It was beautiful. Low and lean, sparkling emerald in the sun, the wild horse on the grill shining with a silver-white glow. The black rag-top was slick and supple, ready to retract on a summer day. It looked like dangerous laughter and innocence made metal.
Mr. Roslin stopped listening to Bill's recitation of parts and labor within minutes, his humming an echo of his daughter's as he ran his hand lightly over the new paint.
"Bill, it never looked this good. Not even when she was new."
"I'm glad you're satisfied with it. It was a pleasure to work on...she's a real beauty."
Bill's smile was lit with old embers of past summer heat. Every scrap of old leather, the pieces of faded carpet with old dirt ground deep into the fibers, the smooth worn wooden knob of the gearshift…he had a memory attached to every inch of the old muscle car. There had still been a strand of auburn hair caught in the back seat belt catch, almost buried under the back of the seat. He'd felt foolish when he'd wound it around his finger, then slipped it off and into his wallet…but he'd done it just the same.
In the evening, when the shop was all but abandoned, he'd put a tape on the sound system, songs of that winter he'd taught her to really handle the car. And songs of that following summer that he'd thought would stretch out forever, until life and plans and reality got in the way.
He was adjusting the mirrors for the third time when Mr. Roslin spoke again.
"She's going to love it."
Bill thought he'd be used to that hitch in his breath whenever Mr. Roslin made a reference to Laura by now. It still always caught him by surprise. Keeping her close in his memories didn't hurt as much as being reminded again that she was on Caprica, following a path that wouldn't be his to share.
The older man kept his eyes on the reflective finish. "She's coming back to Caprica City soon. She'll be doing some substitute teaching, start looking for a permanent position in one of the local schools."
Bill buffed a non-existent mar on the chrome trim in front.
Mr. Roslin cleared his throat. "Her sisters are thrilled she'll be closer to home. Me, too, for that matter."
Popping the hood, Bill nodded absently as he checked fluid levels again. He wondered if his flushed neck would be hidden by the angle of the hood, if Mr. Roslin would be too polite to notice. He hoped so.
"I'm going to ask Laura to bring it to you for maintenance after I give it to her." He stood at Bill's elbow until Bill had tightened all the caps and had given the engine a final check.
"To my place." He sighed. "Mr. R, you might want to ask her where she wants to take it. She might have another preference."
Mr. Roslin shook his head. "I know my daughter. She'll want to stick with someone she trusts. And I'd prefer she stay with someone I trust, too."
Bill felt a twinge of embarrassment and wondered if Mr. Roslin could see hints of that summer in his eyes, but the old man was looking fixedly at the bottom half of the Viper tattoo on Bill's bicep.
I know my daughter, he'd said. Bill wondered what he knew about their history, and if she ever mentioned his name anymore.
Bill could smell her perfume though the leather, deep in the frame. He wiped the grease off his hands and stuck the shabby cloth back in his toolbox, taking one last deep breath.
"If she needs anything, let me know." He clicked his toolbox closed.
"I'll be around."