Chapter 17 - The Car
Restoring the Mustang took eighteen months.
Richard would have called that unacceptable.
Luis called it realistic.
Hailey called it forever.
Carol called it exactly what she needed.
The work forced patience.
Parts arrived late.
Chrome needed replating.
The carburetor required rebuilding.
A wiring fault took three weekends to trace.
Every problem could not be solved by money.
That pleased Carol.
Julia became obsessed with upholstery.
“Dad would choose black.”
Carol disagreed.
“Your father wanted saddle tan.”
“He had no taste.”
“He married me.”
“Evidence for my case.”
Hailey groaned.
“You’re both ancient.”
Bay Four changed.
The red binder moved into a locked filing cabinet.
The server received modern security.
Richard’s safe held fewer secrets.
A folding table appeared for snacks.
Hailey left pencils everywhere, destroying Richard’s perfect tool arrangement.
Carol deliberately did not fix them.
One afternoon Julia found Richard’s second letter on the workbench.
Carol had left it there accidentally.
She picked it up.
“Can I?”
Carol hesitated.
Then nodded.
Julia read.
Her face changed at the paragraph about Brent.
I love our daughter. I do not trust the man she married, and I worry she confuses protecting him with loving him.
Julia sat down.
For a long time she said nothing.
“He knew.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t he tell me like this?”
“He tried differently.”
“He lectured.”
“Yes.”
“I stopped hearing him.”
“Yes.”
Julia looked at Carol.
“Did you agree with him?”
“Not enough.”
Julia laughed sadly.
“Because you wanted peace.”
“Probably.”
“Peace was expensive.”
Carol nodded.
That sentence stayed with her.
Peace built on avoidance had cost all of them.
The Mustang finally started on a cold February morning.
The engine turned.
Coughed.
Stopped.
Hailey screamed anyway.
Second attempt.
The engine roared.
Carol’s hands flew to her mouth.
Richard.
For a moment she could smell his aftershave, hear him complaining about idle timing, see his hands black with grease.
Grief arrived fresh.
Hailey hugged her.
“Grandma?”
“I’m okay.”
“You’re crying.”
“I can do both.”
Hailey nodded.
She understood that concept now.
Julia stood near the rear fender crying too.
Luis turned off the engine quietly.
No one rushed them.
Later Carol sat in the driver’s seat.
Julia took the passenger side.
Hailey protested from the back.
“I should be front.”
“You are ten.”
“So?”
“So your legal argument needs work.”
Carol turned the key.
The engine settled into a rough idle.
Julia ran her fingers over the dashboard.
“Dad would be unbearable right now.”
“Yes.”
They both smiled.
They drove only to the end of the private lane and back.
Luis followed in another car because Carol refused to trust a half-tested fifty-eight-year-old vehicle.
Hailey called that cowardice.
Carol called it engineering.
When they returned, Julia remained seated.
“Mom.”
“Yes?”
“Brent may be released early next year.”
Carol nodded.
“I heard.”
“He wants to rebuild contact with Hailey.”
“What does Hailey want?”
“She wants to see him.”
Carol absorbed it.
“How do you feel?”
“Terrified.”
“Reasonable.”
“Angry that she misses him.”
Carol turned off the engine.
“That part isn’t fair.”
“I know.”
Julia looked down.
“I want her loyalty.”
The honesty mattered.
“I want her to understand what he did and choose me.”
Carol touched her daughter’s hand.
“That sounds familiar.”
Julia closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
“Then don’t repeat it.”
“I’m trying.”
They worked with Hailey’s therapist and custody professionals.
Future contact would be gradual.
Structured.
Based on Brent’s behavior, not promises.
Carol neither advocated nor opposed.
This was Julia’s parenting decision within court rules.
Hailey’s relationship with her father belonged partly to Hailey.
Carol could have strong opinions without owning the outcome.
That was harder than any trust document.
The Mustang passed inspection in spring.
Carol drove it alone first.
Not because she feared passengers.
Because some moments belonged to the person who had lived longest toward them.
She took the Blue Ridge Parkway.
Windows down.
Richard’s favorite road.
At an overlook she parked.
No dramatic sign.
No voice from heaven.
Just mountains.
Wind.
A car they had once planned to finish together.
Carol placed her hand on the steering wheel.
“I was furious with you.”
She felt ridiculous talking aloud.
Did it anyway.
“You hid things.”
Wind moved through the open window.
“You were right about Brent.”
She paused.
“You were wrong about other things.”
A hawk moved above the ridge.
Carol laughed softly.
“I’m selling your drill press.”
Richard would have hated that.
The joke loosened something inside her.
She no longer needed to preserve every object to preserve him.
When she returned home, she called an auction house.
Not for the Mustang.
For several pieces of equipment and collectibles in Bay Four nobody used.
The proceeds went partly toward a fund for older adults facing financial exploitation.
Carol named it nothing involving Richard.
That would have annoyed him.
May you like
Perfect.
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