HOW TO CARE FOR AN AGED CAR

Ladarat’s office was a picture of neatness that didn’t do justice to the morning of chaos that the inspectors had wreaked. She’d no sooner arrived at 7 A.M. than a group of three of them found her. Whatever store of sabai sabai she’d stored up yesterday afternoon and evening was gone in an instant.

Apparently the inspectors had wanted to interview the night shift nurses, and so they’d come at 5 A.M., striding around the wards as if they owned the hospital. They’d poked into corners and checked the expiration dates on medications. Even the fire extinguishers—they’d wanted to know when they’d been inspected last. And then they’d wanted to talk with her, the nurse ethicist. Endless questions about cases she could hardly remember. But she’d gotten through it eventually, and now they were over in the outpatient clinics, doing whatever damage they could.

When the phone rang, she assumed it was someone from the clinic asking for help. But it was Wiriya.

“Ah, Khun Ladarat. I didn’t expect to find you in your office. I thought you had a Royal Inspection this week.”

Ladarat sighed. “We do. Oh… we do. I’m hiding.”

Wiriya chuckled, and Ladarat decided she very much liked that sound. It was very comforting, but just a little bit cynical at the same time. As if daring her not to take things too seriously. Which she vowed she wouldn’t do. Just as soon as these inspectors left.

“I have some good news, Khun,” was all he said.

“Good news?” Ladarat realized she shouldn’t sound so surprised. However, in fairness, good news had been in short supply in her life lately.

“About your car. You see, the police have found it.”

She sighed with relief. She hadn’t realized how much she missed it. When she had to take a sengteo—a pickup truck taxi—to work this morning, that was an inconvenience. But she really did love that car.

“Is it all right? I mean, it’s not damaged?”

Again, that chuckle. “No, but the thief apparently did a few things to it.”

Ladarat waited, fearing the worst. Engine removed? Wheels stolen?

“Well, to begin with, your brakes were very old, so he replaced them. And new tires, of course. Those tires were fifteen years old at least.”

Ladarat was having trouble processing this information. Did you have to change tires? Didn’t you just wait for them to go flat?

“And he fixed the locks, so they actually work. Oh, and he put a new stereo in. It sounds very nice.”

“Ah,” was all Ladarat could think of to say.

“So I thought I would drive it over to the hospital for you. Unless…”

“Unless?”

“Well, I drove it to a reputable garage to have it checked out, and the man there wants to buy it. He says it’s a classic. He’d restore it perfectly and then sell it to an American. Lots of Americans want to buy a Beetle that’s in perfect condition, without many kilometers on it.” He paused. “He’s willing to pay six hundred thousand baht.”

Ladarat thought about that proposition for a full minute as Wiriya waited on the other end of the phone. The Beetle did have sentimental value. That was true. But wouldn’t it be better to see it restored? And honestly, what would she do with it? She didn’t know how to take care of an aged car.

“You don’t need to make a decision now…”

But she’d made her decision. Almost without realizing it. She would sell the car to the dealer. That was the right thing to do. With just one caveat.