“It’s my dad.”
I leaned forward with my hand still on her arm. “What about your dad? Has something happened?”
Hazel toyed with the name tag stitched onto her jumper. It was fraying at the edges. She pulled a loose thread and wrapped it around her fingers before speaking. “Shortly after you rolled in last November, my father was diagnosed with mesothelioma. We were pretty hopeful at first. The doctors were telling us about all these new treatments and how they’ve done well in clinical trials. We agreed and crossed our fingers, but dad has been taking a beating and he’s only getting worse. Most days, he’s so fatigued he can’t get out of bed.”
“And that’s why you restored most of the Chevelle yourself?”
She nodded.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Hazel. Every interaction I’ve had with your dad has been one to remember. You know he called me to coach me on my form one time? Said he knew a foolproof way to get me a home run every time I stepped up to the plate. I humored him and that cost me about two hours of my life, but he was so serious that I didn’t have the heart to hang up the phone.”
“Thanks for humoring him.” Hazel looked up. There was a certain glassiness to her eyes like she was about to cry but she kept her composure, hands firmly placed on her knees, back rigid. “I remember that night. You made his day. He spent the entirety of dinner talking about how you’re this upstanding guy and that there should be more guys just like you.”
“It makes me happy to hear that.”
“But what I don’t understand is why you would take time out of your busy schedule —”
“Because your dad is worth my time. You are, too. It’s obvious you two are down to earth people and that’s not something I get to see every day. Trust me, it’s much more pleasurable to hold a conversation with you or your dad than some guy in a suit who just wants me in his commercial.”
“Right.” Hazel got up and leaned against a stack of nearby boxes, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “I have to thank you,” she said after wetting her lips. “Not just for humoring my dad but for paying for the Chevelle’s repair upfront. That check has really helped pay for his treatments. I am not sure what we would have done without it.” She rolled back her shoulders but still some stiffness seemed to linger. “So, if you have anything else I could work on to generate a bit more income for the business, I would really appreciate it. And you know that whatever you leave in my garage will come out looking like it belongs on a showroom floor.”
I joined her. “Of course,” I said. “I actually think I have just the project. Every year, I hold a charity event for the Saint Jude Foundation in honor of my late brother.”
She raised her eyebrow in silent question.
“Leukemia,” I answered. “He didn’t make it to the first grade. The doctors were excellent and they did everything they could, but it was an impossible fight. Markus hung on until the very end, but there came a point where he had to let go. I like to think that he’s at peace now and that every time I hit a home run, he’s up there watching.” My voice became choked and my throat a little tighter. It was the first time I had become emotional over my brother’s death since becoming an adult. I had told his story so many times I thought I had become immune to its heart-wrenching grip, but something in Hazel’s expression made me feel that weight of sadness all over again.
“I’m sorry.” Now it was Hazel who rested a hand on my arm. “Your brother sounds like he was a good kid.”
“He was. He was big into trading cards. I would sit by his bed for hours listening to the stories and stats of all these made-up characters because it always brought this big old smile to his face. I miss that smile more than anything else and that’s why I hold this charity event every year. I want there to be survivors — kids who actually make it into the second grade.”
She squeezed my arm as soon as she heard my voice waver. I became quiet, head bowed toward the ground. As I said, I’ve told this story before but with everyone else, it was like I was reading off a script. With Hazel, it felt like I was actually pouring my heart out to her. Why? Was it that thoughtful expression or perhaps the way she listened, head cocked ever so slightly. Whatever the reason, I felt a certain freedom in sharing that story with someone who actually seemed to care.
“Thank you.”
“For?” Hazel cocked her head a little more to the left.
“Actually listening.”
“You don’t have to thank me for that.”
“You’d be surprised how many people fake it on a daily basis. So, when I see that someone is genuine, it means a lot to me.” I took a step back just to give us both some space to breathe. “Anyway, sob stories aside, I need a really good looking car to auction at this charity event. The goal is to start a bidding war so we can raise as much money as possible for these kids. So, whatever you do, you’ve got to make the type of car everyone wants in their garage.”
“That’s a pretty tall order, but I’m your girl. I’ll get it done. When’s the deadline?”
“I’ll need it right at the start of spring. So, February 16th, I’ll need to drive it down to the stadium.”
“February 16th?” Hazel could be seen doing some mental calculations. “That’s a little short of three months. It’ll be tough, but I’ve never been one to shy
