afterward that it was vivid imagery. More like all style, no substance to me. All icing, no cake, like Pop used to say.â
The man over at the other gravesite is rubbing the womanâs back now, but sheâs still not looked down at the grave once. She moves his arm away and turns around, walking slower than Iâve ever seen anyone walk.
âWeâre all booked up tomorrow. Wouldnât have time to put a new spark plug in if someone wanted. I suppose Jamie could do it. If someone drew pictures for him and wrote down specific instructions and stood over him telling him what he was doing wrong. He thinks heâs a big help when weâre busy but I keep telling him heâs not, that it takes a man or woman away from the job to have to stand with him and teach him. Well, takes a man away because Iâm definitely not going to show him anything. Itâs hard enough not to get him to bend right over into the car and slam the hood down on his head.â
I think of Dadâs obsession with safety in the garage, of making sure everyone followed all the rules, ever since John Carrigan lost his eye when he was chiselling a bearing race off a hub and a piece of metal went in his eye because he wasnât wearing his safety goggles.
âNot that Iâd really do that, Dad.â I think about it for a minute. âWouldnât want our insurance to go up.â
I leave the cemetery after my goodbye. No mention of Petch or fighting or anyoneâs unhappiness. I think, maybe like the woman who was at the other grave, that some things are better left alone.
5
F OR MY SIXTEENTH birthday, Mom threw a big party with a few good friends and lots of family. While BJ, Michelle, my friend Karen, and I sat in the corner, Mom passed around finger sandwiches, meatballs, and cookies, smiled and made small talk. Dad and Bryce smoked cigars downstairs in the rec room, where I made my way before long.
âHey,â Dad said. âI have a surprise for you.â
âReally?â I said. âCan I have a cigar?â
âLadies donât smoke cigars,â Bryce said with a smile then puffed the cigar, a cloud of smoke forming around his head.
âIâm not a lady.â
âA lady is the one whoâs going to get my surprise, so I guess you canât have it.â
âOkay, Iâm a lady. But it better not be a dress.â
Dad grinned, stood up and told me to close my eyes and open my hand. When I did I felt something metal and something round. I opened my eyes and blinked twice. I stared at Dad, my mouth open, unable to find any words.
âSay something,â Dad finally said after a too long silence.
âAhh.â I shook my head and fought back tears. âI can drive her?â
âSheâs yours.â
âBut, no one can evenââ
âYours,â he said.
In my hand was a key and a crystal ball key chain. The key chain and the key were a legend in my house. It unlocked what Dad frequently referred to as his second favourite girl, winking at me when he said it. A powder-blue 1956 Chev Bel Air named Bessie sat in our houseâs attached garage, the only car allowed inside there. Dad and Bryce spent hours doing her up while I watched and bugged them with questions. Theyâd heard about the car from an old buddy of Pop Collins and drove to Coleyâs Point to pick it up then towed it on the back of a trailer truck Dad borrowed from Bryceâs brother-in-law. The car wasnât much more than a rusty shell that had been left to rot in the garden of a saltbox house, but over many hours, days, months, and years they fixed up the car to make her something fantastic.
Mom hated the car and said so many times. Dad spent almost all his time at the garage as it was and whatever leftover time he had went to fixing up Bessie. I liked it because I got to watch and sometimes I got to help out too. But mostly I got to spend that time with Dad. I
Landon Dixon, Giselle Renarde, Beverly Langland