The new laptop worked great. Lexi snagged a killer sale and got a lot of computing bang for her buck. Her dad’s buck, really. She’d chosen classes for the next semester, and her schedule would be ready in a few days. One of these times, she would need to pick a major. Her mother’s more interesting life choices steered Lexi toward criminal justice. She was still in her first term, though. Plenty of time for that later. For now, she took as many required classes as she could.
She was three pages into writing a paper for American History 101 when she took a break. A granola bar and fresh bottle of water later, Lexi sat back down at her desk. She popped over to her browser and noticed a new message in her Gmail inbox. Her eyes narrowed when she read the sender’s ID. Maryland State Correctional System.
“Great,” she said to her empty bedroom. Lexi leaned back in her chair and blew out a deep breath. Since her mother’s imprisonment over a year ago, they’d traded a couple of quick, terse emails, but silence prevailed for the last nine months. Lexi was thirteen when she realized her mother swindled people. Rachel spent the next four years lying about it until her crimes caught up with her. Lexi never lived with her dad before then, but she was beyond ready to get out of her mother’s house.
So why the message now? What did Rachel want? What was her angle? She always had an angle. Always a trick to play. These thoughts sounded like her father’s. He was honest with Lexi about who her mother was and what she did, though he never tried to color her opinion. Maybe he didn’t need to. Living with a responsible person who cared about other people did it anyway.
Lexi rolled her eyes and opened the message.
Alexis,
I know we haven’t talked in months. It’s my fault. Adjusting to life here has been harder than I thought.
While I hoped you would write or visit me, I don’t know if I was in a good place. Things are better now. I have a new cellmate, and I’m in a regular group therapy session.
I haven’t seen you since the night I got hauled away. It would be great if you could come and visit me. Other people here see their children and loved ones pretty regularly. You have to call ahead or go online, but I can have visitors any weekday. I know you’re in college now—at least, I hope you are—but if you could find an hour to stop by, it would be great to see you.
Love,
Mom
Lexi frowned at the email when she finished it. “Way to go, Mom. Accept the blame, then hit me with a couple guilt trips and take a subtle shot at Dad.” She shook her head. It made her realize how much she’d wanted to leave her mom’s house when she lived there. Lexi considered going across the country for college. Then, she went to live with her dad and stayed local. Stability was great, and she never before realized how much she craved it.
“Why now?” she whispered. Lexi glanced at her phone. She’d wasted enough time on her mother’s message. Lexi closed the Gmail tab and went back to her assignment.
Tyler navigated the Boxster onto the lift. The car was a plain shade of gray, and its two-seat interior was solid black. It looked like an older version of the 911 he drove while in Germany. Tyler remembered people at the time being upset at the Boxster and 911 sharing parts. Now, every automaker employed the practice up and down their lineups.
He walked under the chassis once it sat about six feet off the bay floor. Rust pockmarked the exhaust pipes. If they were original, they’d been in service for almost a quarter century. Some wear and tear would be expected. Considering the age of the vehicle—and its unknown maintenance history—Tyler thought the undercarriage was in good shape. The young woman stepped under the vehicle, too. “How does it look?”
“Pretty good, Miss . . .?”
“Alice,” she said. “Alice Simard.” She extended her hand, and Tyler shook it.
“John Tyler. I go by Tyler.”
“You think it looks all right, Mister Tyler?”
“For its age, sure,” he said. Smitty joined them, standing under the front wheels. “After twenty-four years, you’re bound to need some work. Do you have the maintenance history?”
Alice shook her head, and her fiery ponytail wagged behind her. “No. I just got it recently. I don’t know much about what happened before.”
“You know much about these cars in particular?” Smitty said.
“A little,” Alice said.
“How many miles?”
“A hundred and twenty thousand.”
“We’ll need to get parts,” Smitty said, scratching the top of his head. “Ain’t really ordered parts for a German car before. We get a lot of American models in here.”
“I’m sure we can find what it needs,” Tyler added. “You should know foreign cars can be expensive to maintain, though.”
“I understand,” Alice said.
“We’ll definitely need to replace the exhaust. Should be pretty easy to get. How’s she run?”
“Good. Sounds normal.”
Tyler nodded. “All right. What about the clutch?”
“Feels a little . . .” Alice moved her hand in a so-so motion. “. . . off. Not bad. I can drive it fine, but the car probably needs a new one. Do you know about the IMS bearing?” Tyler shook his head. “It’s an issue on Porsches from this period. I don’t know if it’s been replaced or not. They recommend doing it along with the clutch. Can you see?”
“We’ll figure it out,” Tyler said. Smitty frowned but didn’t say anything. “We’ll need to look her over and see what we can do. If you want to bring it back, it’s fine.”
“It’s all right,” Alice said. “I can get a ride home.” She and the boss adjourned to the office. Tyler followed a moment later after walking around the Boxster’s underside one more time. Smitty signed an estimate, tore off the bottom copy, and handed it to the young woman, who took it with a warm smile. “Thank you.”
She walked back out through the door. “I hope we can get the parts and do all the work,” Smitty said as Tyler strode up beside him. ”I’d hate to disappoint your new girlfriend.”
Tyler rolled his eyes. “We don’t get a lot of enthusiasts who happen to be women in here.”
“Even fewer who look like her.”
“True,” Tyler said.
“You more in love with her or the car?”
Tyler grinned. “The car.” He looked at his watch. “I’m going to get some lunch. Want anything?”
The owner shook his head. “I’ll look this thing over while you’re gone. If we can get the parts and do the work, this is your project.”
“Only fair,” Tyler said. “I don’t want another man working on my new girlfriend’s car.”
Tyler gave his hands a thorough washing and changed his shirt before venturing out. The shop stood a short distance across the county line from the city of Baltimore, and restaurant options were plentiful in both directions. Tyler went into the city last time, so today, he made a right out of the parking lot. An Asian fusion place greeted him at the top of the hill, but he kept going and turned into the McDonald’s lot, parked the 442, and walked inside.
Despite arriving an hour after the lunch rush commonly ended, Tyler found the place moderately crowded. He ordered his meal, picked it up, and surveyed the tables. There were entrance doors on either side of the restaurant. A kids’ playhouse—currently empty—took up the rear. He sat at a spot around the middle which allowed him to keep both doors in view and unwrapped the first of his two Quarter Pounders before taking a large bite.
Tyler appreciated McDonald’s. It was consistent. He’d been to many in this country and several overseas. The meals were always about the same in terms of quality. Maybe they wouldn’t pack a display case with awards, but the food was solid and predictable. He liked things he could rely on. A couple bites later, the door on Tyler’s left swung open.
Alice Simard walked in. She glanced to her right, saw Tyler, and smiled. So did he. Alice ordered her meal and carried a tray toward the table. “Mister Tyler. Do you mind if I join you?”
Tyler gestured toward the available chair. “Help yourself.”
“Thank you.” She slid onto the seat. Her tray held a grilled chicken sandwich, a smaller box of fries than Tyler got, and a cup of what looked like iced tea—a much healthier lunch. “I’m glad you’ll be able to work on my car.”
“As long as we can get the parts,” Tyler said.
“You seem more eager to work on my car than your boss is.”
“You remind me of someone I knew in the army. She was a young enlisted soldier who was big into cars. Even got to drive a few Porsches when we were both in Germany.”
“Did you work with her?” Alice said.
Tyler waffled his hand. “Sort of. She took a class I did on Jeep repairs. Wanted to apply what she learned to her own cars someday.”
“Did she?”
“I don’t know,” Tyler said. “We lost touch. It was years before social media.” He didn’t tell Alice the truth. PFC Kate O’Shea died from a roadside IED before she got the chance to use anything Tyler taught her. He lapsed into silence at the memory.
She inclined her head over Tyler’s shoulder. “Do you drive the green car out there?”
Tyler nodded. “Loud and American. Kind of like me.”
Alice grinned. She looked very pretty when she was happy. “What do you call them? Muscle cars?”
“Yes. There are cars today with more power, but the driving experience isn’t the same.”
“It is how I feel about my car, too.” She took a delicate bite of her sandwich. “What year is yours?”
“‘Seventy-two,” Tyler said. “It’s almost as old as I am.”
“You wear your years as well as the car.”
“Thanks.” Tyler knew the 442 looked better than he did, but he wouldn’t turn down the compliment.
“Mine is the second year Porsche made the car. I could have gotten a later model, but I liked the idea of driving one of the early ones . . . before they made some improvements.”
Tyler polished off the remainder of his first burger. “Sounds like you wanted it specifically.”
“I wanted a good first-generation Boxster. They came out with the S a few years later, but they were pricier. I guess it costs more for the extra power.”
“Always does,” Tyler said.
“My boyfriend bought the car,” Alice said. “He tried to tell me it was for him, but I knew he got it for me.”
“Mighty nice of him.”
“It was.” Tyler noticed she didn’t smile. “He’s an immigrant, too . . . from Mexico. We both came to the US around the same time. We have a shared experience.”
Tyler thought they probably walked very different roads as immigrants, but he didn’t want to ruin Alice’s mood. “You mentioned getting a ride home from here. You live far away?”
“Not too far. Near Bel Air.”
He knew the area. Bel Air served as the county seat of Harford County, the next one north in Maryland. It extended all the way to Pennsylvania at its northern tip. Many cities were pockets of strip malls and expensive houses nestled amid acres of farmland. Depending on where exactly Alice lived, she could have driven at least a half-hour to get here. “I’m sure there must have been a closer shop. Isn’t there some kind of German specialty place up there?”
She nodded. “In Aberdeen. My boyfriend has a mechanic he uses a few miles from here. I don’t think he does great work, though, so I looked for a new place. Your boss’s shop is well reviewed.”
It seemed a little odd. Aberdeen was closer to Bel Air than Overlea. It had been years since Tyler was on the proving ground up there, but he remembered it being a pretty straight shot. A dedicated German repair center would be a much more logical place to take a twenty-four-year-old Porsche than a general shop like Smitty’s. “Are you all right, Mister Tyler?”
“Fine.” He offered a small, automatic grin to cover his usual skeptical nature. “Have you always been into cars?”
Now, Alice beamed. “Since I was a girl in Quebec. My father had a Mustang . . . one of the ‘eighties models. I could drive a clutch by the time I was eight. My dad was always under the hood trying to get more power out of it. I don’t know how to do much of that, but I’ve always enjoyed driving sporty autos.”
“Me, too,” Tyler said. They chatted about cars for a while longer. Tyler finished his lunch, and Alice eventually did, too. He offered her a lift back to the shop, but she said she’d wait at the McDonald’s for a ride. She didn’t seem happy about it. “You sure?”
Alice looked at her phone. “I guess it doesn’t matter. Sure, I’ll ride back with you.”
Tyler held the door for her as they walked outside. A feeling nagged at him. Something struck him as unusual about Alice bringing the Boxster here. Was she angry at her boyfriend? She never smiled when talking about him, even when mentioning he bought her a car. It seemed like an odd situation. Tyler held up his keys as they approached the 442. “Want to drive?”
A bright smile took over Alice's face. “Very much, yes.” Tyler climbed into the passenger’s seat. She backed the car out of the spot and pulled onto Belair Road with screeching tires and a determined grin.