September settled into a routine; kids to school, women to work, Murphy busy around the old homestead. You know how us old guys like our routines.
Once a week I'd get together with Carl. We'd play cards, swap lies, generally have a good time.
The weather, as always, was pretty hot during the day, starting to go cool at night. We were seeing more deer in the woods and along the lower meadow. Now and then I'd spot a coyote or fox, but they kept their distance.
Brady came by early in the month; he wanted to look over the barn for my changes. On the fifteenth, he re-appeared with three guys. They stripped out what little there was on the apartment walls, framed in a bathroom and a small kitchenette. They probably spent more time sealing up air holes in the side walls and then insulating, as they did on the rest of the job.
While they were busy upstairs, I moved everything out of the lower area. Re-insulated down there, painted, and re-organized. Moving the vehicles back in, there was a hole where the Mustang had been. Time to begin the search.
Shelly was coming around more than ever before. Mostly to visit with Madge and Jeannie, but she'd tease me every now and then. Things like running fingers along my arm while we talked. Or licking lips while talking. And I can't forget the intense kisses at odd times.
I wasn't worried about what the girls might say; they were teasing me about adding Shelly to the harem. I was worried about where this was headed. I can't eat enough, or take enough vitamins (even horse pills) to keep up with three. We had always been easy around each other, best of friends. Now I could feel a slow escalation between us. Now, I didn't mind her kissing me, or the teasing, or even her rubbing against me as she would do. I just wasn't sure where this might go. I also knew eventually I'd have to talk this over with Madge and Jeannie.
Jessie put me in touch with a lawyer in Tacoma, She listened to my needs and concerns, then got busy on paper work. She was sure something was possible, probably along the lines of a limited partnership.
Bob called from San Diego. He might have found a replacement for the Mustang. "What do you know about Bentleys? I found a T2 with left-hand steering down here."
"I know what they are, and I know how expensive they are, but can I work on it? What about parts availability?"
"This is a '78, one owner. He's worked on the car all the time he's had it. If he sells it, parts and tools are included."
"If he sells?"
"He's picky where his baby is going. Dad, this guy is in his eighties. The only reason he's selling is because his eyes are going."
"How about if I call, talk to him?"
"I'll talk to him, set it up. Maybe you'll have a chance to come down for a visit."
***
A week later, I was headed south by Alaska Air.
Before I called the owner, I did some research of my own. A T2 Bentley with left hand steering was a rare bird indeed. There might have been half a dozen in the US. There's a Rolls-Royce dealer in Seattle, so I had experts in the area. Parts were available. I might have to wait a bit is all.
When I talked to the owner, it was like going through a job interview. Or talking to a father on your first date with a girl. Finally he invited me down to see the car. But no assurance I was getting it yet. Oh, and there was no budge on the price; twenty five grand.
Shelly was quite willing to meet the bus after school on the days Madge or Jeannie couldn't, and stay with the boys on the weekends. She drove me up to SeaTac for the flight. The good-bye kiss I got curled my toes (again). "That's so you don't forget your way home."
I spent the whole flight mulling her over. She was definitely upping her game.
***
Bob met me at the airport looking tan and relaxed. Sue was home when we arrived, happy to see me. She's a warm, smiling person. I'm sure she must have her down moments, but I never saw one. Mark came in about six. He hugged and kissed both Bob and Sue, shook my hand. A nice guy, maybe a few years older than Bob and Sue. Near six foot in height, fit looking. An easy smile, but he was sizing me up.
We had a pleasant dinner, drinks out on the patio, easy conversation. I was finished by ten, headed to my bed in the guest room.
The next morning Bob and I headed for La Jolla. There's a reason I stay away from Seattle; the freeways. The San Diego area makes Seattle look like a piece of cake. Bob laughed; assured me it was easy once you got used to it.
We arrived at this huge house that looked as if the Spaniards had built it. Mr. Carswell met us with a firm handshake and steady voice, and leading us to the garage, had no problems walking. I commented on how well he was doing, surprised he was selling the car. "Well...If I could see the damn road, and pass the eye test. How old are you?"
"I'm sixty five. Hopefully I've got twenty good years ahead of me..."
"Where would you keep my car?"
"I had an idea you might ask. I brought down some pictures of my barn. I hope you can see these alright."
"I'll look at them later. Here's the car."
We were looking at a large sedan (the Brits call them saloons), smoky grey in color with tan leather interior. Correction: matching, Connelly Leather, interior. The car was immaculate! Not a scratch or ding. The leather looked new. He opened the hood; the engine was sparkling clean. I found it hard to believe this car was thirty years old. And I told him so. In the trunk there was a tool set that looked never used. A spare was under a cover. It looked new. Sitting in the driver's seat was a totally different experience. You felt regal. Looking down at the carpet; there was a little wear under the pedals. That was it.
He had been watching me while I looked the car over. I felt white gloves were appropriate for that car. He must have been satisfied with me so far, because he offered a drive. I started toward the passenger side, but he said no, I should drive.
I have never been more nervous. Ever. I'm driving almost a one-of-a-kind car. In traffic. We headed north; once we got past Scripps, I could get into the throttle. We drove up to Del Mar, had lunch, and drove back down after. Carswell didn't say much the whole trip. He sat back, eyes closed, just taking in the ride. Bob had been in the back the whole trip; He never said a word.
Back at his house, I was going to put the car in the garage; "Don't bother. You'll get the car. It's going to good hands."
It took an hour to load parts and tools in to Bob's car. Some items had to go into the Bentley; there just wasn't room in Bob's car. They were all carefully wrapped and placed. I was already wondering how I was going to get all that north.
As I started the car, Mr. Carswell stepped to the window with tears in his eyes. "Mr. Murphy, there is one more thing. Please take these. I won't be needing them any longer."
He'd given me his leather driving gloves! I shook his hand, promised to take care of her.
