“You all signed the non-disclosure agreement and have seen how serious Harry is about operating in secrecy. So now you know why I was so concerned about a possible leak in our organization. It would have meant the end of this opportunity for all of us.”

Dad looks from me to Tommy, contrite but steadfast, his meaning clear. We both nod in understanding.

“I’m sorry to have kept you all in the dark in terms of who was vetting whom,” DeSouza says, handing us each a duo tang folder, “but that’s the way I work. Now, if you will please take a look at these.”

The folders contain a detailed history of each vehicle to be quoted, complete with photographs and notes going back to the day it rolled off the line. Included are inventories of the parts on hand in the stock room of this building, and the parts that are needed.

“You see that Harry is as persnickety as he is circumspect,” Dad remarks.

Mark, flicking through the pages, lets out a low whistle “This is very impressive.”

A boisterous discussion ensues, with questions flying at Mark about his new equipment, how fast he can hire more staff and his opinion about the best way to go about tackling the work.

Mr. DeSouza discusses each as lovingly as if it were his child.

That done, chat turns to personal things. “So I take it you’re never planning to come out of the shadows with this collection, then, Mr. DeSouza?” Mark asks.

“No. I abhor publicity and attention.”

Hah! I know exactly how he feels.

“The vehicles will be sold or auctioned anonymously.”My problem is time, or lack of it. I need help to get it all moving faster,” DeSouza continues, “and Carson needs help to decide on a direction for his company. So, we decided to help each other.”

Tommy frowns. “Decide on a direction for the company? What’s that mean?”

With a sigh, my father looks down at his clipboard, then back up again.

When he does, the fluorescent lights in this room seem to highlight the shadows under his eyes.

My strong, stubborn, invincible father suddenly looks his age.

A wave of sympathy for him washes through me.

“Long story short? I’m tired. Owning a successful business, raising kids…it’s hugely stressful. Most people never have any idea. Of course, you two might find out some day.” He lifts his chin towards me and Mark. “I’ll probably never retire, but I want to slow down. Way down. I want to spend more time with your mother, either traveling or just hanging out, or…whatever.”

“You’ve earned a rest, Dad,” Tommy says.

“For sure! Mom too,” I echo.

Dad nods, searching for words. “Yes. I just want to be with her. Without any business stress or stress over the kids or cars or racing or whatever. She wants me to let go of a lot of it. So…I’ll need to either sell the business, pare it down, or leave more of the day-to-day to you,” he nods to me and Tommy both, “and your brothers.”

“Racing? You’re not going to enter any more races? What about being on the Motorsports board?”

“I’m giving up my involvement. Either Callum and Hamish can deal with it, or hire a promotional company for that. But I’m washing my hands of it.”

Tommy and I are both quiet, letting this sink in.

Tapping his pen against the clipboard, Dad continues. “In addition, certain aspects of the business are getting more complicated, more regulated and more difficult to administer every day. Bottom line, it’s just too much damned work and worry. You know that the parts business is largely wholesale, which pays well and nearly runs itself. The repair end is a different story.” He shakes his head. “We needed to do that audit in order to find out, with certainty, whether or not it makes fiscal sense to continue to offer that service. Whether Sinclair’s can effectively afford to continue.”

“Do we have the answer to that yet?” Tommy asks quietly.

“Thanks to your work, the analysis is complete and the numbers are in. And the answer to that question is a qualified “no”. Not unless we can ensure a steady flow of custom repair business.”

“And that’s where Mr. DeSouza’s collection comes in then. More work to keep that unit going.” Tommy’s eyes flick in my direction.

He doesn’t want to keep that unit going.

Neither do I. And we both feel guilty about it.

Guilty, yet obligated; loyal, yet trapped.

We both want to go our own way.

Oh, shit.

I think I know where this whole thing is going now. Dad’s going to try to convince us to stay at Sinclair’s for the foreseeable future.

“Yes…and no,” Dad says. “For the last few weeks, I’ve been spending a lot of time here with my old friend. I’ve been helping him sort things out, make decisions and so on. In return, he’s giving me––us––a fair crack at his business.”

“Aha,” I say softly. “So this is where you’ve been hiding out, huh?”

Dad glances at Mr. DeSouza. Their eyes meet and something seems to pass between them. “Yes. I’ve been helping Harry here do a little auditing of his own. Together with his accounting staff, we’ve determined that, even if we scrap some of the vehicles that aren’t worth restoring, he does indeed have many years of business here. So, there’s that. But…I’m torn. I have to decide if…if…I have to decide about the future, for you kids. And I don’t know if…I think I’d rather…just…stop.”

He sits forward and rubs his bald pate, searching for words.

Then he leans back, opens his mouth, and closes it again. His discomfort is palpable. For my father, admitting this is obviously difficult.

DeSouza comes to the rescue. “The years slip by so much faster than we realize. I intended to have all this work done long ago, to retire and live on a cruise ship with my wife. She loved the ocean. But we never had the chance.” He clears his throat. “She died two years ago, and I still have all these cars.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. DeSouza,” I say. Mark and Tommy make sympathetic sounds.

“I don’t want the same fate for me and your mom,” Dad says, simply. “We’ve both worked hard and now, we want to play. It’s that simple.”

“And so you should,” DeSouza agrees. “As for me, I wish to get my cars restored as soon as possible, sell off as many as I can and put the proceeds to good use somewhere.”

“Hence, this meeting,” Dad says. “I didn’t know until he told me last week, but Harry’s been waiting for you, Mark.”

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that,” Mark says.

“It’s important that I honor the good people in my life,” DeSouza says. “Your father was one, you’re another. So is Carson and all his many children, haha!”

“Speaking of,” Dad says, “Your brother Bryce is setting up a custom shop in Malibu.”

“Yes. I’m preparing a shipment for him as we speak,” DeSouza says. “Due to Bryce’s connections in the music business, he had no trouble lining up buyers for a large selection of my vehicles. Many are pre-sold, with interest in many more.”

“Oh, really? I thought Bryce couldn’t wait to get out of the automotive industry,” I say.

“Once upon a time, that was the case,” Dad says. “But people grow up, Marie. They realize which side of their bread is buttered. Bryce is both a uniquely talented automotive technician and a musical prodigy. He can use one talent to fund the other. It’s an enviable position to be in, quite frankly.”

“Mark? What do you think? Do you want to quote the work on my Lamborghinis?”

“Definitely!” Mark says. “ And, I know someone who might like to buy those Grimmettis, too.”

“Fantastic! Selling those would probably pay off this building,” DeSouza says, laughing.

“Damn straight,” Mark agrees. “Wow! This is all…amazing. A bit overwhelming, but…amazing. I had no idea!”

“Harry sure knows how to keep a secret,” Dad says admiringly.

“Apparently, he’s not the only one,” I say, giving my father a contrite look.

Dad reaches across the table and pats my hand. “Now, I need to know about you and your sister, Thomas,” Dad says. “I’m sorry to put you on the spot, but I’m tired of worrying about it. I want to know before I leave this place. So I’m asking you two: Do you want me to keep the custom repair unit open? Do you want to keep working for Sinclair’s? Your brothers don’t care, they have their work cut out as it is. So there’s no right or wrong answer here. I’m okay with it, either way.”

Glancing at Tommy, I take a deep breath. “Then, it’s a ‘no’ from me, Dad. I plan to finish school and work with Mark to run Mollenkamp Motors. Help him build that business, just like Mom helped you.”

“Fair enough,” Dad says, so quickly that I wonder if he knew it all along.

“Thomas? You still want to work for your old man?”

Tommy’s staring at our dad like a deer in the headlights. The rest of us are staring at poor Thomas.

An uncomfortable second or two ticks by.

“I…no. No. I don’t, Dad! I want to move on, too. I’m sorry!”

Dad’s silent for a heartbeat, then he smiles.

“Sorry? You’ve nothing to be sorry for, lad,” he says. “We’ll all probably be the happier for it.”

I let out my breath, hardly aware that I’d been holding it.

Dad’s not mad.

He’s not angry, he’s not pressuring us. He’s actually relieved to be giving up part of Sinclair’s long-established business.

* * *

And in fact, as we wrap up with Mr. DeSouza, Dad already seems happier; more light-hearted.

Even, kind of, I dunno…boyish?

Definitely less dour. A burden is lifted and it shows.

He leads Mark and DeSouza excitedly through the rows of cars, talking animatedly while Mark takes his own photographs of the Lamborghinis that he’ll soon be working on. DeSouza amiably moseys along behind them, chatting. Then, the three of them go into the back area to examine and exclaim over the parts inventory that the old gentleman has carefully accrued over the years.

Boys and their toys.

Tommy and I hang back in the main warehouse, goggling at all the old cars while the men’s muffled voices and the odd burst of laughter drifts out from the back storage area.

“So, brother mine,” I say, linking my arm through his. “Tell me the truth. Did you know anything about this?”

“Nope. This whole thing was news to me. You?”

“Not a thing. It’s good to find out what the hell Dad was on about that night, though. I’m just glad it turned out to be something real and not just, y’know, paranoia.”

“Well, yeah. But he feels bad about that, so, let’s don’t rub it in, okay? And don’t hold anything he said about Mark against him, either! They’ve made friends now, don’t fuck it up!”

“Hell, naw! Me? My lips are sealed. Enough bad juju, it’s time for some peace in the family again.”

“That’s all I ever wanted.”

“I know. So, what’ve you got up your sleeve? You plan to come work with Mark and me?”

“Hell, naw!” He echoes, looking down at me fondly. “I just finished saying I want peace, why would I want to work with you again?”

“Hey, I’m not so bad,” I say, mock-offended. “You could do a lot worse, yanno.”

“What? Dude, nothing could be worse than working with you. Between your grumpy attitude, your body odor and your bad breath…”

“Hey!” I give him a shove, laughing.

“I’m sorry to say it but we all noticed your, um, wind problem, too.”

“Oh, my wind problem? I have a wind problem now?”

“Sis, fact is, you could gag a maggot with those farts. Talk about eye-watering! I mean, they were always bad but lately…what happened? Did something crawl up there and die?”

“Oh my God, you’re so full of it!” Snorting, I aim a punch at his arm, which, as usual, he dodges easily.

“No, no, don’t thank me,” he laughs, “but, we even considered staging a fart intervention.” He waves a hand under his nose. “But then you moved in with Mark, so it’s his problem now. Poor bastard!”

I make a rude noise at him with my tongue.

“That’s exactly what you sound like, Stinky,” he says.

Dad, Mark and Mr. DeSouza come through the back doorway, smiling and talking. Dad’s eyes light up when he sees Tommy and me laughing together.

“Hey guys,” he says, his smile widening as he walks up to us. “You know what we haven’t done yet?”

“What, Dad?” Tommy and I say it in unison, sounding like the eager little kids we once were.

Stepping between us and putting his arms around both our shoulders, our father says, “We haven’t planned anything for your birthday celebration! Hey, Harry, we’re taking my twins out for a big birthday dinner and you’re invited! We’ll go where ever they want to go…my treat, of course!”

“Oh, well…I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Mr. DeSouza says, a little nonplussed.

“Never think it! You’re more than welcome!” Together, with Dad still walking between my brother and me, we all head out to the parking lot.

“It’s your choice of venue, guys,” Dad continues, “totally up to you! Don’t let me influence your decision. But…I could sure go for a nice, juicy steak! And there’s that new steakhouse downtown called The Keg. I heard great things about it! I’ll make reservations, just let me know what night!”

“Okay, Dad,” we say it in unison again, making everyone chuckle.

Well, Dad’s still Dad.

Some things never change, but that’s okay. Maybe that’s the way it should be.

As we all say our goodbyes in the parking lot, Tommy catches my eye and smiles.

As usual, I know exactly what he’s thinking.

Everything’s gonna work out fine.