The problem was that Laura had spent her childhood promising herself “enough” would never be enough.
She grew up poor.
Her father left.
Her mother worked two jobs.
Once, she told me that as a girl, she used to stand outside the big houses on the north side at Christmas and stare through their windows.Plan Gardens
She promised herself she would live in one someday.
I made decent money at the dealership.
Not wealthy.
But stable.
Our bills were paid.
We took vacations.
The boys had what they needed.
Laura wanted more.
“You could’ve become a manager by now,” she would say.
“You could open your own shop. Do something bigger. You’re incredibly good with cars, Craig, and you just keep fixing them for somebody else.”
“I like fixing cars.”
“That’s not the point.”
I never completely understood what the point was.
Then Brent Harlow came back into my life.
Brent and I had gone to high school together.
At sixteen, he drove a brand-new black BMW because his father owned several dealerships in the county.
He played lacrosse.
Wore sunglasses indoors.
Called everyone “bro.”
He was never especially cruel to me.
I simply wasn’t important enough for him to notice.
Years later, I ended up working at one of his father’s dealerships.
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Brent went to college, returned home, and eventually took over the family operation.
Six dealerships.
Lakefront mansion.
Private dock.
More expensive cars than anyone needed.
Laura met him at the dealership Christmas party.
