Flash Fiction:

A random short story called: Scheduled Maintenance.

Sarah gripped the steering wheel tightly as Mark’s voice crackled through the car’s speakers.

“Look, Sarah, your work has been exceptional, and normally, this would be a clear-cut case for the promotion.”

She heard him rifle through papers, placing them in one of those old-fashioned metal filing cabinets beside his desk. They were a relic, much like Mark himself. Still, he was a kind-hearted gentleman with old-school values, something rare in their line of work.

“But you must understand, Tom’s been here for eight years. You’ve been here for five. And well, you’ve had a bit of a slip in your attendance lately.”

Sarah flipped up her blinker and merged into the right lane, her throat tight. “I understand seniority matters, and yes, I’ve had to leave early a few times Mark. However, my numbers this quarter—”

“Are fantastic, I know. Look, nothing’s decided yet. Now if this goes to Tom, you will be top of the list next time we have an opening, I promise you.”

Sarah smiled disingenuously, then quickly frowned. This wasn’t a Zoom meeting. She was alone in her car, watching both the road and the map displayed on the 7-inch center console. “Thanks for taking my call,” Sarah said, flicking the signal knob back to a neutral position. “I know you’re busy.”

“Of course. Let’s touch base tomorrow.”

The call ended with a soft beep, leaving Sarah alone with her thoughts. Exiting the freeway, Sarah came to a stop. An audible tone chimed through the speakers alongside a notification stating the oil needs changing.

“Perfect,” she muttered. Adding frustration to her growing list of emotions, Sarah looked away from the console and out to the surrounding buildings, noticing a service shop across the street. A large sign just off to the right read ‘Oil/Life Changes’ in bold red letters. Her vehicle was an extension of her job, which meant this had to take precedence. The light turned green, and she drove across, pulling into the nearly empty lot. A mechanic in blue coveralls that were too big for his thin structure approached her window.

“How can we help you?”

Sarah rolled down the window and pointed to the sign. Without looking, he offered an assured grin.

“Not a problem. Let me guide you into the bay, and we’ll have you in and out in a jiffy.”

“Thank you,” Sarah said, returning the smile. She followed his hand gestures until parked, then got out of the car, and handed him the keys.

“If you head to the waiting room, the guy inside will handle the other inspection while we work on the car.”

Sarah entered a sterile white waiting room. A man in similar coveralls — these white and spotless — looked up from his tablet. “Mrs. Sarah Abbott? Please, have a seat.”

“How do you know my name?”

He smiled. “It’s all right here in your diagnostic report.” He continued swiping while Sarah sat where he suggested.

His face was welcoming, even with a look of focus. “Overall, things have been good. Regular exercise, a healthy marriage, solid work ethic. But I’m seeing some warning indicators.”

Sarah stood up. “Excuse me? What do you mean by indicators? I just came in for a—.”

“You asked for the oil/life change, whelp, while they handle your oil, I handle your life. Your stress warning light is the most recent concern,” he continued. “There’s a critical decision point approaching in the next forty-eight hours. Would you like to review the scenarios?”

“What scenarios?”

“Tomorrow at around 2 pm, you’ll be asked to enter Mike’s office, where he will intend to share their decision about a much-needed raise that comes with the position you’ve requested.”

Sarah’s blood ran cold. “How could you possibly know—”

“Before he’s able to confirm that decision, you will bring up a concerning rumor you’d heard about Tom, causing Mike to hold off on the meeting’s original intent.”

Sarah gripped the chair, trying to rise, though her legs refused to abide, buckling under her weight. 

The man continued, “If you reveal this information, you’ll get that promotion, no doubt about it. Of course, Tom will soon after resign for personal reasons and likely never recover professionally or emotionally.” The mechanic’s voice remained neutral, like he was discussing tire pressure. “Your financial situation will improve significantly, and your stress indicator will shut off for now. This is, of course, if you divulge.”

“That’s horrible,” Sarah whispered. “I would never—”

Her phone buzzed and her husband’s name flashed on the screen.

“Sarah?” His voice shook. “Where are you? Chris is out of surgery, but the doctor says two more are likely needed. I haven’t said anything to him yet because I was waiting for you to get here. We’ve already put a loan on the house. I don’t know how we’re going to—”

“I’ll call you back,” she blurted. “Don’t worry, I’m almost there. We’ll figure something out.”

She ended the call and stared at the mechanic, who watched her knowingly.

“Everyone needs a bit of a tune-up now and then,” he said softly. “In your case, should we discover what happens if you don’t tell your boss about Tom’s — er, painful secret?”

Sarah stood up, her legs gaining strength. “I don’t need to know.” She limped toward the door, then paused. “Is the oil change done?”

Already completed,” he said, standing beside a cash register Sarah hadn’t noticed. She paid and was handed the keys.

Later that evening, Sarah remained next to her unconscious son, still recovering in the ICU. The Mechanic’s words still echoed in her brain. Ugh, the nerve of him to — Chris shook violently, his breathing labored and intense. Gripping his hand, Sarah waited until he calmed down, then slid away, walking into the hallway. Pulling her phone from her purse, Sarah paused, then dialed.

“Hello, Mark? Sorry, I know it’s late. Listen, there’s something I have to tell you.”