Rand
Hanna doted on Patrick and me, heaping our plates with some delicious smelling hamburger and noodle dish. Patrick placed his nose close to his plate and inhaled deeply before he smiled. "After we get finished, I may break her car again just so she sticks around."
I snickered as I dumped Frito's onto the edge of my plate and added a dollop of sour cream to the top of the casserole. "You'll have to wait your turn."
"Are you almost finished?" she asked as she began scooping food onto her plate.
"Why? You in a hurry?" I asked.
"No, but you've been working on it for almost twelve hours already. I feel guilty enough as it is."
I glanced at Patrick. We were still working on the brakes. After that was the steering, but if we had enough time, we'd discussed doing more than simply making the car mechanically sound.
"Almost. Just a few more things."
"Where did you learn to do this? Did you own a garage?" she asked, looking at Patrick intently. I couldn't stop my brief snicker. She glanced at me, then back to Patrick. "What?"
"Ignore him," Patrick said. "It's nothing."
"I know you probably haven't heard of him, since you didn't even know what a clutch was, but this is
the
Patrick O'Neill."
She looked at Patrick. "I'm sorry to say I don't know what that means."
"It doesn't mean anything. Don't worry about it," he said, never looking up from his food.
I couldn't resist poking him a little. "Patrick is one of the greatest race engine builders in the world. In the seventies and eighties there were more cars with his engines winning the SCCA Can-Am events than any other. His motors still fetch steep six figure money, even today,
if
you can find someone willing to sell one, and they still dominate in the classic races."
"He exaggerates," Patrick said, still not looking up from his plate.
"I do
not
exaggerate," I said firmly. "Who built more winning engines than you? Be honest."
"Nobody," he said, his voice quiet.
"When you get back home, you can honestly say your Bug has an engine built by O'Neill Race Engines. You'll be the envy of all your friends," I teased.
"How'd you end up here?" she asked, clearly interested.
"I bought the place when I retired."
"When was that?"
"About 1986," he said and I winced to myself. I hadn't intended for the conversation to stray into this territory, and I wondered how I could drag the subject away from painful memories.
Hanna blinked a moment, clearly doing math in her head. "You couldn't have been very old."
"About thirty-eight."
"Wow! Congratulations!" she said, but then her smile slowly faded as she picked up on the sudden change in the mood at the table. "Wait, what happened?" she asked as she glanced between myself and Patrick. I said nothing. It wasn't my place.
Patrick placed his fork on his plate and met her gaze. "I had a son," he began, his voice quiet, but now there was a profound sadness in his tone. "He wasn't like Rand. He was arrogant and spoiled. It was my fault I suppose, well, mine and Susan's, my wife. We gave him everything he wanted. He wanted to race, drawn to the speed and the women, I guess, but he didn't have the talent. I talked to a buddy of mine who ran a team and we got him into a car. He did okay, but he was never really competitive. He blamed the car, the crew, everyone but himself, but I think deep inside, he knew. In his second season, he was pushing too hard, driving beyond his ability... and crashed."
"Oh no," she whispered.
Patrick nodded. "He suffered a debilitating brain injury. He survived the crash but was brain dead, what do they call it now, a present vegetated state? We kept him on the machine for two years, hoping he'd wake up, but he never did, and we finally switched it off. He died three days later."
"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to bring up bad memories."
He smiled at her. "It's okay. That was a long time ago. Susan, she couldn't accept it and blamed me for his death. I guess in a way it was my fault. If I hadn't pulled strings, he'd have never been able to get a seat on his own. A year after Kyle died, Susan left me. I just didn't have the passion for it anymore, so I sold my engine shop, packed up my equipment, and moved to Oregon. And, as they say, here I am."
"I'm so, so sorry. I can imagine how it must have been losing your son."
Patrick placed his hand on hers. "I suspect you can." They held each other's gaze for a moment before he turned to look at me. "But God gave me another chance, and I didn't make the same mistakes with Rand I did with Kyle."
"I guess we both got a second chance," I said with a smile of my own.
Patrick pushed back from the table. "Speaking of second chances, that car isn't fixing itself. Thank you, Hanna, that was delicious."
I quickly shoveled the last two bites from my plate into my mouth. "I guess, and yes it was," I mumbled around my mouth full of food as I rose.
-oOo-
I saw Hanna standing at the door of the shop several times over the next four hours, but Patrick and I didn't pause in our work. We were in a sprint to the finish. The little bug would run and drive fine now, and nothing we were doing wouldn't wait until tomorrow, but it had become a quest for us to finish the car today.
As I was installing the clutch pedal, I'd noticed the floor pans had extensive rust, and though they didn't have any large holes, they weren't long for this world. As Patrick cut the rusty floor out of her car, I'd searched the yard and found pans from three other cars that we could patch together to make two good ones for hers. I'd cut out the pans, and as he welded the new pans in, I'd returned to the yard and found a hood, trunk, door, two front fenders and one rear that were in better shape than hers.
It was approaching ten p.m. as Patrick and I adjusted the fit on the hood so it would close properly. I finished retightening the hinges and stepped back. "Try that."
He lowered the hood and let it drop the last couple of inches. It didn't latch, but he pushed on it gently with his hand and we heard it click. He opened it, and then let it dop from slightly higher and then tugged on it. It didn't open.
"I think that's it," he said as he stepped back, looking at our work. "Not the most beautiful car I've ever seen, but better than it was."
I nodded. At six this morning, her car had been a faded powder blue. Now the car looked like it had been inside a paint factory when it exploded. The roof, the passenger rear fender, and the passenger door were what was on the car this morning, but the other rear fender and driver's door were now orange. One of the front fenders was red, which matched the engine cover, while the trunk and other front fender were white, but at least most of the rust was gone, and all the bent body panels had been replaced.
"Want to take it for a spin?" I asked.
He shook his head. "No. I'm beat. I'm too damned old to be working this hard."
"I told you to quit hours ago."
"And leave you out here alone with it? After all the work I put into it getting it running and driving, I didn't want you messing it up," he said as his eyes danced with humor.
"Has anyone told you that you're not a very trusting old fart?"
He smiled. "Not since last week."
I snickered as I dropped into the driver's seat. The passenger seat was in pretty good shape, but the driver's seat had been completely broken down, so I'd replaced it along with everything else. I didn't think Hanna would care if it was brown while the other seat was black considering how the outside of the car looked.
"Thanks for your help, Patrick. Seriously. I couldn't have done it without you."
He nodded as he smiled. "I enjoyed it. It's been a long time since we've done something like this together."
I nodded. "Too long."
He jerked his head at the door. "Why don't you go introduce Hanna to her new and improved car."
I grinned. "You know, I think I will."
I started the car and backed it out of the shop. I revved the engine and dumped the clutch, racing away across the yard. After I banged the car into third, I stood on the brakes, and it stopped straight and true. The steering was also tight and responsive without all the slop and play that had been in it before. I snicked the car back into first, and again raced across the yard, making a turn at the first row before hauling ass between the rows of cars, then rounding the end and racing back to Patrick's house. I pulled to a stop in front of the house, repeatedly racing the engine while furiously honking the horn.
A moment later, Hanna appeared at the front of the house, brightly lit the Bug's headlamps. I stuck my head out of the window and raced the engine again. "Want to go for a ride?"
She smiled broadly before she leapt down the two steps, hurried to the car, and flung herself into the passenger seat.
"Buckle up!"
I slotted the car into reverse and raced backwards before slamming on the brakes. I jammed the car into first, raced the engine, and dumped the clutch, the little car scrabbled for traction on the hard packed gravel. We raced for the bone yard as she screamed, in terror or delight, I wasn't sure, before I spun the wheel right, sliding us around a corner as she shrieked again, holding onto the dash and door handle for dear life.
When we reached the end of the row, I braked hard and threw the car left, downshifting into second before flooring it again, her little car roaring merrily as we picked up speed down another wide aisle. I grinned as Hanna shrieked again, laughing hysterically as her car belted along. The Beetle was abysmally slow compared to what I was used to, but it probably felt ridiculously fast to her considering it barely ran before... if she could get it started.
I slowed slightly as we skidded around the end of the bone yard cars, but then I buried the throttle again, eking out every bit of speed the Beetle could give me as we raced along the back of the property. I went hard to the brakes again, down shifted, and then we were racing back to Patrick's house. When we slid to a stop in front of his house, she couldn't stop laughing. I switched off the engine.
"What were you doing to her out there?" Patrick asked as we climbed out of the car. "I could hear her screaming all the way over here."
