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From his seat behind the wheel, the mechanic turned the key. The V8 engine roared to life. Julio flashed me a triu
mphant smile through the windshield.
He joined me to stand beside the boat of a car idling in the second garage I’d built on the shop last year. We studied the rest of the car with its dents, faded paint. The interior was going to be at least a month, not including tracking down sixty-year-old parts. But getting it driving came first, always. No one wanted an oversized toy that just sat in their garage. They wanted to show it off.
“Congrats, man,” Julio said. “You were right-on about the cylinder head.”
“You were right about everything else.” I clapped Julio on the back as he reached in to kill the engine.
Twenty years older than me, Julio Morales had already been the best mechanic in Santa Cruz, but it turned out he had a knack for restoration too. I studied on the side, practicing at home on a ’72 Chevelle while soaking up everything Julio had to show me at the shop.
We could only take one customer at a time—full restorations took months, and we still had the rest of the business to think of. But whenever it was slow, we slipped off to the second garage where I spent most nights and weekends.
“Hello?” a woman’s voice sounded from the main garage stalls. “Does anyone work here?”
Julio gave me a small smile. “He’s probably got the office door closed and can’t hear her. I got it.”
“Thanks,” I said gratefully. We’d both worked with my dad long enough to know he’d never make a customer wait. But that was then. This was now.
Julio met the customer while I went to the main office. Dad was in his usual spot, sitting over a pile of paperwork without seeing it. His hair was grayer than it had been a year ago, and his face had aged a decade. Grief did that. Amelia said we were Pod People from the Dark Crystal, and grief was the evil Skeksis, sucking the life force out of us.
I took her word for it.
Dad sure as hell looked like something vital and alive in him had been ripped away. The light in his eyes was dimmer now. In Amelia too. And me.
When I looked in the mirror now, the mask was back. The one I’d been wearing all my life. Only instead of hiding who I was, I used it to barricade the pain and to keep going for Dad and Amelia. Someone had to pay the bills, buy the groceries, and make sure Amelia didn’t flunk out of school. Someone had to make sure Dad remembered to eat. I took on all the jobs myself and filled every waking second with responsibility.
It was exhausting but easier than missing her.
And him.
“Dad?”
He jerked. “Oh, hey. I was just finishing up the McKlowski invoice.”
“I can do it. Maybe you want to go home and take a nap?”
“A nap? It’s one in the afternoon.” He gave his head a shake. “No, no. I got this. How’re things out there?”
“Great. We got the Chevy started.”
Dad pursed his lips. He still wasn’t sold on the idea of restoring cars; the turnaround was too slow for not a lot of payoff. He didn’t understand that I didn’t do it for the paycheck. With Julio’s help, I’d only restored one car so far, and turning the old wreck back to its former glory had been the best thing to happen to me since Mom died.
Since Holden left.
I brushed the thought away, but the pain whacked me anyway.
“I just hope our regular customers aren’t being neglected,” Dad said. “We have a reputation to maintain.”
“Yep,” I said tightly. He didn’t need to hear how our rep had already taken a small hit. Not that anyone in town blamed Dad; they all knew how he suffered. But he wasn’t 100% and it was obvious to everyone except him.
I just need to work harder.
Another customer pulled in.
“I’m on it. Mr. McKlowski will be back soon…” I glanced meaningfully at the paperwork.
He laughed lightly and waved a hand. “Get out of here. Your old man hasn’t lost all his marbles.”
