Don't Let Go

by Sheryl Wright

  “Where’s Dad?” Tyler asked.

  “He’s meeting a couple of the guys from the car club. They’re trying to find a workspace so they can put some of their members back to work. They came up with this idea to restore cars on speculation, like your dad did during college.”

  “How would that work?”

  “I think the plan is pretty simple. They have at least a dozen guys in the club who are out of work. So they want to find a couple of cars to restore and a workspace. I guess he figured the guys are sitting around anyway, so they can work on donor cars, then sell what they finish and split the profits when all is said and done.”

  Tyler covered the foot she’d been massaging with the blanket, before moving on to massage Kira’s right foot. “Doesn’t Dad have room in the shop?”

  “For bodywork! Plus, I really don’t like the idea of half a dozen guys just hanging out all day. Even if they’re working on a project, I have enough trouble keeping your dad’s guys on point without adding his buddies to the mix.”

  “Are they really serious about this?” At her mother’s nod, and her sister’s insistent foot prod, Tyler explained, “I might have a space they can use and maybe even a project.”

  “Really? That would help your father so much. Let me call him and see where he’s at.”

  While her mother made her phone call, she finished the foot rub then placed an ice bag across her sister’s ankles. “I think you should keep your feet raised.”

  Kira sank her fork into the jar of pickles, spearing another dill. “I don’t think I can wait till dinner. Can we have the strawberry pie now?”

  Tyler rolled her eyes, turning to her mother for guidance.

  “Finish off last night’s apple pie first.”

  Kira groaned. “Actually, I think I want a grilled cheese instead.”

  “You just had steak and eggs with Dad!” Tyler commented. “Are you really that hungry?”

  “If I say yes will you stop bugging me?”

  “Girls!” Debbie groaned at her twin daughters. “Your dad’s next door at the shop, Tyler. Why don’t you head over while I make your sister a sandwich?”

  Tyler strolled through the back entrance of the shop, making her way to the lunch room. It was her dad’s preferred workspace and where he and his buddies would gather to drink coffee, talk about restoring old cars and, lately, commiserate about the economy. As expected, Carl Marsh was seated at the large round lunch table. The surface, covered with a plastic tablecloth, was strewn with auto magazines and used car buying guides. Her father, hunched over his laptop, peered at her over his reading glasses. “Hey pumpkin.”

  “Hey Dad,” she offered, heading past him for the coffee machine. Picking up the half-full carafe, she swirled the black brew before taking a whiff. “How old is this?”

  “Better make a new one.”

  While he worked away at whatever had his focus, she emptied the old pot and rinsed it carefully. Replacing the coffee filter and scooping in the fine grind Maxwell House from the giant Costco tin, she surreptitiously watched her dad. She couldn’t help but notice he was getting older. Oh, he was still a good-looking man but the years of hard work and the stress of the business, not to mention raising three strong-willed daughters, was beginning to show. “Is it worth it?”

  Carl looked up at his daughter, eyebrows raised high above his reading glasses. “Uh-oh! My pumpkin’s awfully reflective for a Sunday.”

  Tyler leaned back against the lunch counter, arms crossed and head back. listening to the coffeemaker hiss and spit. “Isn’t that what Sundays are for?”

  “I don’t know. Used to be you girls thought Sundays were for shopping! Nowadays not so much.”

  Before her dad could comment on her mood, or worse, ask the kind of soul-searching questions that always forced her to focus on the things truly bothering her, she changed the subject. “Mom says you and the guys have a plan and just need some space.”

  “Space and a project. I think I’ve found one,” he revealed, tipping his head to the computer.

  With her coffee in hand and a fresh cup for him, Tyler slid into the chair beside him. “Can I see?”

  “Sure.” He adjusted the laptop so they could both see the screen. “We found three cars in our price range. This Dodge is probably the best of the lot.”

  She read the stats carefully. “A four-door? I would have assumed a coupe or convertible would be a better choice?”

  “They would. If we could find one.”

  He reached past her to open another tab on the browser. “I’ve been going over the sales stats for some of the big auction houses. These are some of last year’s sales at Barrett-Jackson. Have a look,” he offered, turning over the laptop to her. While she scrolled down the list he asked casually, “See the pattern?”

  Tyler shook her head while she continued to read through the list of cars, features and the final sales amounts. “Wait, I would expect to see some commonality around price with similar models, but these numbers are all over the place. What’s the defining difference? Quality of restoration?”

  “You would think,” he said. “Actually the range between a good DIY frame-up restoration and a Concours car is not that big. The two factors I found are horsepower and custom versus stock.”

  Now it was Tyler’s turn to sport the Marsh raised eyebrow. “Custom versus stock I get, but horsepower?”

  He nodded. “Okay compare these two Corvettes. Here’s a ’63 split window. Really nice, all original stock car with a small block 350 under the hood. It sold for 84K. Now look at this ’64.”

  Doing just that, she read through the sales summary. “Holy smokes…240 grand! For a ’64? A Concours ’63, or even a ’67 with a big block maybe but…”

  “Read the vehicle stats,” he suggested, clearly interested to see her reaction.

  “Oh my God, they gutted her! They completely replaced everything. ‘L88 engine, six-speed tranny, Dana rear end.’ What the hell—why waste a vintage ’Vette body on what’s basically a new Camaro? And who the hell pays two hundred and forty thousand for what’s basically just a factory stock car?”

  “I think these guys are buying them to race. Vintage racing is all the rage these days. Especially on the west coast. So only the car body need be vintage to qualify.”

  “I get that but this,” she pointed to the fact sheet displayed. “It just seems wrong. Not that the 1964 Corvette was anything to shake a stick at, but this seems sacrilegious to me.”

  “You and me both pumpkin. You and me!”

  “So…” she reflected. “If you’re not going to drop more horsepower into a car than anyone could ever use, how do you get top dollar?”

  “Total custom,” he explained, adding, “and it has to be top dog—total showroom quality.”

  “Can your guys do that?”

  “I think so. We’ll need some help designing the reinforcements for the convertible top and we’ll probably need to pay someone else to sew the custom upholstery.”

  “What’s your budget?”

  “We pooled together a little over twelve grand. It’s tight but I think we can do it, if we can find a reasonable work space.”

  Grinning, she offered, “How about a free workspace and a second project, a paying project?”

  Carl smiled, enjoying her enthusiasm. “I like the sound of that. Tell me what you’ve got in mind already.”

  “May I?” she asked, tipping her head to his computer. At his nod, she pulled it closer, typing in a URL from memory. “I drove Georgie out to the boatyard the other day. We took these pictures of the old millwork shed. I think it might have started life as a barn. It’s a large timber frame building. The tin siding outside looks like hell but inside the place is immaculate. They still store wood moldings up in the loft but the ground level is empty except for Georgie’s cars.”

  “Cars?” he asked, eyebrows raised, “as in plural?”

  “Don’t get so excited. It’s not a collection or anything.” She sc
rolled to the pictures they had taken of the cars stored in the mill. “This Packard was her grandfather’s.”

  “Nice! All original?”

  “And pristine,” she added, clicking on the next image. “This Town and Country is a ’61 I think, and all original. It was Georgie’s aunt’s car. Not my cup of tea but nice.”

  “Nice but not in need of much attention,” he commented.

  Agreeing with him, she scrolled through several shots of the timber framing to find the image she wanted. Clicking on it, she angled the laptop to give him a better look. “You may find this interesting…All the DiNamico grandkids got new cars for their sixteenth birthdays, all but Georgie.”

  He studied the photo carefully before scrolling to the next in the series. “Boy you don’t see many of these little Jeeps anymore. Is it a Kaiser or a Willy’s?”

  “I’m not sure. Evidently, it was the plow truck for the boatyard. When Georgie was turning sixteen, her dad offered her a new Subaru Brat. Instead, she asked for flying lessons and he agreed, offering her the old Jeep if she was willing to spend the time and effort needed to keep it running. She was telling me about a short in the electrical system she just couldn’t find. No matter what she did, it just chewed through batteries. Evidently, she got really good at parking on hills and push-starting it herself.”

  “Been there!” he said, chuckling. “She sounds like good people. It’s been close to a month now, how are you two getting along?”

  Tyler considered his question carefully. “It’s complicated. I mean it’s not what I thought at all. Georgie’s very accommodating and respectful, but she’s surprisingly protective.”

  “It makes sense. If you’ve suffered such a serious trauma, wouldn’t your self-preservation kick in?”

  “Actually, I meant protective of me. Last week she took a chunk out of Lou Phipps for referring to me as ‘her girl.’ That woman may have many challenges communicating, but getting her point across when she’s very, very angry is not one of them.”

  “Lou Phipps, that’s Zoe’s dad, isn’t it?” At her nod, he quipped, “I always assume men with daughters would naturally be more respectful.”

  Rolling her eyes, she said, “You would think, but no! When that man looks at me, all he sees is the help.”

  “Does he know you’re dating his daughter?” he asked. “Maybe he has a problem with that.”

  “Then he has nothing to worry about. I told Zoe I wasn’t interested in pursuing anything.”

  “Oh?” He gave her a look of parental concern.

  “Let’s just leave it there, Dad. Now what about restoring this little Jeep and the millwork shed. Think your guys could make it work?”

  “It will depend on overhead costs, but as far as the space and the project, they’re perfect. Do you really think she’d consider renting it to us?”

  “No Dad. She won’t rent it. I know that.” At his crestfallen look, she added, “She will want you to use it for free. Maybe what you could do is cut her a deal on the restoration cost. She’s really into fair trade projects.”

  “And you really think she’ll go for that?”

  “Dad, a few weeks ago, when she offered to buy her nephew some new shirts and ties, Zoe accused her of favoritism. In response she put out ten grand of her own money to make the same offer to all of her staff.”

  “Okay then! When do I get to pitch the idea?”

  “How about Christmas?”

  “Christmas?” he asked with surprise. “Won’t she be with her family?”

  “No, and before you ask,” she said, “it’s a long story and it’s part of the reason I want to invite her for dinner.”

  “Okay…and the other part?”

  Tyler sucked in a deep breath. “I get the sense she’s really lonely. In a way, she’s very much an outsider in her own family. Don’t get me wrong. Since the accident, each of them has taken responsibility for some portion of her life but they don’t really involve her. They just do what they think is best and leave it at that.”

  He considered her worries carefully, finally asking, “Are they doing what’s best for her?”

  Tyler sighed. “I’m sure there was a time when they were, but things change. She’s by no means back to her old self but she’s not helpless either. Just, well…isolated, might be the best way to describe things.”

  “Families are complicated,” he offered without judgment. “Why don’t you clear the invite with your mom, then we can hammer out a proposal for Ms. DiNamico.”

  “We?” Tyler asked with a grin. “When did I get roped into this?”

  “When you started driving your boss’s Land Rover!” At her baffled look, he added, “Now we have to worry about your baby sister driving your mom’s car again. Good God, that girl does not possess an ounce of the common sense my pumpkin and my little turtle had at half her age!”

  Tyler laughed, pulling the laptop closer. “I guess we should add a project plan to your budget. What about the little Jeep? Any idea what would be involved there?”

  “Actually I do. Let me go pull out the shop manual and I know I’ve got a bunch of parts catalogs around here somewhere. Why don’t you have a look over my budget for restoring that Dodge while I find everything?”

  “Add another cup of coffee to that list and I’ll turn ‘our’ proposal into a masterpiece!”

  Carl smiled, reaching over to give his daughter a hug. “Boy, I missed having you home pumpkin. I really did!”

  * * *

  “Get your ass in here!”

  “Really Marnie?” Zoe said, poking her head in the office door. “Some days you’re as crass as Aunt Lori!”

  Caught off guard by the challenge to her behavior, Marnie smiled, deciding in that second to take a different tack. “Let’s sit down and chat before you take off for the break.”

  Zoe blanched. “Are you firing me?”

  “What? No! I just want to talk. Family stuff. Grab a coffee with me?”

  “I’ll get it.”

  “I’ll come with you—’tis the season and all that.”

  “Straight from the mouth of Scrooge Pulaski! Really Marnie? Since when did you give a rat’s ass about Christmas?”

  “Now look who’s being crass.” Stepping into the private kitchen, Marnie watched as Zoe prepared two cups. From where she was standing, she could see into the side-by-side offices of Susan Chan and Tyler Marsh. She watched as Tyler worked steadily, head down and focused on her task. As Marnie followed Zoe back to her office, she stuck her head first in Susan’s door, offering Susan and her napping husband a happy holiday, before stopping at Tyler’s door. “Hi Tyler. Happy holiday. Almost ready for the break?” At her nod and returned well wishes, she ordered, “Drop by my office before you go. Say about one o’clock?”

  Back in her own suite, Marnie closed the door, offering Zoe a seat in the corner sitting area. Marnie rarely made use of the space, preferring to have her staff gather around her desk. To say Zoe looked suspicious would be an understatement. Recognizing the jig was up, Marnie put her coffee on the table and asked plainly, “What the hell is going on with you and Dr Marsh?”

  “Oh Christ, Marnie! I really thought you were going to fire me!” She put her hand on her chest, taking a big calming breath before wiping an errant tear from her eye.

  “I’m sorry kiddo; I really am. It’s just that I need to know if we have a problem with Tyler.”

  “Tyler? I did not see that one coming. Has Georgie complained?” she asked, visibly surprised by the situation. “They seem to be getting on well. What’s the problem?”

  “There’s no problem. I was just interested to hear how things were with you two. You looked pretty cozy last week in the bar.”

  “The bar—how would you—you were in a lesbian bar?”

  “Don’t be so shocked. Back in the day, I used to go to Toronto with Lori and Georgie. We’d hit all the bars on Temple Street.”

  “Church Street,” she corrected.

  “Whatever.
” Marnie waved off the correction. “Now stop stalling and tell me how things are going. I want details, girl!”

  Zoe laughed at her. “You want details? Well that’s a first. Sorry to disappoint but I’ve got bad news. Seems the uppity Dr Marsh isn’t interested in a little fun with me. Although, I must say, she was quite kind about the whole thing. I guess that’s her education at work.”

  Marnie seemed to chew on that. “When did this happen?”

  “To be honest it’s been off and on from the start. But she dropped the bomb the other night; we were out having drinks.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh?” Zoe asked.

  “So, did you like her? I mean was this someone you, you know. Someone you envisioned a future with?”

  “A future, hell no! Are you cracked?”

  Now it was Marnie’s turn to raise her eyebrows. “Some of us like the cracked future thing!”

  Zoe practically snorted her laughter. “Really Marnie, the only future I was interested in pretty much ended that night. Nothing personal, but our Miss Tyler is a bit of a prude and far too vanilla for my taste.”

  Marnie wasn’t exactly sure what that meant but decided in favor of Tyler. “So, in the language of my husband and sons, she wouldn’t put out! Is that what you’re telling me?”

  Zoe grinned. “What an education you’ve been getting. I’m sure Aunt Lori’s been rubbing off on you too. I can’t imagine Georgie talking like that. At least I can’t remember her ever doing so.”

  “You’re too young and to be honest, I think she was always on the formal side. She always went for that officer and gentlewoman crap!”

  Laughing outright, Zoe shook her head. “What’s got into you? The last time you let loose and had some fun was the twins’ sixteenth birthday.”

  “I know, I know! I got a little tipsy that night. Can you blame me? My babies were turning sixteen! Christ, they already had Jack talked into taking them straight to the DMV the next morning. I was scared shitless!”

  “Now you see why my idea of a long-term relationship is three days in bed then arrivederci!”

  “Don’t ever say that in front of Jack! My idea of three days in bed sounds like a reading marathon. I almost have him convinced that women need longer recuperative time between sexual interludes.”