Good morning, good morning! It's great to stay up late! Good morning, good morning to you! That just became completely irrelevant if you are located/reading this at sometime other than morning. Apologizes. Anyway, here's the next chapter for you. I'm glad you enjoyed the last one and I sincerely thank you for your feedback! I'm really, really thankful for the reviews. Seriously, they make my day.
Today's chapter title stems from "Light A Roman Candle With Me" by Fun. Bear with me for this chapter. I was just learning about the ADHD phenom in France in my own behavioral psych class and thought it would be a nice little shake up for these guys. Thanks and I hope you'll enjoy!
we could stay and talk until three, i will think it's magic and i'll hope you'll agree
"When you fix the carbonator," Grace asks from the truck bench. "Can I drive?"
"It's carburetor, honey," Toby grins. "And no, you can't drive. You've still got another thirteen years until that happens."
"But I can reach the steering wheel now," Grace insists and sits tall to prove it, her hands in the perfect 10-and-2 position she'd seen her parents demonstrate. "See daddy? I can do it."
"You can reach the steering wheel, but you can't reach the pedals," Toby informs her, motioning towards the floor of the truck. "And until then, this truck isn't going anywhere."
Grace considers this and frowns, but eventually shakes her head of his rejection and continues to feign racing daringly. She turns the wheel right and left, makes all the appropriate sound effects and claims she's even faster than Vanellope von Schweetz (Wreck-It Ralph happens to be her latest Disney obsession). Toby just laughs, his hands deep into the bowels of his truck, and allows her to play along. It's a sunny Saturday in early November and the evening prior on his way home from work, that old faithful Chevy truck Toby had loved for years finally gave out. Granted, he'd bought a new truck years ago in anticipation and only ever used the one Spencer had bought him when he absolutely had to. The truck bed was deep and sturdy enough to carry his toughest loads and therefore, it came in handy every now and then.
Last night had been one of those times. He'd needed to transport a couple dozen loads of concrete tiles he was slated to install on Monday and on his way home from the delivery, that poor old truck decided it just couldn't do it any longer. Toby had told Spencer in the way one might inform another of the loss of a family member; the truck had played such an integral part in both their lives that he perhaps he felt it was. Spencer hadn't been shocked; on the contrary, she'd admitted amazement at the fact that it survived this long. But Toby won't give up on the old heap of metal. Sure, they have his other truck and Spencer's SUV to get them around town. But he needs to keep the truck around if only for sentimental value. Thus all the work he's been pouring into it this morning.
He pulls his hands out from behind the engine and wipes the grease off on a rag atop his toolbox. The keys are dangling from his pocket and he approaches the driver's side, saying, "I'm going to start it up now, okay? We'll see if I fixed it."
"Okay!" Grace squeals excitedly. "I bet you fixed it, daddy. You always fix things."
Toby turns the key in the ignition and the car makes a sputtering sound and then cuts out. He tries again and this time the engine crackles and groans, as if irritated that Toby has dared to interrupt its eternal slumber. Grace covers her ears immediately, a look of pain on her face, and shouts that it's too loud. Toby has to agree; it's not a pleasant sound. The poor old truck had not only had a dramatic death, but is now having a theatrical afterlife as well. There's a faint smell of burning rubber and Toby pulls the key from the ignition and yanks open the hood again. He frowns. "The spark plug's misfired. Great. I hope it didn't damage the catalytic converter…"
"How's it coming?" Spencer asks, heading down the driveway to meet them, a tray of food accompanying her. "How are my little worker bees?"
"Mommy," Grace sticks half of her body out of the driver's open window in greeting. "The truck made a really scary sound!"
"It did?" She questions and turns to Toby. "So it's not going well?"
"The spark plug's shot, the HT leads are causing friction…" Toby sighs. "This thing's been in bad shape for awhile. I wish I realized. Maybe I could've prevented it from crapping out on me."
"Toby that thing was old when I bought it," Spencer says. "It's ancient, now. It was bound to happen."
He nods slowly and she lifts the food she's brought. "I made lunch. Grilled cheese sandwiches."
Toby chuckles at the implication and wipes his hands again. Grace tumbles out of the driver's door and the three settle themselves in the bed of the truck. While they munch, Toby and Spencer recall the fond memories they'd enjoyed in this very truck and Grace asks how her father had acquired it. From there, they launch into one of their favorite stories and inform Grace all about how Spencer had pawned her sister's wedding ring ("Mommy, that wasn't very nice!"), how she had used the money to purchase the truck ("That's a big present! How did you wrap it up?") and of course how when she'd presented it to him, they'd first professed their love for one another and sealed the promise with a kiss ("Ew! Kissing is so yucky!"). Spencer whisks her daughter away for a nap once lunch is through, but Toby remains insistent upon fixing this truck. There are just far too many memories for him to leave it behind.
He works long into the night, pausing only for dinner, and eventually must throw in the towel when he loses daylight. Somehow managing to tuck it back into the corner of the garage, Toby pulls a white canvas over it and it all feels oddly prophetic, as though he truly is suffering a great loss. He makes a promise to himself that he will get this truck running again someday, no matter what it takes. But for now, he's taking a step back. He washes up, reads Grace a handful of stories and joins Spencer in tucking her into bed. When she's fast asleep and the two are fresh from showers and comfy on the couch, Toby uncorks a fresh bottle of Pinot, as is custom on a Saturday night. Other couples might prefer a night on the town, dancing, bar hopping, maximizing their late twenties. But not them; they were much happier basking in the quiet of their own home in one another's company.
The wine is halfway gone when Toby proposes, "We should move to France."
Spencer nearly chokes and the wine burns the whole way down. "I'm sorry?"
"We never got a honeymoon and we could honestly use the escape from reality," Toby states. "I'm serious. We should move to Paris."
Spencer eyes him carefully. "Is this about your truck? Toby, it's like twenty years old-"
"This isn't about the truck," He laughs. "When have we ever been adventurous? When have we ever just thrown caution to wind and done something that we've wanted to do instead of something we've had to? We've spent our entire lives living by the rules and doing what others tell us to and… I just think we should be careless for awhile."
"Okay," Spencer shakes her head, removing the wine glass from his hand. "No more alcohol for you."
"You don't think it's a good idea?"
"I think it's a great idea," Spencer tells him. "For people who are unemployed and without children; two qualities you and I do not possess."
"Please, those can easily be solved," Toby replies. "People need carpenters everywhere; people need psychologists everywhere. And Grace? It would be an amazing opportunity for her. She could go to one of those fancy academies with the uniforms, you know? She'd become bilingual. It would be so great."
"It's impractical," Spencer insists and Toby disagrees.
"It's not," He's shaking his head. "People do it all the time. Think about it. The Eiffel Tower, the Lourve, the catacombs. That bridge with all the locks on it."
"The Pont de l'Archevêché," Spencer clarifies and Toby laughs.
"You outsmarting me in another language," He teases. "The food. Think of the food, Spence. Plus we'd be getting out of Rosewood for a year, which is always a great part of any deal."
"It is. I'm not saying that it's not a good idea," Spencer tells him. "It's just far too unrealistic, especially where we are now in our lives. And our families and friends would freak."
"In case you haven't realized," He smirks. "I really don't care what my family thinks."
"I know," She responds. "But let's just… Put a pause on living in France for now, okay?"
But the universe is a particularly ironic son of a bitch sometimes. On Monday evening, after all her patients have gone home and the practice shuts down for the night, Spencer and her colleagues gather in the conference room for their weekly meeting and her boss immediately starts spouting off about a new study. Research has found that less than .5% of children in France are being diagnosed with ADHD and it's one of the lowest rates in the entire world. She turns to Spencer, her behavioral psychologist of choice, and asks if she would like to be funded to do onsite research on this phenomenon or lack thereof. Spencer doesn't really believe in fate, but she's pretty sure someone up there is screwing with her and enjoying it greatly.
She calls Toby on her way home because she literally can't keep from bursting. "I'm taking France off pause. You still interested in going?"
He chuckles for a while before replying, "Bien sûr!"