by Nella Tyler
We went back and forth, finally settling on two million dollars. It was more than I’d ever paid for a car in my life, but I’d get more than double that amount after she was fixed up.
“Pleasure doing business with you,” I said, grinning. We shook on the deal and I told him I’d be in touch to arrange the payment and pickup. Mr. Mantovani invited me inside for a drink and I obliged. We each had two espressos as we talked mainly about his life in Italy and later Germany. I left wired from all the caffeine and ready to get to work on settling the shipping arrangements as soon as I could. This was my favorite part of the restoration besides actually driving the finished project after Jackson and the team finished working their magic. The possibilities seemed endless and I found myself as excited as a kid on Christmas morning.
I called Dad as soon as I returned to the hotel, not even changing out of my winter coat first.
“I bought the Alfa Romeo,” I said as soon as he answered.
“How much?” he asked.
I told him and he made a thoughtful sound that I knew well.
“That seems pretty high, son.”
“I know it does, but the return on investment will be magnificent. I did a lot of research before coming over here and comparable restorations have sold at auction for close to five million dollars.”
“I trust your judgment, Banks,” Dad said simply. “Give me the address and I’ll contact the moving company. Do I need to initiate a wire or will you handle that from your end?”
Mr. Mantovani had given me his routing and account number along with the paperwork for the car. I’d already initiated the wire and told Dad so. We went over the details with the moving company and how quickly they could arrange to pick up the car. I wanted to be there when that happened, so Dad promised to see what he could do. We hung up shortly after finalizing a plan of action and I shot Mr. Mantovani an email to let him know the wire was scheduled for the following day, as the window I initiate new wires had already closed for today. I also told him that I’d be in touch when the moving arrangements were set in stone.
I peeled my jacket off, still pumped from the new purchase. I sent Jackson an email too, which I knew he wouldn’t answer until after he’d finished work for the day, just letting him know where we stood and that he could expect the Alfa Romeo shortly. I hesitated, considering giving Maggie a call, too. I hadn’t heard from her since our phone call the night before my flight over here. I really wanted to talk to her, but didn’t think it was wise to be the one to reach out, not after how upset she’d been by the bank account business. I needed to let her work through her feelings and reach out to me if and when she wanted. It wasn’t what I preferred, but that was the situation I was stuck with.
Sighing, I decided to put my coat back on and go for a walk. I needed to find a place to celebrate with a beer and something good to eat. Luckily, there was no shortage of good food in this country.
Maggie
Friday
I resisted the urge to contact Banks when I woke up. He’d been gone almost a week and I regretted not going with him, but it was good that I’d had the time to work through my anger and really process what I was feeling. I forgave him for not telling me about the bank account. In retrospect, I could see that he and BJ had only wanted to provide me with a cushion if I needed it. The intent was good, but the execution was the problem. I wanted to be an equal partner with someone, not a delicate flower that had to be shielded from the harsh realities of the world. But calling to tell Banks all of that right now didn’t make much sense. He’d be home late Saturday night. I could give him a call on Sunday after church service. This was the kind of thing it was always better to discuss in person anyway. If we’d discussed the secret account in person I didn’t think things would have gotten so out of hand.
I made my rounds at the shop, checking in with all of the mechanics to make sure everything was running the way it was supposed to. The guys seemed to appreciate the fact that I regularly requested their input and then actually made changes according to what they had to say. Since I didn’t really know what the hell I was doing running a classic car garage, I’d decided early on that I would fully rely on my team to tell me what was important. So far, this strategy had worked extremely well.
I went to my office, leaving the door open this time. I passed a few peaceful hours entering some accounting information into QuickBooks and ordering much-needed merchandise that Jackson had been too busy to handle. After that, it was close to lunchtime, but I refused to allow myself to eat until I did what I’d been putting off for the last week.
I decided to just bite the bullet, and opened a new tab in my browser. I chose a page from my recent history and before I could think better of it, I scheduled the test I needed to get my certification to teach. I breathed out deeply, grinning once it was scheduled. That was one thing down and several dozen things to go. But it was a start that would get me closer to the life I wanted to live and further away from a life that I liked, but felt forced into. I loved being in the shop because it made me feel close to BJ, but I didn’t like it at the same time because it made me feel trapped.
The phone on my desk rang and I answered with the regular greeting. It was so automatic, I sometimes answered my cell that way.
“BJ’s Customs, how can I help you?”
“It’s me, cherie,” Mom said in an amused tone.
I smiled at the sound of her voice. I hadn’t heard from her much since the incident with Banks. I was looking forward to seeing her at church on Sunday.
“You caught me at a great time,” I replied. “I just scheduled the test to get my teaching certification. It’s in January.”
“How wonderful!”
“I’m excited. And nervous. But mostly excited.”
Mom gave her tinkling laugh. I’d never managed to get that winning, delightful sound down. When I laughed, it was loud, not charming.
“Have you picked up the paperwork the attorney drafted?” she asked.
I looked down at the manila folder on my desk. “Yeah.” I opened the folder, my eyes running down the first page of the document that, once signed and notarized, would transfer 55 percent of the ownership in the shop to Jackson. I’d talked to him about it a week ago and he seemed enthusiastic about the idea of becoming a majority owner in the shop, even if he was a little hesitant. I told him that I knew BJ had been considering offering him equity in the business at some point because of all the years he’d poured into making sure this place was a success. Without Jackson, BJ never would have been able to do what he had in such a short span of time. I initially offered him the 55 percent as a gift for his loyalty, but he refused to accept those terms. He wanted to pay for his share, and he wanted it to be the actual market value, not some lowball number I gave him off the top of my head. That meant going through the process of having the business properly evaluated by an expert who could tell us what it was worth. BJ—and now I—owned the land and garage, as well as thousands of dollars of equipment and other merchandise. I was actually quite surprised to see how much money the business itself represented. When I told Jackson the number, he agreed to take out a second mortgage on his house to pay me in full. I didn’t necessarily like that idea—especially since I wasn’t in dire straits so far as money went—but could see Jackson wouldn’t agree to anything else. All of those terms were reflected in this paperwork.
“I picked up the agreement yesterday afternoon. The attorney is an old family friend of Brian and BJ’s and didn’t end up charging me anything.” I wondered if people would ever stop feeling sorry for me because my husband was killed. It still happened on an almost daily basis. Moving out of Danbury would probably help a great deal, but that would isolate me completely and tear me out of the only place I’d ever known. For obvious reasons, that was not an option.
“You sound hesitant.”
I sighed, deflating a little in my chair as I closed the folder over the unsigned paperwork again. “I’m having second th
oughts.” At this point, it’d probably be a lot more accurate to say I was having 10th thoughts. I kept going back and forth on this. I’d scheduled my certification test but was still unsure about selling the business and handing daily operations over to Jackson. Not because I didn’t trust him—he’d be better at it than I was—but because it felt like I was dishonoring BJ in some way by giving up so easily on his dream. The guilt was sometimes so intense I burst into tears.
“Are you happy where you are?” Mom asked. We’d talked about this a few times before. She already knew all the answers, but I knew she was making a point.
“I’m not unhappy.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
I was just being a smartass because I could, but I knew she was right.
“If BJ were alive today, what would you be doing?” she asked.
I didn’t even need to consider the question for more than a second before answering. “I’d be teaching. That was always the plan.” I’d helped BJ out at the shop after college because I wanted to be close to him, but I’d also scheduled the test for my certification. I kept extending the date because he said he needed me. In retrospect, I was glad I did it. I had no idea how little time we’d have together and I cherished the memories of us working together all those months. I never really loved the work, just the feeling of being with him. Even now, that sensation lingered. It was what got me out of bed in the morning for the first few weeks after the car accident, the fact that I felt my husband more in the shop than I did in the home we’d shared.
“Why should you do anything differently now?” Mom asked. “If BJ was alive, you would be pursuing your dream.”
“I know.” I sighed again and dropped my head onto my hand, supporting the weight with an elbow on the desk. I was so tired sometimes. Out of nowhere, the world would just decide to drop a solid weight onto my shoulders. “I just can’t shake the feeling that I’m leaving a huge piece of BJ behind me.”
“It’s a natural feeling, because you’re leaving a part of your life behind. The part of you that was BJ’s wife is in the past. In the present and future, you must shift to considering what will make only you happy.”
It made sense. And I knew it was the right thing to do. I couldn’t help the sadness that opened up inside me, but I could help letting myself be engulfed by it the way I had been for months.
“I’ve lost two husbands, Maggie,” Mom continued. “And I know the allure of trying to freeze time and stay in that role as wife. That’s fine to do for a short while, but if it goes on for too long, you will never regain control over your own destiny. You will stay stuck as BJ’s wife and never realize the dreams you had for yourself. Following your own path isn’t selfish. It just happens to work out that BJ would want that for you, because he was a good man who loved you.”
I was blinking back tears now. She was right. BJ had always only wanted me to be happy and I’d felt the same way about him. When I thought about it that way, the answer to the question of what I needed to do was perfectly clear. Too bad it didn’t alleviate any of the guilt that was twisting in my gut.
“I agree with everything you said. It’s just hard.”
“I know, cherie. But it will get easier. And, one day, when you’re standing in front of your classroom, you’ll realize that this heartache cleared the way for you to live your dream, and you’ll be grateful for it.”
I didn’t know about that, but Mom had been right about so many things over the last year that I didn’t bother to argue. I just accepted the wisdom that had come from years of her experience. In many ways Mom had led a very charmed and privileged life, but in others she’d really struggled.
“How soon will you have the papers signed?” Mom asked.
I didn’t want to rush this, but I also didn’t want to let it drag on for too long. “Before Christmas. I’ve already talked to Jackson about taking over the day to day operations before that. I just want to go through everything and make sure I’m leaving the business in the best shape possible.”
“I’m glad you’re doing something that will make you happy. This year has been very challenging for you. I know the sadness won’t magically end when you earn your teaching certificate, but moving on with your life is the only thing you can do.”
I knew that. It was yet another thing that brought up feelings of intense guilt, but even that was getting easier to deal with. I didn’t really have a choice but to forge my own life without BJ, but I realized that I wanted that life to include Banks. We really needed to have a serious talk when he returned from Italy. I’d forgiven him but, more importantly, I’d forgiven myself for the desire to live my own life, with or without him. I needed to stop looking so hard behind me that I forgot to see what was right in front of me.
“I should get back to work,” I said.
“I’ll come by on Sunday to pick you up,” Mom replied. “Bye, Maggie.”
“Bye, Mom.” I hung up the phone and looked down at the manila folder again. Inside of it lay freedom, not just from a life consumed by this garage, but from the memories that echoed in the empty spaces—BJ and me sharing our lives together. His omnipresence and my crippling sadness. For once in the last 13 months, I wanted to celebrate the passing of a major event.
I grabbed my purse from one of the drawers and shot up from my desk. It was lunchtime and I was going to buy some champagne to celebrate this next part of my life, even if it meant drinking it all by myself.
Banks
Sunday
I got into Danbury late Saturday night, thoroughly exhausted from the flight but pleased overall with the trip to Italy. I’d rather have gone with Maggie, but at least I’d been able to secure the Alfa Romeo, even managing to be there when the moving company Dad had called loaded her onto the truck. I’d spent the rest of the trip eating, drinking, and planning the restoration, going back and forth with Jackson via text as we honed our plan. I was going to sit down with him this week to go over what my vision was and see how it jived with his. When BJ was still alive, I just left all the design work to him because that was where he was most talented. But now Jackson and I were the new default designers. It was exhilarating…and terrifying. I hoped we could live up to the reputation BJ had forged for the shop.
I crashed and slept until early Sunday morning when I woke to my phone ringing. Groggy, my eyes half shut, I answered. It was my mother.
“Welcome home, dear,” she said, sounding much too cheery for 6 in the morning. “Your father and I wanted to invite you to come to church with us today.”
I collapsed onto my pillow again, groaning. I was exhausted from so much travel and worry over the Maggie situation. The last thing I wanted to do was go to church. I had to get up at some point—I needed to pick up Alice and buy a few groceries—but some point didn’t have to be now.
“I’m too tired for church, I think, Mom,” I said. My throat was dry. Flying always dehydrated me. I wanted a drink but still wasn’t quite ready to get out of bed, though I was sure Mom wasn’t going to let me off that easily.
“I was talking to Philippa the other day and she mentioned that she and Maggie would be there today.”
I perked up at that. I knew Maggie attended the same Catholic church as my parents, though my folks didn’t go as often as Maggie and her mother did. BJ had been all about going to church as well. Nothing bored me more than sitting through a church service, but the opportunity it provided to be in close proximity to Maggie was worth the boredom. I might be able to work out a way to talk to her. Shit, even thinking this way would probably earn me a nice warm place in hell.
“We can swing by and pick you up around 7:30 if you like, dear. You haven’t been to church since…” Her voice trailed off and I knew why. The last time had been BJ’s memorial service, which had been held the Sunday after his actual funeral—some special sermon the priest had given in BJ’s honor. It had been a very tough day for all of us. “Well, it’s been a long time. We can go out for brunch afterwards
and then go pick up Alice and her things.”
I groaned again, but more playfully. I often met my parents for brunch on Sundays without going to church first, but I didn’t see the reason to mention that. I was anxious to see Maggie again, even if she refused to have anything to do with me, and even if the reunion happened at church.
“Okay. I’ll see you in an hour.”
“Perfect,” Mom said, and promptly hung up before I could change my mind.
I crawled out of bed, yawning and stretching my arms over my head. It was too damned early to be up, but now that I had Maggie on the brain I’d never be able to get back to sleep again anyway. I jumped in the shower, cranking the water on as hot as I could stand it without screaming. As much as I loved to travel, it was good to get back home again. I liked my routine and the space I’d carved out for myself in the world, filled with all the things I cared about.
I dressed in a nice pair of slacks, a button-up shirt, and tie, finishing off the outfit with a pair of brown dress shoes. I ate a bowl of cereal at my dining room table while I read through emails on my tablet. By the time I cleaned up after myself, Dad messaged that they were downstairs. I locked up my condo and went down to meet them, buttoning my jacket as I rode the elevator down to the ground floor.
The church was packed when we entered a few minutes before the sermon began. We took our seats in one of the pews. I could see the back of Maggie and her mom sitting several rows ahead of us on the opposite side of the aisle. Her chocolatey hair was loose and wavy down her back. I wanted her to turn so I could see her face, but Father Hammond was at the pulpit and the service began before I got much more of a chance to ogle the back of her.
The sermon itself seemed to drag on into eternity. I was a grown man, but knew if I dared to take out my phone and check my emails, Mom would slap me like I was 7 years old. I gritted my teeth and bore it, watching Maggie’s every move as I completely ignored what the priest was saying. I wasn’t a very religious person, despite being raised in the church. It was funny that BJ and I had been so close considering how important church was to him. I knew it was important to Maggie, too. I guessed I had plenty of boring Sunday services in my future if I wanted to be with her. I considered it a fair tradeoff. Maggie was worth a thousand Sundays trapped in this church with Father Hammond droning on in his monotone voice. Well, maybe not a thousand, but several hundred. There was always the possibility I could convince her to commune with nature when the weather turned warm instead of sitting inside a closed off church listening to some guy’s interpretation of various parts of the Bible. Wasn’t a hike more indicative of the depth of God’s glory than some sermon? Even in my head it sounded like bullshit, but it was worth a try. Anything to get out of doing this every week.
