Page 100 of Only and Forever

Viggo’s fingers lace with mine. He answers his phone with the other hand, bringing it to his ear. “Hey, Donnie.”

I can’t hear what Donnie says. But I watch Viggo’s face fall. Watch him catch it and force a reassuring smile my way.

I stare up at him, still holding his hand as he thanks Donnie and hangs up, knowing it’s bad news. The worst news.

He swallows thickly as he pockets his phone. I squeeze his hand.

“Viggo,” I say quietly.

I don’t have to say any more. He knows that I know. I think he’s grateful that he doesn’t have to spell it out for me. Maybe it makes it easier for him to pretend he’s fine, when he’s clearly not. I’m about to press, to push, to tell him that it’s okay to cry that his car is dead, not coming back, that for onceIcan be the one who holds him whilehefalls apart.

But he steps back before I can find my courage. “Store’s open in five,” he says. “I should head over there. Get things ready.”

“Okay. I’ll be right there.” I clasp my hands in front of me, watching him go, Romeo and Juliet trotting after him through the door to the shop, before he closes it with a quietclick.

I bite my lip, my heart aching for him. I’d do anything to make him feel better, to fix this. But you can’t fix an unfixable car.

Unless...

I pull out my phone and open up my web browser, searching for Donnie’s shop and phone number. Donnie answers, and after explaining who I am, why I’m calling, my suspicions are confirmed.

Ashbury’s not unfixable. He’s just beyond expensive to repair, when it comes to the parts it would take to make him run again.

“I feel terrible,” Donnie says on the line. “I’m such a chickenshit. I’ve known for two weeks that this was the case, but I kept trying to find a way around it. I know how much he loves that car, and listen, he’s been nothing but a prince of a guy for as long as I’ve known him. I wanted to be able to help him. He deserves it. I owe him so much.”

I frown in confusion, then remember Donnie can’t see me. “What do you mean?”

“He used to live in the apartment next to my dad. I was busy with a bunch of updates to the shop at the time, wasn’t around as much as I should have been. My dad had a heart condition he hadn’t told me about, too proud, didn’t want to need help; but he had doc appointments he needed to be driven to, meds he needed to have picked up. Viggo drove him around in Ashbury, everywhere he needed, till he was hospitalized, then passed.”

A lump settles in my throat. “Sounds like Viggo.”

“We connected at Dad’s funeral, swapped numbers. I offered him a tune-up for Ashbury as a gesture of thanks. He wouldn’t hear of it, but I insisted. Tune-ups became grabbing a beer, having him over for dinner. Then, when my wife had her accident, he helped mearound the clock with all the reno and modifications to make the house accessible. I’d do anything for him, even fix it for free...”

“But the parts,” I fill in for him. “They’d be prohibitively expensive.”

His sigh is heavy through the line. “Yeah. I feel awful. I was hoping, if I had a good month, I could swing it, but I just can’t.”

“That’s sweet of you, Donnie, but Viggo would never want you to do that for him.”

“Doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve it,” Donnie says roughly. His voice is thick with emotion.

My gaze dips to the envelope sitting on the counter. The envelope containing my royalty check.

“Say, Donnie, mind telling me what parts and labor would cost?”

“Parts, I’ll tell you, but there’s no way under God’s blue sky I’m letting someone pay for me to service Viggo Bergman’s car, so you can forget about that.”

I smile. “Parts, then. What would it be?”

Donnie tells me a number whose impact on Viggo’s facial expression I now very much understand. It’s a lot of money to pour into Band-Aid fixes for a car that’s destined for the junkyard.

But aren’t all cars eventually destined for the junkyard? And who’s to say what kind of new lease on life is possible, with some time and love and elbow grease? Nothing’s unsalvageable. I have to believe that. For Ashbury. For myself.

“Donnie,” I ask, tapping the envelope on the counter, a smile warming my face, “how much more, not just to fix that car, but to make it like new?”

TWENTY-EIGHT

Viggo

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