“Like herding cats.”
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Ivan was stocking the media shelves in Matt’s thrift shop when he spotted Ned Brooks walking toward him with security in tow. Ivan put the VHS cassette on the bottom rack right next to the row of vinyls he’d arranged earlier with his right hand.
His future father-in-law had called him a week before to ask him to meet him for lunch, and what could he have said? At first Ivan wasn’t sure about talking to Brinley’s dad at all, but then a man had to eat. Who’d turn down a free lunch? It wasn’t going to cost that much at Barbara Jean’s. So he said okay.
“Who views that stuff anymore?” Ned pointed to the VHS shelves with his polished walking stick.
“You’d be surprised. Ninety-nine cents each if you’re looking for one.” Ivan stood up and shook Ned’s hand. “You’re early, Mr. Brooks.”
“Ned.”
“Ned.” Ivan wasn’t sure he wanted to be on a first-name basis with Brinley’s dad, Ned Brooks, only the richest man he knew.
Okay, just on earth. God in heaven is the richest of all. I get it, Lord. Thank you for the reminder.
“You finish up. I can wait.” Ned looked around.
“Have you been here before?” Ivan asked, lining up more VHS cassettes.
“Not this store,” Ned said. “But I’ve been to thrift shops in my lifetime, yes.”
“You have?” Ivan didn’t believe him.
Ned seemed to study him up and down. Ivan felt uncomfortable to be so scrutinized, but the green employee vest hid most of the faded secondhand T-shirt he had on, so he knew he looked somewhat decent. And yes, the twill cargo shorts he had on cost only four dollars on the deep discount rack, but it was Eddie Bauer. It would have cost him at least fifty bucks at the mall.
He had shaven this morning and trimmed his sideburns, so Ivan was confident he passed the test.
“There’s a lot about me you don’t know, Ivan.”
I bet. Ivan pushed the empty shopping cart to the side. A shopper passed by with an armful of clothes on hangers. “You can have this cart, ma’am.”
She thanked him and dumped her finds into the cart and took off.
Ivan glanced at the clock on the wall. He was a bit embarrassed he didn’t have his own watch. But he held his head up. I’m rich in Christ.
He chided himself for comparing statuses. That hadn’t been what Grandma Yun had taught him. What was that verse again? The one about each person minding his or her own business? He’d look it up later on his iPad.
Oh. He’d sold his iPad.
Never mind.
“Looks like it’s almost twelve o’clock,” Ivan said. “Let me clock out and we can go.”
“Sounds good, son.”
Son.
Ivan tried not to read too much into it, but that three-letter word warmed his heart. It didn’t help his concern about the reason for the lunch. It was too soon after the prenuptial agreement that a lawyer from church had helped him draw up pro bono.
He had to do it. Had to prove to Brinley that he wasn’t marrying her for her money. They might struggle a bit in the first year of their marriage, but he was confident that Brinley would eventually see that love was all they needed.
As he hung his store vest onto the rolling coat rack, he wondered whether Brinley would mind living in a trailer park if that was all they could afford. Maybe it was a dumb idea to do the fifty-fifty expense agreement. Too late now. He’d signed it and he was waiting for Brinley to return the agreement as is.
When he came out to the floor, Ned was examining the wheels of a nineteenth-century curricle in the shop window by some wrought-iron fences and bistro chairs.
“That actually belongs to Matt’s antique store next door, but he didn’t have room.” Ivan went up to Ned.
“Matt Garnett?”
“Yes.”
“My wife bought a bunch of stuff from his antique store.”
“He’s a picker too, sir.”
“A picker? I need to talk to him. Maybe he can help me find some old auto parts.”
“You like old things too?” Ivan chuckled.
“I liked old things first. Brinley got it from me, young man. Not the other way around.” Ned straightened up. “What’s the price tag on this curricle?”
“Well, let’s see…” Ivan walked to the front and then around the two-wheeled two-seater until he saw a dangling tag.
Whoa. Lots of numbers.
Calmly he told Ned. “And it’s dated 1850, if it helps.”
“Might be one of the last ones. I’m surprised it’s still intact.”
“What do you mean?” All the while Ivan was wondering if they would ever make it to lunch before he had to return to work.
“You know anything about curricles, son?”
“Sorry, no. I only know music history.”
“The curricle was the sports car of its time. It was fast and furious. Lots of wrecks and all that.”
“Those poor horses.” It was all Ivan could say.
Ned stepped back to take a photo of the curricle.
The default sound on Ned’s iPhone told Ivan that he was probably had just sent the photo to someone. An appraiser, perhaps?
“There was also the phaeton, but it was heavier,” Ned continued. “Later on, about a century later, convertible coupes were all the rage. Same idea.”
“And you have one of those in your collection.”
“I have a 1935 Duesenberg, yes. Maybe I’ll take you for a spin someday.”
Maybe.
Ivan could have reciprocated if his 1945 Chevrolet truck wasn’t a pile of rust in Matt’s junkyard in Brunswick.
Ned’s iPhone pinged. Ned read the message and smiled. “I want to talk to your friend Matt about this curricle. I can’t believe it’s in here.”
“It looks restored.”
“I agree. How long as it been here?”
Ivan shrugged. “It was here when I started work last Friday. You’ll have to ask Matt. Unfortunately, he’s picking in South Carolina today. He’ll be back tomorrow morning as far as I know.”
“Whereabouts in South Carolina?”
“Charleston and Port Royale. He goes there a lot. I wouldn’t be surprised if this curricle was in someone’s basement all this time.” Ivan went to the checkout counter to get a business card. He handed it to Ned. “Looks like it’s the store number on there. I used to have his number when I had a cell… Uh…”
“Why don’t you put a Sold sticker on that curricle so nobody else takes it?” Ned asked, handing Ivan a credit card. “I’m sure Matt also lists this online.”
“I’m sure he does.” Ivan couldn’t believe it. He made a sale in the thrift shop to Brinley’s dad, of all people. He gulped as he swiped the card. The string of digits when he rang it up made him a bit dizzy. What made him dizzier was then he put the receipt on the counter for Ned to sign, looked up and saw that it was nearly one o’clock. He’d missed his lunch hour and it was the end of it.
Ned must’ve noticed his eyes on the wall clock. “How about you come over to the house for dinner tonight?”
“Uh…”
“It’ll just be you and me. Brin won’t be there. My wife’s in Paris.” Ned pocketed his wallet. “We have a lot to talk about. When do you get off work?”
All Ivan heard was: We have a lot to talk about.
That couldn’t be all good. Did Ned have a problem with the prenup? It wasn’t that bad, was it?
“Tonight I’m working late, sir. I work late every night except Wednesday nights when I have church. And Sundays. We close on Sundays.”
“We’ll have to do lunch another time. How about tomorrow? Same time?”
“We can do that, sir.”
“For today, sorry we had to cancel lunch. I’ll have Chaz here go get you a sandwich or something for lunch and you can eat it on your break. How does that sound?”
“Thank you, but no need. I’ll be fine. I’ll see you tomorrow at noo
n. Same place?”
“Barbara Jean’s. How about I meet you there, sir?”
“So that I don’t come here to buy up the store?”
Ivan didn’t know what to say about that. “Well, the antique store next door might have more stuff you might like to see. I’ve gotten some old music manuscripts there myself. Nineteenth century.”
“Possibly from Charleston too?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. Matt’s raiding history there, but that’s not the only place he goes.”
“All right, son. Sorry our lunch is a bust.”
“But you made it out okay. You’re not going to ride that curricle, are you?”
“Nope. It’s a museum piece. Goes into my vault.”
Another vault. “Have you ever thought of opening up a museum so everyone can see your old cars?”
“There’s a reason it’s called a private collection.”
“But history is meant to be shared.”
Ned seemed to be mulling it over. “Just like the musical instruments you talked Brin into loaning to the future MOMI.”
How did the SISO Museum of Musical Instruments get into the conversation?
“Does she tell you everything?” Ivan blurted, but it was too late to retract his thoughts. Somehow he felt comfortable with Ned. Too comfortable. There should be a distance between him and his future father-in-law.
“Not everything, but we’re close.”
“Glad to hear that, sir. My dad and I weren’t—uh, I haven’t heard from my dad in years. I don’t even know where my mother is. Brinley is very fortunate to have you and Mrs. Brooks around.”
Ned looked visibly moved. “Well, son, I’d better let you get back to work. See you tomorrow. Noon. Don’t be late. Bring a starving stomach.”
“Yes, sir.” Ivan watched Ned and his one-man security walk out of the thrift shop. He had a new respect for Ned, the gulf between them notwithstanding. He thought Ned was rather down-to-earth.
Brinley must’ve gotten that from him.
Chapter Sixty-Nine
At 11:45 a.m. Ivan crossed the street and walked briskly. One block down and Barbara Jean’s came into his view at the corner of Mallery and Beachview. Friday traffic was always heavy in this part of St. Simon’s Island with camera-ready tourists and locals going about their business.
He had more than an hour for lunch and he had Ned Brooks to thank for that. The sold curricle had made Ivan’s boss and friend a very happy store owner. Matt kept saying that Ivan was a natural salesman and all that blah, but Ivan knew the truth. Ned saw an old thing he wanted and he bought it. That was all there was to it.
Ivan thought he’d be the first one there, but once again, his future father-in-law was early. Sitting in the booth looking out the window, watching people passing by as if he had no care in the world, Ned seemed genuinely glad to see Ivan greet him.
One table away, Ned’s bodyguard had already begun eating. Ivan thought that it must’ve been one of the most restrictive jobs in the world to guard the rich and famous because someone else’s agenda, twenty-four seven, became theirs.
Then Ivan remembered Art-with-no-last-name who had guarded that 1721 Schoenberg Stradivarius for only two weeks and nearly died because of that. Speaking of whom, Ivan made a mental note to call Art again. Catch up with him and all that.
Ivan slid into his side of the booth. A server came by, dropping off a menu and asking him what he wanted to drink.
“Unsweet tea.” If Grandma Yun were still alive, she’d say it was grammatically incorrect. She would have insisted, colloquialism notwithstanding, that it should be unsweetened tea. Ivan smiled. Grandma had been quite a character.
“Unsweet, huh. I always put sugar in mine,” Ned said.
“If they make it too bitter,” Ivan said. “But not at Barbara Jean’s. They make tea just the way I like it here. I always get a to-go cup.”
Ned placed his iPhone on the table, where the time was clearly visible even from where Ivan was sitting. “Looks like we have maybe an hour to eat and go. We’ll drop you off at the store so you’re not late back to work. Don’t want you to get fired.”
“Thank you, but I think we’ll be okay. I swapped shifts with a coworker so I have until two o’clock.”
“Matt fine with that?”
“Totally. He thinks that I should invite you to his antique store in case you see something you like.”
Ned seemed amused. “He’s business first and friendship later, huh?”
“That’s Matt.” Ivan put his hands down as the server came back with fresh rolls. He took their orders.
“Shall we say a blessing?”
“You do it.”
Nervously, Ivan said a quick prayer. God knew he was eternally grateful for food. He figured that the fewer words he said, the less he had to retract later on. Not that it was a big deal; Ned went to the same church he did, and he probably had heard both long and short prayers.
“Speaking of business,” Ned began. “What are your plans?”
“Plans?”
“For your career.”
“My career?”
“Stop stalling. The clock is ticking.”
Oh boy. That makes it worse. “Uh… Truth be told, I’m at an impasse.”
“And?”
“And? I’m stuck, sir.”
“So you’re working in a thrift shop to regroup and gather your thoughts.”
“It’s not that heroic, Ned.”
“I’m not letting my daughter marry a loser, son.”
Loser? Maybe that’s what I am. “I’m trying not to be one, sir.”
“Try harder. How do you think I’m where I am today? Hard work, son. Back-breaking hard work.”
“I thought you were born with it.”
Ned laughed. “Then you don’t know my dad. He made me work my way up before he gave me a dime.”
“I think I would’ve liked your dad.” Ivan’s fried cod came and the big platter provided a barrier between him and Ned across the table. He watched the server place two giant crab cakes in front of Ned. They looked better than his cod. They made his mouth water.
Coveting is a sin. He could hear Grandma Yun clearly in his head.
“Let me rephrase my question.” Ned cut up his crab cake. “You spent four years at Juilliard on a full violin scholarship. You spent two years touring with a crossover string ensemble.”
“Jade Strings.” Then Grandpa Otto dropped dead. Grandma Yun broke a hip. His concert violinist career ended.
“You spent six years teaching strings.” Ned chewed slowly, as if to give Ivan time to think. “Do you see a pattern there?”
“A pattern, sir?” Ivan wasn’t sure if he could enjoy the cod and think of patterns. Sure, there were patterns in music, but he couldn’t eat and do that either.
“Brin said you’ve been playing violin since you were four years old.”
“That’s correct.” Ivan wasn’t sure what Ned was getting at, but considering the seconds and minutes on the iPhone on the table, all things would be clear soon. He decided to keep eating and be done so he didn’t lose his appetite in case the news was bad.
Lord, don’t let me lose Brinley.
“Look, son. I’m trying to help you think through this.”
“I’m drawing a blank.”
“Hence your impasse. We need to remove the blockage so you can move on.”
Move on? As in—move on from what? From whom?
“What are you going to do when your wrist heals?” Ned asked.
“It may not completely heal.”
“Have faith, you idiot.” Ned chuckled.
Did he call me an idiot?
Ivan wondered if he should walk out. Then he realized that Ned was right. He had been an idiot. Many musicians were in worse situations than he had been and they had all survived.
Uh, name one.
“It’s just a broken wrist.” Ned wasn’t finished. “It’ll heal.”
“Could take a lon
g time.”
“You’re defeated even before you begin.”
Ivan thought he had a good point there.
“Trust God, son. Don’t lean on your own abilities, understanding, and point of view. Trust God. Trust His wisdom, His sovereignty. Do you know Proverbs 3:5-6?”
Ivan’s fork stopped in midair. It was the verse that Brinley had given him at Christmas and that the Seaside Chapel Men’s Bible Study Group had discussed back in December before his accident.
“Pastor Gonzalez said that it would be good if I can memorize some verses,” Ned continued. “I carry this verse around with me. He might check up on me, you see, and I don’t want to fail the test.”
Pastor Gonzalez told Ned to memorize the verse. Ned told Brinley to memorize the verse. Brinley wrote it on a bookmark for Ivan.
What is God saying to me?
Ivan brushed off the thought. “I never thought you’re the kind of person to go around quoting scripture, Ned.”
“It’s pointless to know scripture if you don’t apply it. But there’s more. The seventh verse in the same chapter says something remarkable.”
“What?” Ivan finished his cod, all the sides that came with it, and every breadcrumb. He had thought he’d lose his appetite, but the opposite happened.
“‘Be not wise in thine own eyes: fear the Lord, and depart from evil,’” Ned read aloud. “Pastor Gonzalez says we have to learn to differentiate man’s wisdom from God’s.”
“I guess we both need to trust God and seek His wisdom.” A lesson Ivan had been trying to learn the last four months.
Poorly.
* * *
“What are you going to do when your wrist heals?” Ned asked. “We’re discussing your future with my daughter, Ivan. I want to know where you’re going with her.”
I knew it. He has doubts about me. Frankly, I have doubts about myself too.
“Give me a minute to get the words.”
Ned nodded.
Well, he’s going to be my future father-in-law. Eventually I’m going to have to face him.
Here goes nothing.
“I used to think, fresh out of college, that I’d tour the world doing classical and crossover concerts. I did that for two years straight. In my early twenties I had plenty of energy and zero care. Now that I’m thirty I’m thinking more of staying in one place and raising a family. I don’t think Brin would want to live in a touring bus all year long or in hotel rooms.” And with kids that could be hard—
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