Normally he drove the truck and let his car sit. He was considering selling it, but it was an older model Honda and he was going to have to get some work done to it anyway to get it ready to sell.

Today was a good day to get that work started.

He sat in Carter’s office while Carter prepared the paperwork.

“This is normally the shop manager’s job, ya know,” Carter said as he and Bash went over the list of everything Bash wanted done to the Honda.

“But then you’d miss spending time with me. What a loss that would be for you.”

Carter shook his head. “Yeah. Right. So, besides the brake work, you want an oil and filter change, and a check on the A/C unit. Then you want some bodywork done as well?”

“Yeah. I got hit a year or so ago on the back quarter panel while I was parked at the grocery store and I never bothered to get it fixed. I’d like that smoothed out and repainted.”

Carter nodded, writing it all down. “Drive it around the back and I’ll have Brady take a look at it, then we’ll figure up an estimate.”

Bash drove the car around to the back where the bays were located and parked. By then Carter had walked out with Brady, who’d started working several months ago as his auto body specialist.

“Hey, Brady,” Bash said.

Brady nodded. “How’s it goin’?”

“Good.”

“Carter tells me you want to do some bodywork on the Honda?” Brady was already walking around the car.

“Yeah. I’d like to sell her. The smaller dings are okay, but I want the major dents fixed.”

Brady crouched in front of the damaged panel. “This looks like the worst of it. Some grocery cart get violent with you?”

Bash laughed. “More like an errant teenager with a new driver’s license. A bash-and-run at the grocery store.”

“Even worse.” Brady stood. “Should be an easy enough fix.”

Brady jotted down some notes on the clipboard Carter had handed him. He gave it back to Carter, and Carter took it inside, saying he’d have a total for him shortly. Bash decided to hang around the shop where Brady was working. Brady had popped into the bar a few times since he’d been back in town, though he tended to drink his beer and keep to himself.

He’d known about Brady’s brother, Kurt. Bash and Kurt had been the same age, had gone to high school together. It had been a bad deal for Kurt, and he knew what happened must have devastated Brady, though Brady didn’t talk about it.

Not to Bash, anyway.

“How’s the job going?” Bash asked as he watched Brady put a finishing polish to a now-shiny, restored Grand Prix.

“Good. There’s a lot more bodywork here than I thought there’d be when I first took the job. Both custom work and fixing dinged-up cars—like yours.” Brady quirked a grin in his direction.

“Glad to help keep you in business. Carter said word’s gotten out that you’re here, so you’re getting a lot of restoration pieces.”

“Yeah. Those take longer, but those and the custom motorcycle jobs are the ones I enjoy the most. I work on them in my off-hours so they don’t interfere with regular business.”

“That’s what you want to do eventually, isn’t it? Open up your own shop and just do the bike repair and painting?”

“Yeah. Eventually.”

“You’re still staying above the shop?”

Brady nodded, then grabbed a rag and wiped his hands. “It’s a good spot, and I can easily do night and weekend work on the bikes. It’s convenient.”

“How are your parents?” He knew it was a personal question, but he liked Brady, and it was an indirect way of asking how he was doing without actually asking.

Brady finally made eye contact. “They’re doing okay. It’s hard for them, you know? They haven’t really been able to grasp that Kurt’s gone. And they keep blaming themselves, even though I’ve tried to explain to them that it wasn’t their fault.” He paused for a few seconds, then added, “Wasn’t anyone’s fault, really.”

“Not in that situation, no. Not much anyone could have done.”

Brady dragged in a breath. “Nope.”

Bash felt the pain radiating off Brady and wished there was something he could do or say to take that pain away, but he knew there was nothing. “I’m sorry, man.”

Brady shrugged. “It is what it is, ya know?”

“Yeah.”

“I need to get back to work.” And just like that, his smile returned. “I’ll get your Honda shiny and new so you can find a buyer for her.”

“I’m sure you will.” He shook Brady’s hand. “Thanks.”

Bash wandered back into the office. Carter handed him the estimate. Bash went over it and nodded. “This looks fine. Since I’m leaving the car here with you while it’s being worked on, maybe you can give me a ride home?”

“Sure.”

They slid into Carter’s Mustang and headed out.

“Where’s Molly today?”

“She’s doing a training at one of the other shops.”

“Ah, okay.”

Bash always enjoyed a ride in Rhonda, Carter’s ’67 Shelby Mustang. It was a gorgeous restored classic, and just to feel her engine rumble was a joy that every man needed to experience once in his lifetime.

Someday, he was going to have to buy a classic car. In his spare time. With all that spare money he never seemed to have.