was a welcome relief when she walked in. She was tall, short blond hair, striking blue eyes. Her skin, what he could see, was pale. Most of the stragglers left over were various shades of brown from working on their tans all summer or sunburned from lying out on the beach a little too long trying to soak in the last rays before winter. She was neither, definitely new in town.
"Can I help you young lady."
"Hi. I hope you can help me," she said hesitantly and slightly out of breath. "My car broke down back up the road and I'm looking for a service station."
"At your service."
"Really?" She asked looking around at the appliances in various stages of repair.
"Yep. I'm a one stop fix-it shop, toasters to cars."
"Great. Um, do you tow cars?"
"Sure do. Where abouts you breakdown?"
"About 2 klicks back."
"Military?"
"What?"
"You in the military? You said klick. The only people who say klick around here are the jarheads who come over from Lejeune or Cherry Point which is a haul. They usually hangout around Morehead or Atlantic Beach but sometimes they take the ferry over. We also get the sailors down from Norfolk."
Sam cursed herself when she realized her slip. "No," She replied simply hoping her short answer would end the questions.
"Really? I would've sworn..."
Seeing as the man was not going to take no for answer, she felt obligated to continue. "No…I mean I was. I'm not now."
"What branch?"
"Air Force. I'm sorry but you mentioned that you had a tow truck? I know it's Sunday but…?"
"What? Oh, yeah, sure," he said as if he did not want to drop the military subject. "But we got a problem though."
"Problem?"
"Mechanic quit last week."
"Ah."
"Look, I can tow you back here or to the other station in town but Ernie always take a week off after Labor Day. Either way you are stuck here at least a week until he gets back or I hire a new mechanic," he said apologetically.
"I can fix it." The words were out of her mouth before she realized what she said.
"Really?"
"If you let me use your garage, I can fix my car. I'll pay for everything, parts, labor and I'll be out of you hair by tomorrow. Easiest money you'll ever make."
"Really?"
"I'm not going to rob you, sir. Scout's honor." She raised three fingers and flashed him a sincere smile.
"Okay. Why not." There was something about her that he couldn't put his finger on. Maybe it was the military thing. He was a Vet. Served in the Army. Maybe he felt sorry for her essentially stuck out in the middle of no where. Maybe he wanted to see if she really could fix her car. What ever it was he towed Sam; they made formal introductions on the drive to her car, back and left her with his key.
When he arrived the next morning, Sam's car was sitting outside of the garage. She had apparently fixed it. He found her sitting in the shop surrounded by the bowels of broken appliances and computers.
"You fixed it?" He asked but he already knew the answer.
"Busted fuel line," she said without looking up from the computer that she had spread out in front of her. "Easy enough to fix. I made a list of the parts and time it took me."
"I'm impressed. You a mechanic in the Air Force?"
Sam looked up at Pop's question. "No. It's just a hobby."
"Repairing broken appliances and busted computers a hobby too?"
Sam blushed. "Sometimes. I like to tinker."
"You want a job?" He asked jokingly.
That was three months ago.
Although she could have her choice of places to rent during the winter, Sam lived in the small room in the back of his shop. It was sparse with only a single cot, kitchenette and a small T.V. that she had repaired. She did not complain and offered to pay him rent each month which he always refused.
There was plenty of work to do even in the offseason. For someone who said that auto repair was a 'hobby' and only liked to 'tinker' with old junk, Sam was quickly making a name for herself throughout the county as some kind of genius that could fix anything. Maybe she was a genius. Occasionally she would go to the library in Hatteras and come back with science magazines with titles he could not pronounce on subjects he would never have a hope in hell of understanding. He asked her one day when he saw her flipping through one of her magazines if she was a rocket scientist. She smiled. She never did answer him.
He would occasionally ask her about her military career. It seemed to be a touchy subject. She offered little information always changing the subject or just not answering. He knew she had been in the Gulf War. That was the one thing Sam did disclose to him. Nothing else. Classified. For all he knew she could be a deserter hiding out in his little shop.
He thought maybe she used to work with dangerous weapons or defuse bombs. She would lose herself in her work studying the innards of a toaster as if the fate of the world were in her hands if she did not repair it. She always did. At least in the three months she had been working for him.
Pop thought maybe she was one of those people who studied space. The stars seemed familiar to her as if she knew them each personally. At night, before the weather turned too cold and sometimes even then, Sam would walk to the beach with a blanket and an old telescope that she had refurbished and sit late into the night gazing intimately into the sky. He felt like a dirty old man for spying on her but it was really beautiful to watch.
Sometimes when she was too immersed in her work to notice him watching, she would unconsciously rub her wrists and ankles as if trying to soothe aching joints. Even though she tried to keep them covered, he saw the scars. He wondered if she had been a POW in the Gulf. He lived above his shop. He knew she suffered from nightmares. He could hear the screams at night. He knew women were not officially allowed in combat. A female solider being captured by the enemy would have made the headlines. He also knew the military kept secrets.
Sam was a mystery to him. In his seventy years he had never met anyone quite like her and in the end all he could really do was speculate about her life. But, for what ever reason or reasons that brought Sam here, he was happy to have her and hoped that maybe amongst the broken appliances and cars she tirelessly repaired she would find the pieces to repair her life and the peace she seemed to be seeking.