The Pace

by Shelena Shorts

  Innocently, he responded, “I like to swim. It relaxes me.”

  “Yeah, I get that. But we’re in California. Most people have outdoor pools.”

  “This lets me swim year-round.”

  “I see.” That made sense. I slid off my flip-flops and dipped my foot into the water. “Wow, it’s warm. Really warm,” I observed. As a matter of fact, the entire room was feeling hot. Or maybe it was just me visualizing him in his trunks. “Okay, I’m ready to go up.”

  We never went to the top levels, but I did see enough of the house to notice that there were no pictures anywhere. We had pictures everywhere in my house, and my room was covered in pictures of places I’d lived, pictures of me and Kerry, and pictures I had taken with my new camera. Pictures told stories and brought life to a room.

  “You don’t have any pictures,” I said out loud.

  He looked around as if to check on my observation. “No, I guess I don’t.”

  I found it very odd that he didn’t have any memories of his family or loved ones around. It made the room feel lonely. “You don’t have pictures of your family or friends?” I asked. “Or places you’ve been?”

  “No, pictures for me don’t really bring happy memories.”

  I looked around, thinking about what he’d said, and I also noticed that everything was new other than the two antique games he had downstairs. It didn’t seem like a place where you call home. It felt like a vacation property. Somewhere you go to spend time to get away. “Everything here is new. Are you sure you live here?” I was half joking and half serious.

  He laughed again, “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “Well show me what makes this your house then.”

  He looked perplexed. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I don’t know all that much about you, and I was hoping to get an idea from your house, but everything is so new, and it doesn’t even look like it has been touched, except for your games. But, you can’t play games all day, so what else do you do here all alone?”

  He looked at me, studying my face again. I hoped I wasn’t making an odd request, but I wanted to understand him and so far, he was becoming more of a mystery to me. No pictures of anyone anywhere, living in a bright, huge house all alone. I didn’t see much personality in any of it. “All right,” he said. “I can show you what I like.”

  “That works.”

  He led me to the living area to sit on the couch. “Well, you already know I like to race cars, but when I’m home, I just read or watch TV.” He pressed a button on a remote. A flat screen rose up from behind the fireplace. “I watch sports,” he said, flipping through his sport channels. “And I watch the Discovery channel a lot.” We were making progress, but I sat there waiting for more in silence. He took the cue that I wasn’t satisfied. “And I like music.” He opened large doors to built-in bookcases where he had hundreds of records. Actual records, that would need to be played on a record player.

  “Have you ever heard of an iPod?” I asked, sarcastically.

  “Yes, I have one of those, too.” He was smiling.

  “What else?” I asked. He pondered for a second, and then he headed toward the kitchen.

  “Come on,” he said. “I’ll show you what I eat.” I started laughing. It all seemed so ridiculous, but I was actually curious. I wanted to know everything about him.

  He opened up his cupboards and refrigerator to show me his favorite foods. He had tons of bottled water, lots of cereal, his freezer was packed with chicken and steaks, and his refrigerator had a variety of fresh fruits and vegetables. He picked up a raw broccoli spear and took a bite.

  “Eww,” I said. “That’s gross.”

  “You asked me what I like. I like vegetables. They’re good for you. You ought to try them. You of all people should know that,” he said, still chewing.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You know, your mom being in the medical field and all. You should eat healthy.”

  “Okay whatever. What else?” I was having fun. I had learned more about him in the last five minutes than I had in weeks.

  “What else do you want to know?”

  “Why do you live in such a big house?”

  “Well, I just wanted the view, the privacy, and a place big enough to hold my cars.”

  That sounded reasonable, but the last word lingered. He was such a boy.

  “Your cars?” I asked. “Let me guess, more race cars?”

  “No, not those kind.”

  I really didn’t care for seeing any more new fancy sports cars or race cars. I wasn’t going to be suckered into driving any more of them, and I wasn’t planning on climbing in any more car windows, so unless he had maybe a monster truck in there, I wasn’t really interested.

  “Trucks?” I guessed.

  “Nope.”

  “Oh,” I said, disappointed. Now it was getting mysterious again, and I definitely didn’t like that. “Bikes?”

  “No, just cars that have been in my family for a long time.”

  “And you like them enough to buy a big house for them?”

  “Those are the only things that keep memories alive for me. You talk about photos as reminders for places you’ve been and people you love. For me, the cars out there,” he nodded his head back toward the garage side of the house, “tell the best stories of the past. They truly tell where people have been. That’s how I keep the memories I want alive.”

  Now we are getting somewhere. He was becoming more real to me by the moment. I wanted him to keep talking. “Can I see them?” I was curious as to how the cars he talked about could tell stories.

  He led me around the kitchen, opposite from the dining and living room entry and down a few steps into a wash room. Through the washroom was the garage. He opened the door to the cleanest garage I’ve ever seen. The walls and floor were painted a light gray color. The only things inside the garage were three cars hidden under white cloth car covers. We stood there looking for a few minutes. He realized I wasn’t satisfied with the viewing.

  “Do you want me to take the covers off?”

  “That would be good.”

  “Where should I start?” he asked. I didn’t understand. “I can start at the most recent or the oldest,” he clarified reluctantly.

  “The oldest,” I answered, still without fully understanding. He walked around the car farthest from us, and I followed. When he pulled the car cover off, I took a double take. I thought it was some sort of joke, and then I took a closer look and saw the perfection and authenticity of it.

  “What is it?” I asked, leaning over the shiny black vintage car.

  “It’s a 1921 Ford Model T Speedster. This one has been in my family the longest.” He was looking at it with pride and joy, and I could completely understand why. It was a beauty. There wasn’t a scratch on it anywhere. I walked around and touched what seemed like every inch of the outside.

  “Is everything original?”

  “Yes, everything,” he confirmed.

  “Amazing.” I turned around, now curious to see what was under the others. He took my cue and walked over to the second car. He smoothly pulled back the cloth. It was a newer model car, but nonetheless breathtaking.

  “And this one?” I asked.

  “A Rolls Royce. 1958, Silver Wraith.”

  It was another beauty. Silver and royal blue with white tires. I wished instantly that I had my camera with me. It was definitely not something someone gets to see everyday.

  “Wow. That’s really nice.” I thought for a minute. “What was it you said your uncle did?” I was starting to sound like my mother, but I couldn’t help but be overly curious. It was never-ending with Wes. There was something amazing around every corner. I wondered how much more there could possibly be.

  “He was a doctor,” he said. “More so a scientist, you could say.”

  I remembered him mentioning something like that before, but it still didn’t give me the answers I needed. I wanted to know
what kind. Did he inherit money, too? There were so many questions, but I didn’t want to be rude, so I settled on a simpler question.

  “What was his name?” I was looking at the details of the car, so I didn’t appear to be prying too much. Wes seemed to ponder his answer, which I noted.

  “His name was Oliver Thomas.”

  “Oh,” I said, satisfied for the moment. “And what about this one?” I pointed, diverting his attention to the last covered car. He looked at it and then back to me. He walked over to the car and took a long pause before pulling the cover back. As the cover slid away from the hood, I knew right away. It was a black Mustang.

  “Now, this is cool,” I said. “What year is it?”

  “1963.” I stared at it and a vision of him driving it crossed my mind.

  I opened the door to sit in it without asking, and he quickly grabbed my elbow. I looked at him, taken aback.

  “Sorry,” he said, letting go. “This one has special meaning. Please don’t.” He looked nervous and concerned.

  “Oh, sure. No problem,” I said, hoping I didn’t offend him. He started re-covering the car and then he worked his way back over to the others, covering each one without saying much. I followed him over to the last car.

  “These cars are great. You have a nice collection. I’m sorry if I—”

  “Thanks,” he said, interrupting. “And don’t apologize. I didn’t mean to snap at you back there.” He was covering the car in hard concentration, and his expression was unreadable. I was pretty certain that he regretted showing them to me, and yet he still managed to find a way to apologize. I felt so meager. Who knew how much those vintage cars were worth, and I tried to jump right into one with dirty shoes and all. I rolled my eyes at my stupidity. I was about to apologize again when he finished up, but he spoke first.

  “Sophie,” he said, moving in front of me. “You don’t have anything to apologize for, really.” He stopped and looked away, searching for the words to explain. “I just haven’t shown anyone else these cars before. They are very special to me, and I’m not sure I’m ready to open up those stories yet.” Once his eyes met mine, I studied their warmth and nodded in comprehension.

  “Fair enough,” I said.

  He smiled and reached his hand out to me as a peace offering. I took it, without hesitating, as he led me back into the house. It was a strange feeling leaving that garage. There was a sense of history hovering in the air. It was similar to what I felt when I was at work, only this was a thousand times stronger. At work, those were just minor little pieces of the past, but these were monumental heirlooms, and the aura they gave off was inexplicable. I glanced back, over my shoulder, one more time as we exited, wondering what interesting stories they had to tell.

  We ended up leaving and going to a little sandwich eatery that was on the way to my house. It was right off the highway, and I had seen it many times, but I’d never actually eaten there before. We chose a window seat so we could soak up the great view it had, and he offered to order for us, which provided me with a few moments alone. I tried to clear my mind of my own personal insults at my prior mishap. By the time he returned with our food, I was much more at ease. I was, however, a little hesitant to ask him any more questions, since I had already overstepped my boundaries with his valuables. Thankfully, he took control of our conversation once we got situated.

  “So why did you get a job at Healey’s?” he asked, taking a bite of his sub. I smiled a little.

  “Because I needed money to fix a couple of cars I dented. Remember?”

  He chuckled. “No, I mean why Healey’s?”

  That was a good question, I suppose. Most teenagers would probably not choose to work at a used bookstore. It was not really deemed cool. Dawn seemed to have a decent enough social life, but she hadn’t chosen the bookstore. She sort of got stuck with working there.

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I used to go there to buy books, and I just saw a hiring sign right about the time I rammed into you.” I searched his face for some sort of reaction at the memory. There was nothing out of the ordinary.

  “And you like working there?”

  “Yeah, sure, I guess.” It gave me something to do, plus I liked having my own money coming in. I was curious as to what he thought, so I figured I would use his own question on him. “Why? Is that strange to you?” I asked.

  He smiled again and looked down. “No, not at all.”

  “Books can be very cool, you know.” I was trying to sell my apparently odd choice of employment. “Especially at a used book store. Talk about telling stories. You can’t help but wonder how many places those books have been. It’s very neat.”

  “Oh, I believe you,” he said, swallowing a French fry. “I have quite a collection myself.”

  “Why does that not surprise me?” I was staring at my own food, now, realizing I’d been playing around with it. He noticed as well.

  “It helps if you actually eat it.” He smiled.

  I was too busy absorbing every word he spoke to think about eating, but I bit off a French fry and showed him the remainder.

  “I like books, too,” he continued. “It’s nice to see someone appreciate old things as well as new things. Most young people nowadays seem so wrapped up in technology, they don’t have time for hobbies that involve thinking.”

  Now that we had my boring life summed up, I was feeling like a nerd—plus, he had called me young. I didn’t like it. I needed to divert the attention away from myself. “What are you studying at Berkeley?” I asked, between bites of my own sandwich.

  “Chemistry,” he said, matter of factly. Instantly, I didn’t feel like the nerd anymore, but I did feel a little inadequate. Not only was he good looking, wealthy, and incredibly charming, he was smart, too.

  “Wow. I would’ve never thought,” I replied, and I knew instantly that was a mistake, because he wasted no time with the obvious follow-up.

  “What would you have thought?” he asked, leaning back, taking a break from his sandwich. I had to think for a minute.

  “Well...” I looked him over, contemplating deeply. “Maybe finance?”

  He laughed. “That’s a good one, but no.”

  We were finishing up our food by then, and he started gathering our trash to throw it away. I would’ve wanted to prolong the afternoon but I, unfortunately, had to go to work. It was the first time I wished I didn’t have to go in. I had more questions.

  “Why chemistry?” I asked, as we threw our trash away. He didn’t seem like the chemist type, although it did run in the family, so I don’t know why I found that so surprising. It could’ve been because I kept envisioning him on a magazine cover and not in a lab coat.

  “My uncle piqued my interest. He was working on some medical breakthroughs that could have cured many people when he died, so I thought I would continue on for him. We’ll see.” He shrugged, opening the door for me.

  It was hard to keep my eyes on him because we were walking by then, but I could tell he was trying not to boast too much about it, but there was no way he could hide it. I added compassion to my list of good qualities about him.

  I daydreamed all afternoon at the register, and my curiosity grew by the second. There were things that didn’t make sense to me, and I wanted to resolve them. I had met a guy, who I liked more than I should, and yet there was so much left unknown. He had more money than even a middle-aged person would responsibly know how to manage, and yet he had no family to help him. He was incredibly kind and open, but complex at the same time. I couldn’t decipher whether I was overthinking things, as usual, or if there were missing pieces that I should try to locate. If I hadn’t liked him so much, I probably wouldn’t have wasted my time, but I did like him.

  In fact, if I believed in love at first sight, I would have said I loved him already, but I refused to go there. So many things were too mysterious for me to allow myself to fall hopelessly for someone who may not reciprocate my feelings. I wanted to know everythin
g about him and more so, I wanted to know why he was interested in me. He could have had anyone he wanted. It didn’t make sense.

  I went into an insecure abyss that afternoon and made it my mission to fill in the missing pieces before getting deeper into a situation that could be potentially painful.

  Chapter 6

  RESEARCH

  There were a couple of things I already knew, and I ran through them in my mind. He said his dad died many years ago; his mom died a few years ago; and his uncle died last year. He also told my mother that his uncle was a renowned scientist. I knew their names, although I had neglected to ask his mother’s name, I did have two names to go on, so I figured I would start there.

  I felt like I was sneaking around behind his back, and it really wasn’t a good feeling. He had never been anything but kind to me, and here I was checking up on him—but I had to find out more about him if I was ever going to understand him, guilt or no guilt.

  I typed Weston Wilson II in the search box on my computer screen. Four links popped up right away. I clicked on the first one. It was an article from the California Chronicle:

  Millionaire Heir Presumed Dead From a Plane Crash Over Australia

  July 19th 2008

  Authorities discovered the crash site of millionaire Weston C. Wilson II, Monday afternoon. His son is reported to have been the last person to see him take off in his KR-2, personally-crafted, single-engine airplane from a secluded airstrip at his Australian home. Officials say that no one would have been able to survive the crash. Although no body has been discovered, personal objects were found in the charred wreckage confirming the aircraft was the one manned by Wilson. Authorities also searched the area and found no sign of survivors.

  Wilson was well known for his work in aircraft design and for helping fund the California Blood Research Center throughout the 1980s. He is survived by one son.

  I looked back over the article, because something didn’t make sense. The first detail I noticed was the one indicating that he was survived by one son. I knew that had to be Weston, but Weston told me his father died many years ago, and this article was dated just last year. Wes also made it seem like his father had died before his mother, but there was no mention of her in this article. I tried to do other searches to see what else came up, but there was nothing contradictory. All of the articles were similar.