by Nikki Bloom
Man, I can’t believe I’m saying this but…
I think I might love her more than baseball.
But will she be there to witness my grand slam? Or will she be cheering for the other team?
Prologue
Hazel
It was a typical November day, as far as I was concerned. Perhaps it was a little nippier than usual with a cold snap coming in from the north, but tucked away in the garage, I barely felt those arctic winds. And underneath the hood of my old pickup truck, I was actually working up a sweat.
“Your fuel line has sprung a leak again.” It was my dad. He was under the truck and helping me with the repairs like he always did. We were a working pair — father and daughter — and the only certified mechanics for miles. And yet, it seemed that more often than not, I was fixing up my truck instead of anyone else’s. Most people would have brought it to the junkyard long ago, but I got a pretty stubborn streak from my father even though he would never dare admit it. As far as he was concerned, he wasn’t stubborn — he was always right.
“Of course it is,” I answered. “I’ll patch it up until the replacement line arrives from the factory. I’m going to have to give them a call and check on the status. It better not be sitting at the warehouse…”
“Let me call them. I’ll be sure to give them a piece of my mind.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s why they delayed the delivery in the first place.”
“They needed to hear what I had to say. It isn’t my fault that they took offense to the truth. Back in my day…” Dad went off to tell me how when he was a young man, people weren’t afraid to work for a living and that Americans were proud to work blue-collar jobs so long as it put food on the table. Nowadays? “These damned kids want nothing but their fancy phones and their good-for-nothing gadgets. I’m sorry but this new generation will be the death of this nation.” He pulled himself out from under the car and smeared grease across his brow in an attempt to wipe away the sweat that had gathered there. “It is a crying shame. I served this country. I laid my life on the line and for what?”
Dad liked to rant. You could call it one of his pastimes, and left to his own devices, he’d go on for a good half hour if not more. Most of the time, I let him get whatever was bothering him off his chest, but today I caught sight of something you just didn’t see every day. “Dad. Would you look at that?”
He stopped mid-sentence and followed the line of my outstretched finger. In the distance was a vintage car, cruising along Mr. Bayard’s cornfields. The pearl black paint job was made even more extravagant by the mid-morning sun and the contrast of green in the background. With every turn, the chrome finishing would reflect the sun just like a diamond might.
“Who do you think it is?” I asked, squinting. “Must be an outsider because if someone around here had a car like that, we would know about it.”
“Might be whoever bought that plot of land down by Berry Creek. The paper says it's some up-and-coming baseball player who just got signed to play for the Rockies, but I don’t believe a lick of what they say. Why would a fellow like that want to live all the way out here?”
“Maybe he likes country living,” I answered while stepping forward and shielding my eyes against the sun. The car was making its way down the road and toward our shop, but it was still too far away for me to identify its make and model.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” Dad took off his ball cap and slapped it against his knee. “I’d bet all of my life savings that car is an Alfa Romeo.”
“An Alfa Romeo?” I raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? Those cars are some of the rarest ones on the market. There’s no way one’s cruising through Elk Haven right now. We’d both have to be dreaming.”
“Ten dollars says it's a Romeo.”
“I thought you were betting your life savings,” I countered. “Or has your confidence faltered?”
“My eyesight is not what it used to be and I know better than to make a gamble I’m sure to regret.” He held out his hand.
I shook it, sealing the deal. Honestly, I still didn’t know what exactly was coming our way, but the odds were in my favor and when I gamble, I like to gamble with an ace up my sleeve.
So, we waited, trying to act as casually as we could, which was easier said than done because we were both anxious to know which one of us was right and which one of us would be forking over ten dollars.
I went back to my truck but I kept looking over my shoulder. It was only a minute or so before the vintage beauty rolled up to our gas pump, but it felt like an eternity. As casually as I could, I walked up to the vehicle, waiting for the owner to step out and tell me to fill her up.
The stranger did not keep me waiting for very long. He emerged, rolling to his full height. He was much taller than I was but that wasn’t saying much since I had graduated puberty at the five-foot mark. If I had to guess, he was 6’2 maybe even 6’3. But what got my tongue tied was not the fact that he towered over me. It was the brilliance of his eyes. They might be described as hazel, but when he smiled down at me they seemed golden, shining from within. “Mind filling her up?” he asked with a honeyed voice that matched the warmth of his eyes. “I thought I was going to run out of gas before I saw you guys on the map. It must be my lucky day.”
“Premium?” I asked even though it was obvious that a car of this caliber was probably fuel injected.
“If you wouldn’t mind.”
“Of course,” I said. “Most of the time I’m fueling pickup trucks and dirt bikes. Can’t say I’ve ever had the pleasure of something this nice dropping by. Might I ask what it is you’re driving?” I caught my dad creeping toward the car at the very edge of my vision, ready to pounce on my ten dollars, but I was sure he wouldn’t get a dime out of me.
“It’s a 1939 Alfa Romeo Lungo Spider.”
“Aha!” My dad jumped forward. “What did I tell you? I might be getting old but I still know what I’m talking about. I know an Alfa Romeo when I see one and this one — oh, baby — this looks like it just came off the showroom floor and that makes me ten dollars richer.”
“I’ll pay you later. My wallet is in the shop,” I answered a little begrudgingly. I couldn’t believe that he was right. The odds had to have been a million to one.
The owner of the car looked quite confused. He was scratching the side of his head by the time his tank was full. I returned the fuel dispenser to its holster and explained the situation because, clearly, my dad had no intention of doing so since he was too busy gawking at the car. “We had a bet,” I said. “My dad said it was an Alfa Romeo and I told him that it couldn’t be because Romeos aren’t exactly a dime a dozen. I think one just came off the auction block after being sold for twenty million dollars or thereabouts. A car worth that much money just doesn’t come rolling through a town like this one, but I guess I was mistaken because here you are.” I leaned against the gas pump and kicked my foot behind me for support, semi-conscious of the fact that I looked like a grease monkey while this guy was wearing designer labels. “Where’d you happen to come across her? A barn find or something?”
“Would you mind popping the hood?” My father had surfaced from his dreamlike state just long enough to say those words before he went right back to his open-mouth gawking. Sometimes he could be so embarrassing, but I guess that’s just what dads do — they embarrass you.
“Sure thing,” answered the stranger. “I have a lot of people wanting to look at my car, but it seems you two actually know what you’re talking about. Have you guys been here long?”
“Pops worked here with his father just as soon as he came back from the army and then he got me into the family business just as soon as I could walk. So, yeah, we’ve been here a while. Dad loves the shop and I do, too. It will never make us rich or anything, but hey, we’re happy doing what we do and that has to count for something.” I joined my dad at the hood. With an audience, he began rattling off all his observations like he had suddenly inherited the veh
icle. “Dad, I’m pretty sure he knows all this.” I had to nudge him with my elbow to get him to stop. “So, again, I have to ask, where did you find this beauty?”
The stranger ran his fingertip along some of the chrome like he was caressing a lover. “Well, just like your dad, my dad enlisted in the army, following in the footsteps of my grandfather and great grandfather. He made it through his first tour but not through his second. My mother, pregnant at the time of his death, sold the car to keep food on the table and a roof over her head. She was heartbroken to let the car go because it had been in the family for so long. You see, my great grandfather bought it while he was serving in Europe and had it shipped back to the states where he rebuilt it piece by piece in a shop of his own. All he knew was that he liked the look of it — he had no idea it would one day cost me twenty-million dollars to get it back.”
“Wait, you were the one who bought this car from auction for twenty-million dollars?”
“I still have the receipt in the glove compartment if you don’t believe me.” He pointed his thumb at the car’s interior. It was the first time I had glanced inside and it showcased the same workmanship that was obvious on the exterior of the car. Whoever had worked on the restoration obviously knew what they were doing. I only wished I was the one to have my hand at it.
“So, I have to ask you something else.”
“What might that be?” he asked with a raise of his eyebrow whilst leaning against the car just like I had leaned against the gas pump. He was so casual about it like he didn’t care about the value of the car — only that he got the pleasure of driving it— of getting to call it his baby. Honestly, if I had this guy’s money I would probably act the same way. I couldn’t stand the people who bought vintage cars just to hide them away in some museum. Did they not understand that cars were meant to be driven — to be enjoyed?
“What brings you to a place like this with a car like that?”
“Just bought some land up the road. Driving in from the airport. Like I said, I was just about to run out of gas when I saw you guys on the map. Looks like you’re the only gas pump in town.”
“That’s right,” I said. “A very lucrative monopoly when the town has a population of five hundred — maybe five hundred and one. I think Marbella just had a baby.”
He chuckled. “Still, it’s something.”
“So, are you really a baseball player? Thorin Gorecki? They say you got signed to the Rockies as a power hitter and that you’re going to win them the World Series, but as I hear it, you’re just a rookie.” My dad had suddenly interjected himself into the conversation. It would seem he had gotten his classic car fix and was now much more interested in the baseball player standing before him. Next to cars, baseball was one of his favorite things. When I was a little girl, he used to count his favorite people on his right hand. I was number one, my mother was number two, Henry Ford three, Thurman Munson four, and President William Henry Harrison the fifth. Harrison always confused me. Why show favoritism to a president who was only in office for 31 days? But Dad liked to say that a man with so lethal a dose of stubborn dedication deserved to be admired.
“Guilty as charged.” The stranger now christened Thorin twisted his body in a mock swing. He threw out his arm as if he had just hit the imaginary ball out of the park. “As I was telling your daughter, I just bought some land up the road. I intend to build my offseason home there.”
“So far from the stadium?” questioned my dad.
“I’m a fan of the countryside. There’s a quiet here that you can’t find anywhere else and that’s just the thing I’m looking for during the offseason.”
“Well, if peace and quiet is what you’re looking for, you’ve found it.” I motioned to the large expanse of land all around us. “Welcome to Elk Haven, residents five-hundred and two.”
He smiled and held out his hand. “Your name?”
“Hazel.”
“Hazel,” he repeated. “If everyone in this town turns out to be as friendly as you two, I’ve certainly struck gold choosing to live here.”
“A lot of horror movies start with sleepy little towns like this one,” I said.
“I know my way around a bat. If some ax murderer comes at me, well, I won’t go down without a fight.”
“Good because I think I might like having you as a neighbor.” For whatever reason, I winked at Thorin. I wasn’t flirting exactly but I was enjoying his company. He had a great taste in cars and from what I could tell, a decent sense of humor. In my book, that made him an alright guy.
“Likewise.” His smile lit up his eyes, making them golden. “And your name, sir?”
“Sir? Did you hear that, Hazel? This boy knows how to respect his elders.” My dad acted like he was whispering so that only I could hear him, but the guy didn’t know the first thing about volume control.
Thorin chuckled but acted like he was none the wiser to my dad’s comment.
“Hank,” my dad answered. “Name’s Hank and it’s a pleasure to have met you. This is a great car you’ve got here and I watched your performance with the Oakland A’s. The talent is there. If you drive in some runs for us, we’re bound to have one hell of a year. We might even redeem ourselves and make it to the Series.”
“Dad,” I interrupted. “I’m sure Thorin has places to be. We’ve held him up enough as it is.” I was trying to do the guy a favor because when my dad got started on baseball, he was liable to go at it for hours. It was better to cut him off before he went in too deep.
“Now that you mention it, I am due to meet some of my contractors regarding the build of my home, but the time spent here was far from wasted.” He looked around with a keen eye almost like he was surveying the shop, searching for something. “I know you might think me a little forward for asking, but would you ever consider selling the place?”
Dad looked like he was about to have a stroke. “Sell the place? Heavens, no. It’s been in the family for too long. I wouldn’t sell this place even if someone came at me with a signed check for a million dollars.”
“What about two million?” Thorin pressed. “I own a chain of car shops. I specialize in restoring old, vintage cars and motorcycles. Keeps me entertained when I’m off the field and out of trouble, too. I’ve always wanted to own an old fillup station like this one and do it up nice and proper.”
“Some things money just can’t buy, son.”
“I can understand that, but if you ever decide to change your mind or if you just want to talk about baseball, here’s my card. That’s my personal cell phone number. Call me day or night. I won’t always answer, but I’ll always get back to you.”
Dad took the card. “Really? Anytime?”
“Anytime,” he confirmed. “That goes for you too, Hazel.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said while stuffing my hands in the pocket of my jumper. I didn’t want to do any stupid gestures, embarrassing myself. Blushing was bad enough. But why was I blushing at all? The guy was just being polite — nothing more. If he was trying to flirt, I was sure he wouldn’t do it in front of my dad.
“In the meantime, would you two be interested in taking on a project?”
“A project? What kind of project are we talking about here?” My dad was quick to jump on any business transaction.
“I couldn’t resist. I bought an old Chevy Chevelle that’s in desperate need of some love. Instead of shipping it out to one of my shops, why don’t I bring it here? It would just be a personal car, anyway, so I don’t want to burden my boys with the additional work. They have their hands full building cars for my paying customers. Plus, it might be better if I keep this car a secret. The guys are starting to think I have something of an addiction.”
“Do you?” I asked.
“I might,” he answered.
“So, you want us to enable your addiction by fixing up this Chevelle until she purrs?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“When’s the deadline?”
&nbs
p; “A year.”
“It won’t take us that long,” I said. “Unless we have some major trouble coming up with parts, but my father always knows a guy who knows a guy.”
“I’m traveling this offseason and then I’ll be leasing a condo in the city once April rolls around. I won’t be back until next November when the house is built. I figure I can drop by then, pick up the car, and make another stab at buying this place from your dad.”
“You’ll need to pay us a storage fee,” I said.
“Of course.”
“And a 25% deposit —”
“How about I just pay in full? You two seem like honest people.”
“If that’s what you want to do, let’s take this to the office. It won’t be but a minute and then I’ll let you go off to meet those contractors of yours.”
Dad smiled knowingly because where negotiations were concerned, I wasn’t one to be messed with. Although, Thorin made my life easy because, in the end, he actually overpaid us. That’s right. I told him he had made a mistake, but he just winked and took one of my business cards off the desk. “Looks like I’ve got your number now, too. Mind if I give you a call now and then?”
And just like that, he was gone.
1
Thorin
One year later.
I was back in that sleepy town of Elk Haven. Nothing about it had changed. The rolling fields of corn, long since harvested, remained the main attraction as I cruised along the winding roads. As I neared my destination, something foreign to my last visit loomed in the distance.
And that something was home, sweet home.
The best designers and builders money could buy had been hard at work for the better part of a year constructing what could only be called a masterpiece — and I’m not just saying that because I was going to live there. It really was a work of art with its Greek-inspired design. Parthenon columns framed the front door, kept stark white to contrast with the blue of the door. A water fountain stood guard outside the garden. The marble statue looked like it had been pulled right from a museum gallery. Window balconies. A tiled roof. Suffice to say, I pulled out all the stops because when I was off the field and actually allowed to relax, I liked to do so in the lap of luxury. It wasn’t about showing off to the locals. It was more about reaping the benefits of my hard work.
