Page 2 of It's Going to Be a Chrome Christmas
Mr. Wynn gripped Cayden’s shoulder. Having been raised by his grandmother after his father’s murder, Cayden hadn’t grown up with much paternal attention. It was odd, knowing that Mr. Wynn’s disappointment increased his own. He would have expected this reaction from Mrs. Wynn, who reminded him of Gran, but not Mr. Wynn.
But he did like the Wynns. He appreciated their assistance while he was trying to regain his bearings in a world that had changed in the two years and six months he’d been locked away.
Even Mr. Jones had earned his respect. The man was a lot kinder than Cayden had expected him to be. He didn’t know much about Mr. Jones’s history, but the wedding ring on his finger seemed old. It also hadn’t missed Cayden’s notice that, despite the ring, Mr. Jones never mentionedMrs.Jones. Cayden had never gotten up the courage to ask. The man was ornery and a stickler for the rules, but he was, above all else,fair. Cayden appreciated that more than he could ever express. Not much about Cayden’s life had been fair.
An hour later, even with Mr. Wynn’s assistance, Cayden was no closer to finding a new job. He wished his rap as a car thief only prohibited him from working at car dealerships. He’d take any fast-food restaurant job he could get at this point. He’d never stolen a dollar from another in his life. Cars had been and always would be his temptation.
Mrs. Wynn came into the kitchen sometime later. Seeing her arms full of grocery bags, Cayden leaped to his feet to assist her. He saw Paul, the hacker, trailing behind her with even more bags.
“Thank you, dear,” she said to Cayden, keeping one reusable bag on her shoulder. “Paul, could you get the milk and eggs in the fridge please?” Paul nodded once. Cayden too started to unpack the groceries from the bags he’d taken from her. Mrs. Wynn gave him an approving smile. Turning to her husband, she said, “Greg, I was able to get that picture of you and Bobby repaired. Good as new.” She pulled out a large picture frame from the red bag she’d kept.
Mr. Wynn stood and put his arm around his wife. “Well, look at that. I can’t even see where the knife went in.”
At the word ‘knife’, Cayden shot Paul a questioning look. The younger man, though, shook his head like he didn’t know either.
Mr. Wynn placed a kiss on his wife’s temple. “Thank you, Peg. Look, Frank?—”
If Mr. Wynn said anything else as he turned the picture towards Mr. Jones, Cayden didn’t hear it. At the sight of the picture facing towards him, Cayden’s eyes went wide and his hands numb. He barely kept a hold of the thin plastic bag holding the apples.
“Dude, what’s wrong with you?”
Cayden ignored Paul, and despite how rude it was, rushed forward to snatch the large, framed photo from Mr. Wynn’s outstretched hand. He gaped, open mouthed, at the picture for several seconds before he stared up at Mr. Wynn in awe. “That’s a 1967 Shelby Cobra 427 Roadster.”
The picture was obviously old, but there was no mistaking those distinct front vents and slick finish. In front of the car was a much younger Mr. Wynn with his arm wrapped around the shoulders of another young man. Mr. Wynn was holding up a set of keys in victory.
“It is.” At Mr. Wynn’s words, Cayden snapped out of his awed haze. Realizing he’d taken the picture without invitation, he sheepishly handed it back to the houseowner. Mr. Wynn, though, didn’t look upset. Thank God. If anything, his eyes sparked with amusement. “You know your cars.”
A snort came from Mr. Jones.
“That car is worth over seven hundred thousand today.” Cayden knew his voice cracked when he mentioned its worth. It wasn’t the money, though, that had Cayden’s heart racing in his chest. It was how polished and obviously loved that car was by the two men in the picture. Anyone who loved a car like that earned bonus points in Cayden’s book. “Do you still have it?”
Cayden’s heart broke when Mr. Wynn shook his head. He felt like he’d been sucker punched. Oh, what Cayden wouldn’t have given for just five minutes with a ride like that.
“Bobby,” Mr. Wynn pointed to the other man in the picture, “found us a buyer. A collector who appreciated the care we took in refurbishing it. Mind you, this was in the nineties, so I’m not sure who has it now.”
As Mr. Wynn took his hand away from the picture, Cayden’s eyes landed on the building he’d completely missed behind the car and men. The two-story building with full-glass front windows was too large to fit in the border of the picture, but Cayden knew it had a massive white sign with red cursive readingRomero’son the roof.
He knew, because he had passed the building every day on his way to work this week. They were an exotic dealership and repair shop. Cayden had practically drooled in envy each time he passed it.
“You worked at Romero’s?”
Mr. Wynn shook his head, finally passing the picture off to Mr. Jones as had been his earlier intention. “Bobby owned Romero’s. We were buddies in high school who shared a love of repairing cars and motorcycles. When he opened his shop, I was building my construction business. We both invested in the other’s businesses, be it time or money. When he picked up the Cobra from a junkyard, it was a steal. We worked on it for years, trying to find all the right parts for her. When we finished, man, did that baby purr.” The cocky smile on Mr. Wynn’s face was one Cayden could truly appreciate, because he’d worn it on his own many times.
Cayden let out an envious sigh. “I’d have loved to have seen her.”
“I’ll swing you by Romero’s at some point,” Mr. Wynn offered. Then, as if realizing what he’d said, he turned to Mr. Jones. “Or would that break his terms of parole?”
Mr. Jones, to Cayden’s delight, shook his head. “He can’t drive a car, but he’s allowed to be near them. We’d have to ship him off to a remote part of Antarctica if his terms stated he couldn’t be within so many feet of a working vehicle.”
Cayden’s smile stretched wide. He rounded on Mr. Wynn. “I’ll do anything you want. I’ll rake the yard, I’ll take out the garbage, I’ll even cook dinner.” He paused at that offer. “Well, I’ll help Mrs. Wynn cook dinner. I don’t want to be sent back to jail for accidentally poisoning my housemates.”
Mr. Wynn chuckled before he said, “How about tomorrow? I have some errands to run, and you can help me with some of the heavy lifting.”
Cayden nodded. He didn’t care if Mr. Wynn had said he needed to escort him to the doctor’s office to get his prostate checked. Anything would be worth the opportunity to see Romero’s. If Bobby restored cars and motorcycles with the care and love that photo had captured, Cayden could only imagine the treasures held within those glass walls.
The hand on his shoulder forced his attention to Mr. Jones, who now stood beside him. “Behave,” the crotchety man warned, “or I’ll throw you back inside faster than you can say ‘hotwire’.”
Cayden gulped nervously, because he knew the old man didn’t bluff.
