Designated Driver

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Note: I apologize for the horrible delay! And this is not the final chapter but a small peace offering for the long wait for anybody wanting the story to continue.

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Chapter 14: Timed Responses

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Watching Dean zip up the racing suit, Sam felt his gut tighten in fear even as a swell of pride surged through him. The suit looked….right on Dean. He could admit that now, while he stood at his brother's side, was part of Dean's life, of his decisions, was somewhat responsible for Dean getting to do what he loved. But days ago, seeing, from across the track, Dean donning a suit like this one….it had seemed all manners of wrong, wrong, wrong. And it didn't have everything to do with Barton, with danger, with foolish risks. 'No it had to do with Dean going against my wishes, with being jealous that he welcomed Tim at his side…and not me,' he confessed even as a little part of him was somewhat appalled at the validation he felt at being the one that rescued Dean from the burning car, was there for his brother…when Tim wasn't, when no one else was.

But whatever self-assurance that action stirred in Sam, it also brought his fear churning to the surface. Because, the suit Dean was wearing right then, it was identical to the one Dean had been wearing when he had pulled Dean from the burning race car. 'Barton's gone. The track is safe,' Sam told himself but the thought almost made him snort. 'Safe except for Dean going 200 mph. Then there is the future prospect of him being surrounded by other drivers that would probably rather see him dead than have him pass them. Ah, yeah, safe…just like everything else in our lives.'

Stalling, Dean fidgeted a moment longer than necessary with the suit before he looked up, faced his brother's worry, intense assessment that he could feel. "What?" he asked, not with frustration but with quiet understanding, because he didn't want to scorn Sam's emotions, wanted to ease them. Found he wanted Sam to enjoy this moment like he was. Wanted Sam to be a willing partner in this, unlike the times his brother had been his unwilling partner in hunting.

Shrugging, Sam denied, "Nothing," not wanting to tarnish this moment for Dean with his worries. 'Unfounded worries,' he insisted, trying to convince himself that it was the truth.

"Sam.." Dean entreated gently because he wasn't a fool, could tell what was rattling around in his brother's head: his previous racing car wreck, the fire…a semi coming out of nowhere, broad-siding the Impala. But Garner's approaching voice cut off his next words.

With one look to each other, the brothers simultaneously moved, slipped into the storage room of the garage, purposefully hid out of the track owner's sight. Leaning against the wall, their shoulders touching, the brothers listened to the conversation from car #36's garage.

"Tim, you practically begged me to put Troy's car into the race and now, with ten minutes until qualifying begins, your driver is a no show!" Garner angrily pointed out as he entered the garage, couldn't keep his look away from the restored #36 car, felt a rippling of pride at the sight before he turned to face his head mechanic. Icily he patronized, "I don't think I have to tell you the rules, do I? If the car and driver don't qualify today, they aren't in Saturday's race and they sure aren't in Sunday's."

Quelling his own anger, Tim let his reply come slowly, let it resonate with calm, assertiveness because he wanted Dean to race, wanted Troy's car to be in Saturday's race, wanted some kind of victory after months of loss. "Like I said, the driver is from upstate. He has a drive to get here but he'll make it on time."

"On time would have been two hours ago! You vouched for this driver," Garner said as if it were an accusation. Stepping into Tim's personal space, he jabbed a finger into his mechanic's chest. "This driver that I've never heard of before, who's not here when he should be. I trusted you," he lowly hissed, stabbing Tim in the chest with more force. "But, you know what, it's my reputation on the line out there. I'm the one who entered the #36 car into the race and I'm the one whose going to be the laughing stock if I can't even get the car qualified

"It will qualify," Tim firmly defended, not backing down, somewhere down deep wanting to be worthy of Garner's trust, no matter that the man infuriated him, that he was a brooding, bad mannered jerk 99% of the time. Because, the other 1%, the part of Garner he had glimpsed when the older man had been with Troy, that man had been someone better, someone who valued life, who even enjoyed it. Was someone who certainly loved racing, better than breathing.

"Funny thing is….we need a driver to qualify," Garner sneered, stepping back from Tim, pacing along the length of Troy's car. "A driver that gets us into Saturday's race. That means his qualifying time has to beat out fifty other hungry, talented race car drivers."

Biting his cheek to prevent himself from telling Garner it was his own fault for opening the race to other drivers in the state, Tim drew in a deep breath, shifted on his feet but Garner's blazing look burned through his good intentions. "Guess all that competition, that's thanks to you, right?" he drawled even as he was cursing his inability to not lose his temper, to not fight fire with fire. He saw the hotter flare of anger in Garner's eyes but he pressed on anyways. "But I'm thinking your willingness to open the race to other race teams …that has a lot more to do with the bribes you got than your love for fair play."

Garner stilled at Tim's words, shocked that his usually even tempered, sometimes friend had leveled that accusation. But there was no shame in Tim's eyes, no repentance, no wish to take the words back, to rethink them. So when Bruce finally spoke, it was a growled barrage of words, "You want to know about my love for fair play? Then how about this: If this car qualifies today, you still have a job. If it doesn't…maybe, when the Winchesters leave, they can give you a lift out of town, drop you off at some two bit race track no-one's heard of, certainly not NASCAR."

Galvanized into motion, into defending Tim, Dean started to break cover, to confront Garner but Sam snagged unto his bicep. Pulling Dean back against his shoulder, Sam stopped his brother from storming into the garage and confronting Garner…and ruining his chances to be that "out of state driver" to qualify the #36 car. Dean's eyes slammed into him, angry and impassioned, like they always were when someone he liked got into trouble. 'Wait,' Sam mouthed, hand tightening on his brother's arm, ears straining for Tim's comeback, his heart pounding, uncertain if he was more worried Tim would blow Dean's chances to race or more hoping he would.

Unforeseen by the Winchesters, a slow, cocky smile pulled onto Tim's lips. "I'll agree to those terms," Tim countered, praying that it was his belief in Dean's talents, confidence in Troy's car that was making the reply and not his anger or his ego.

"You never know when to back down, do you?" Garner challenged but there was a hint of admiration in his tone. "The only reason you're not gone right now is the last time you fought this hard to get a driver on this tract, you were right about his talents."

Tim's chest tightened with sadness, could see the same emotion slipping through Bruce's anger. "Yeah, Troy…he was special on and off the track."

Bruce Garner's eyes dropped to the #36 car. Reaching out, he rested his hand on the roof of the car. "You said he would want his car back in action, to not be some dusty shrine to his memory," he quietly said before his look snapped back up to Tim, void of warmth. "But he would want it to win, he always wanted to win. Make sure he does," he roughly ordered before he stalked by Tim and out the garage door.

Garner's words left Tim wondering if the man knew he had misspoken, had said "he" when he meant "it – the car". Worried that the older man was mistaking what was on the line today, that it was the reputation of Troy's car, not the reputation of the man Garner had loved like a son. Internally cursing, Tim ran a hand through his hair, felt like he was walking a tight rope between his loyalty to Garner, to Troy's memory and his loyalty to Dean, his belief in Dean's driving abilities. Walking to the storage room, he leaned against the doorway, met Dean Winchester's eyes. "Well, that's as close to a blessing and pep speech as we're likely to get."

"Tim, no matter how well I qualify today, when Garner finds out I'm the driver, he's going to fire you," Dean firmly pointed out. His mind going a thousand mph, trying to formulate a new plan, a plan that made sure Tim didn't lose his job just because he wanted a chance to race, to have a fleeting moment of normal, to make a selfish grab for a slice of what-could-have-been-but-will-never-be.

"No, he won't," Tim refuted, could see the younger man's worry…for him. It reminded him again why he was risking his job, why this kid had slipped through the walls he had erected since Troy's death: heart. Dean had heart in spades. And that trait, coupled with his driving skill…it would be criminal to not finagle Dean behind the wheel of a race car again, to not unleash his natural born instincts against the clock, against the best the state could offer, against all comers.

Clamping a hand on Dean's shoulder, Tim gave a small but genuine smile to the younger man he had come to value in the short time he had known him. "Like I told you, Bruce is a bottom line type of guy. If you prove to him that you can get him what he wants, he'll use you in spite of his pride." Then with a excited spark in his eyes, he said, "Now let's get this show on the road, 'cause like the man said, we're up in less than ten minutes."

When Sam moved first, walked around him and out of the storage room, Dean braced himself to face Sam's own misgivings about his racing. Sure, in a way it had been Sam's idea that he race as much as it had been Tim's. Tim had said he went to Sam first with the scheme to get him into the race, wanted to have his little brother green light it before he mentioned it to him. Wanted Sam's permission. As if their roles were reversed, that Sam was the big brother and he was the little brother, was a world where Sam's job was to protect him. 'You think Sam doesn't protect you?! You think you would have gotten out of that car alive if Sam hadn't been there, hadn't hauled your butt free before you went all crispy critter.' The truth was a little hurtful, made him feel like he had lost some ground, had faltered somewhere in Sam's eyes, had failed in his own role to protect Sam, to be the big brother. Begrudgingly, he admitted that he had lost his way since his Dad had died. But he hadn't known how far he had gone astray until now, until Sam had to protect him instead of him protecting Sam.

Eyes doing a shamed hit and run with Tim's, Dean shouldered by the older man and stepped back into the main garage area where his brother and the #36 car were waiting for him. Not wanting to see the look in Sam's eyes, the worry, the misgivings Sam harbored in his skills, in his strength, he stalked to the car, head down. But his proffered helmet blocked his path. Tracing the helmet to the hand that held it up to his brother's eyes, his breath nearly caught as he saw a rare smile on Sam's face that almost surpassed the slice of worry still flickering in his brother's eyes.

"Man, to think about all the times your lead foot almost got us jail time and now someone is asking you to go as fast as you can?! Garner's going to be kissing your feet to get you to race tomorrow," Sam predicted with pride shining in his eyes. When a smug smile of certainty found its way unto his brother's features, he felt more of his worry lift. This was Dean he was dealing with, his big brother, the guy that out drove cops and FBI agents and ghosts.

Sam's words, the look in his eyes, it told Dean everything he needed to know, discounted everything he had feared. Sam protected him, yes. But Sam also believed in him, believed in him when no one else did, when even their Dad had belittled his instincts, Sam had loyally followed them..him. 'Like he did in the cabin, stepped to my side instead of Dad's, believed me when I said Dad was possessed. Trusted me above everything and everyone else. He puts his trust in me even when I don't deserve it.'

Trouble was, Dean didn't know how to repay that trust, that loyalty, to acknowledge it, to thank Sam for that priceless gift. Turned instead to his standard, bold facade, "That's the plan, Sammy, that's the plan," he boasted, was encouraged by Sam's small laugh and Tim's nod at his antics. Sliding the helmet on and cinching it, he eyed Sam through the open visor. "If there are any bets down, you better be betting on me."

"Always do, Dean," Sam honestly returned, saw a flicker of surprise and affection in Dean's eyes before his brother put down the helmet visor. Watching Dean slide through the driver's side window into the seat, he clenched his teeth at the stiffness he noted in Dean's motions that bespoke of wounds too fresh, of bruises still tender. Made his worry, his doubt spike again because, though Dean worked through a crap load of pain better than anyone else he had ever known, it didn't mean he should have to, even to get what he deserved, what he wanted in life. 'But then again, this is our life I'm talking about,' he ruefully thought. As he watched Tim lean in and help Dean secure the safety belt and reset the steering wheel, his hands inched to do that for Dean, nearly clenched when Tim gave Dean's helmet a proud pat.

As soon as Tim cleared the window and stepped back a pace or two, Sam stepped forward to greedily claim his brotherly right to be at Dean's side. Hands tightening on the door, he fought to not reach in and touch Dean, make a connection with his brother, like Tim had done so easily and that came so hard for him. Knew his inability to reach out to Dean was wrapped up in his desire to not feel vulnerable and not have Dean look at him like he was five again and was refusing to let go of his hand and go into his kindergarten class. "Remember that the goal is to go as fast as you can without killing yourself," he lightly chastised but he couldn't help the way his features broadcasted his concern, couldn't get his heart rate to simmer down, couldn't quiet the little voice in his head that told him to stop Dean from doing this, from risking his life needlessly.

"Sammy, always the keeper of the rule book," Dean taunted as he pulled on his gloves before he met Sam's look, that beseeching, 'I-can-still-put-an-end-to-this' look. "Yeah, Sam. I think I know that no one can win a race posthumously." Then he cranked on the race car's engine and it engulfed every cubic inch of sound in the garage. Giving a wink to Sam, he drove the car from the garage and headed for the qualifying line.

Trailing behind the car as it left the garage, Sam stood a moment immobile, watched Dean maneuver the car onto the race track. He could feel Tim at his side but honestly he wasn't sure he could say something light right then, could fool the other man into thinking he wasn't torn between overwhelming pride and gut wrenching dread.

Sam wasn't even disappointed when Tim beat him to the punch line, uttered a light-hearted remark before he could. "You know, after this, there will be no living with him, right? He'll want to install Nitro into his car."

Sam looked to Tim with a grateful look in his eyes for his gesture and a confident smirk turning up his lips. "If he tries, I'll tell him what he told you: We only ever use original Impala parts."

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For Sam, it was a lesson in holding his breath the second Dean got the green light and the #36 car leapt forward, ate up the track's macadam, climbed toward the walls and sank down into the corners. Felt like the whoosh of air that Dean's car created as it rocketed past his spot in the infield was like CPR, giving him air to breathe before Dean stole it away again by taking the turns at speeds Sam wanted to go to his grave not knowing. He didn't have to look at Tim's stop watch, didn't have to see the seconds flicking by on the official board to know Dean was one fast man in motion. 'Nothing new there.'

But it was new to others. Hearing Garner's low curse through the headphones was gratifying, even enjoyable to Sam. As was the man's excited, "What did you say this driver's name was?"

Relishing the opportunity handed to him on a silver platter, Sam turned to his right, found Garner was unknowingly at his side, mesmerized as the older man was by the car on the track, by his car on his track. "His name's Dean. He's my brother. I think you two have met." The surprise, the anger, the acknowledgement in Garner's expression…it was sweet, was as rewarding as had been to punch the man after he had blamed Dean for Rook's death, had struck his brother. 'Well almost as rewarding,' he amended, feeling his anger rise again at the memories of the scene in the parking lot after Rook's death. Garner had a lot to pay penance for and this was just a small down payment, like fixing the Impala was.

"You better be joking," Garner snarled, shouldering past Sam to get to Tim. Standing toe to toe with Tim, finger pointing to the #36 car just then crossing over the finish line, he thundered, "Tell me that isn't Dean! Tell me you didn't let him drive Troy's car!?"

Smiling as he looked at the time watch and then the official board, Tim turned his focus onto Garner. "Actually you let him drive Troy's car. You gave me your blessing to pick the driver. And I gotta admit, your gamble has paid off. He's in third position." And he showed Garner the stopwatch even as he nodded to the official board, showing the #36 car in 3rd qualifying position, making Dean and the car a certified participant in the next day's race.

"I should fire you right now, have all three of you escorted off the track!" Garner threatened, his voice rising with his blood pressure.
Tim shrugged, knew that no matter what Garner ended up doing, he had been right to put Dean in that car, on that track. "You said it yourself, Troy loved to win, would want his car to continue the tradition. Dean can make that happen. Decision is yours," he nonchalantly announced, handing Garner the stop watch before he broke into a jog to catch up with Sam, who was already half way to his brother's side.

Reaching the #36 car, Sam crouched down by the door, couldn't contain his smile of happiness and relief as he faced Dean. Stealing his left hand into the car's interior, he patted Dean on the chest twice before leaving his hand there. "Dude, that was awesome! You're in third position."

"Third," Dean repeated, a note of disappointment in his tone.

"Tim said it's better if you don't get lead. Then you have some room to move on the track, to study the other drivers," Sam immediately countered, hand slipping to wrap around Dean's left bicep. "Come on, get out."

His ribs shifting painfully as he pushed himself out of the window of the car, Dean clenched his teeth to not let a growl of pain became audible. Last thing he needed was to show Sam that, though the car hadn't left orbit, it had felt like there had been G-forces pressing against him, making breathing seem a job instead of an instinct. But instantly he knew he didn't have to voice his pain for Sam to see right through him. Not if the way Sam sidled up to him when he was finally out of the car, or pierced him with a worried look of inspection when he tried to nonchalantly lean against the car to take some of the pressure off of his leg, meant anything. He was spared Sam's third degree, however, only to get roasted from another source.

"You're one manipulative guy, aren't you?" Bruce Garner bitterly accused as he approached, ignoring the glare Tim threw over his shoulder at him. "You have your little brother blackmail me to pay for repairs to your car," he said, giving a chin jerk to Sam before he leveled his heated gaze onto Tim. "You get my mechanic to con me so you can try and get in Sunday's race." As he stepped in front of Dean, took in the younger man's relaxed posture against the car, against Troy's car, his anger heightened. "Get away from Troy's car!" he lowly ordered, hands reaching forward to physically remove Dean from even touching the car of a man he had loved like a son, who was gone…and wasn't coming back, to race, to win, to laugh at his jokes and tell him to lighten up, to not be such a bear.

Easily reading Garner's intentions before the man even made a move toward his brother, Sam stepped forward, ruthlessly gripped Garner's suit lapels in his hands and jerked the track owner to the right, away from Dean and into a direct confrontation with him. "Don't touch him," he hissed even as he felt Dean shift away from the car, felt his brother's hand fall onto his shoulder, telling him to back down.

Knowing that things could get out of hand, Tim came to Garner's side, spoke without restraint. "What's your problem with him, really, Bruce? It's not about him racing. It's not even about him racing Troy's car, is it?"

Knocking Sam's hands from his suit, unwilling to admit that it was more Sam's capitulation to release him than his own strength that won his freedom, Bruce turned fully to Tim. "My problem with him?!? I hired him to do a job and he let Rook die?!"

"No, he didn't. You did," Tim lowly contradicted, abandoning the safety of silence, of clinging to the notion that he had to save his career, should take steps to save it. Knew that some things were more important than fulfilling a dream, of getting what you thought you wanted, deserved in life. That it was time to speak the truths that severely outweighed the lies that let him sleep at night. "Dean and Sam tried to stop us from racing on the track until the ghost was gone. For you, it was business as usual, time is money. And when Rook's car went up into flames, Dean was willing to risk his life to try and save Rook. But you, you weren't even willing to risk losing one cent or get even one whiff of bad press, not over something as trivial as to save someone's life, right?"

Stepping closer, eyes boring into Garner's, Tim leveled his next accusation like an ax. "But the real question, the one you've been asking yourself is: If you had done things differently, would Troy be alive right now, racing his own car?!" Tim knew it was a direct hit, could see pain flare in Bruce's eyes, could see the older man's chin tremble with emotions barely checked. Tim's next words weren't accusations, were consolations, because he had once known what it was like to devalue life, to think it was more important how a car came out of a crash than how a driver did. Knew how easy it was to think in terms of success and fame and fortune…instead of friendship, family, and brotherhood. He had left NASCAR hoping to find those things again, in the world and in himself. Troy had helped him find that path but Dean and Sam, they had steered him to the finish line.

"We can't go back and make different choices, Bruce. No matter how clearly the right answers are in hind sight," Tim quietly spoke, remembered how Garner had been with Troy, understood that whatever guilt he laid on Garner over the young driver's death it couldn't match the guilt Bruce assigned himself. "Troy is gone. Maybe there was something you could have done or Dean and Sam could have done to save him…and maybe there was nothing any of us could have done. Don't spend the rest of your life hating yourself for something that can't be undone." As Garner bowed his head, he knew his words were reaching him.

Shifting his stance, Tim steeled himself to broach another painful subject. "And I know, Dean reminds you of Troy…" Garner stiffened at the words even as Dean's eyes flew to Tim in surprise. "He does me too," Tim admitted, giving Dean a sad smile before he refocused on Bruce. "But he's not Troy. He's not trying to take Troy's place …in your life…or even on this track, in that car. He's got his own strengths and his own path to travel. And you and I both know he can drive, can give Troy's car one more shining moment before you retire it. He can give you that victory that you can practically taste."

Raising his eyes to meet Tim's, Bruce drew in a breath, knew that out of all the people on the track, Tim understood his loss, even shared it. Could help him navigate the lines between honoring and disrespecting Troy. "Fine. He races tomorrow," he gruffly agreed before turning to Dean, who had come to stand shoulder to shoulder with his little brother, taking in the scene between the two older men in silence. But whatever Garner thought about saying to Dean, he didn't, simply turned around and walked away.

Watching Garner leave, Dean understood the man a little better but was not able to garner any true feelings of warmth toward him. No matter how he rationalized it, the man had put people's lives in danger, had been, at least partially, to blame for Rook's death. Tim could forgive him…didn't mean he was willing to forgive him or himself for their part in a man losing his life. Turning his focus onto Tim, he found the mechanic wearing a smug smirk. "That went well," he sarcastically charged, knowing in his gut how badly things could have turned out, almost did.

"Better than I expected," Sam murmured with an exhale of held breath, earning him Dean's eye brow raised look. "You didn't think there was going to be blood shed?"

"Not with you around to protect me, Sammy," Dean groused back, a little torn between being touched that Sam was playing his bodyguard again and disgruntled at the notion.

"Boys, boys," Tim drawled as if he were the parent of unruly children, stepping forward and letting his hands drop onto each of the Winchester's shoulders. "No time for bickering about who is the bestest brother. We only have a few hours to get your beloved Impala back to its top form because, I know as soon as the checkered flag goes down tomorrow, Garner and every other track owner will be looking to sign you up for a contract before NASCAR breezes through the door. Not to mention the reporters," he gave a pointed look to Sam, "I mean the real news reporters will be climbing over each other to get the scoop on the victorious mystery driver. So you two better be ready to hit the road running tomorrow after the race." Dropping his hands, he stood back and watched the byplay between the brothers, still mystified that he hadn't pegged them as brothers from the get go.

"That's only if I win," Dean clarified, touched by Tim's belief in him but he knew it was Sam's respect he truly wanted to earn, Sam's faith in him he didn't want to exploit. Could feel the knot of terror coil in him at the thought of disappointing his little brother. Again. For failing to live up to the measure his brother, his father expected from him, counted on getting from him. He almost started when Sam spoke at his side.

"Right. So like Tim said, we're going to need to make a fast escape tomorrow, Speed Racer," Sam insisted, giving Dean a look of absolute faith with a dash of little brother worship in the mix. "And you need to ice up your ribs and stay off your leg."

"I'm …" Dean began, stammered really, too grateful and too overwhelmed to gloss over Sam's loyalty to him, belief in him.

"Fine, yeah. Course you are," Sam cut in lightly, believing Dean was about to embark on his standard, I'm-not-hurt routine. "But if it were me facing my dream of racing tomorrow, I would want to go into it as strong as I could."

Wrestling his emotions back under control, Dean good-naturedly said with a smirk to Sam, "Nag, nag, nag.." giving Sam what he expected, maybe what he even wanted. After all, who was he to trot out a chick flick moment if Sam wasn't game? But then his heart sped up at the truth: He was racing tomorrow. And it wasn't for his life, wasn't for Sam's life, was just cause….he wanted to, because he could, because he had the talent…and because he had a little brother willing to blackmail and to con so he could get that chance, could find himself sitting on that start line…with a shot at the finish line. Giving a warm look to Sam, he laughed when Sam frowned back at him, gave a shrug of his shoulders in question. "Right now, you win, Sam," he awarded with a smile, because Sam had just maybe earned this moment.

Confusion crinkling his brow, Sam shook his head. "Win what?"

'The bestest brother award' went through Dean's head but aloud he answered, "The biggest nag in the history of nags." Because after all, who said it took two to make a chick flick moment complete.

But Sam didn't protest the title, knew in his heart the award he had really won in his brother's eyes. "You always told me to try my best at whatever I do, Dean. I'm just following your advice, like I always do."

"Yeah, right," Dean scoffed back, easily reading the look in Sam's eyes. Some awards weren't verbally bestowed, some were given in a look. When Sam fell into step beside him as they headed toward the garage housing the Impala, Dean realized that having someone ready and willing to stand at your shoulder was an award in and of itself. One he didn't plan on taking for granted again.

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TBC

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Hope that was enough to keep you interested until I wrap this thing up.

Thanks so much for everyone who gave me encouragement on the last chapter and for those still tuning in to the story.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.