by Lisa Fenwick
“I don’t think changing a dog’s name is a good idea.” She gave Boy’s head a hearty scratch, “So I guess you’re stuck, aren’t you?” she asked him, but she didn’t face him. She was facing me.
“Yes.”
I wanted to get away from her. She was making me feel uncomfortable, and as we spoke some more, I figured out why.
“You’re the new renter at Amy Martin’s, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I said, hesitantly.
“I’m Nancy Hyde. I live on the next block over.”
“Noah Gould,” I said, offering my hand.
“I wasn’t stalking you or anything. I saw your car when you pulled up. Not many of those around here.”
“A VW isn't an uncommon car,” I told her, wondering where exactly this was going. This wasn’t as small a town as Amy had made it out to be, and my car wasn’t anything special. It was a common make, so she had to be doing the one thing that she said she wasn’t doing, and that was stalking me.
“A 2018 GTI Autobahn is around these parts, especially one with a custom paint job.”
“Fair enough,” I said, impressed by this woman’s ability to peg my car so precisely.
“So. Did you have it done to spec, or did it just happen to catch your eye?”
“I knew what I wanted, so I made it happen,” I told Nancy. I still couldn’t figure out exactly what she was getting at.
“Nice,” she said, giving me an approving nod. “An understated display of performance and quality. You going to be in town long?”
“Six months. I'm on a bit of a sabbatical.”
“An academic?” she asked me, her face telling me she clearly didn’t believe that.
“Litigation attorney.”
“Hmmm,” she said.
“So, how do you know so much about cars?” I asked.
“I’ve been dragged into it, kicking and screaming, against my will. My husband Brent is a complete fanatic. He owns Hyde Garage over on Veronica Street. Only place in this part of the state that could provide certified service for most European makes.”
“You get a lot of them out here?”
“Enough people have trouble with their cars out here that it's well worth it for Brent to keep the shop certified.”
“Please tell me you’ve contaminated him with some passion of yours in return?”
“Oh, he knows way more about European folk/techno hybrids than he ever thought he would,” Nancy said.
“You know, not ten years ago, I wouldn’t have thought that sentence could ever be uttered on a street in a town like this.”
“Gotta love broadband. If I still had to hunt down CDs or try to get Napster to work on dial-up, I’d be hating life so hard right now,” she said. “Anyway, I’ve taken enough of your time. Have a wonderful day, and be sure to stop by Brent’s place if your other baby needs a checkup.” Nancy gave Boy another good scratch behind the ears and walked on.
The encounter had definitely piqued my interest. I pulled out my phone and look up Hyde Garage. It was just five minutes away, so I looked for a café that didn’t seem like it was designed to sucker my big-city self in to grab a coffee to go and check it out.
My first impression of Hyde Garage as I approached it a few minutes later was that if Amy owned an auto repair business, that would be it. It was set up in a building that was clearly once a big horse barn. There was no denying the shape and construction of it. It looked like the stone walls of the first story were original, as was the wooden siding on the second floor. The roof had clearly been stripped down to the rafters and redone, though. There was an addition to the barn that looked to be only a few decades old but stylistically blended in seamlessly. The big bay doors were modern but with wood facing that made them look like they'd been there since the place was built. One of them was open, and I could see that the garage floor was cement, clean and regularly painted. The bits of equipment I could see all looked new and were brightly colored.
It was the exact same aesthetic of updated old construction that I was living in. From what Nancy had told me about the garage’s customer base, I could understand why they went for that sense. These were folks that had their “summer second homes” so they could get out of the city and into the country where life was real, and people worked with their hands and tilled the soil. But they were also not going to trust their ninety-thousand-dollar cars to some hayseed with more fingers than teeth.
The next thing I noticed about Hyde Garage was a Help Wanted sign beside the door, for a service technician, training available.
My heart just about skipped a beat when I saw it. My love of good cars had never been just about owning them and driving them—sometimes very fast. I was also fascinated by how they worked, what was happening under the hood, the alchemy that turned gasoline, air, and electricity into motion. Some of my happiest childhood memories were of helping the family driver take care of the cars.
I’d always gotten the sense that if I hadn’t been born the child of a prominent lawyer and a Cape Cod heiress, I’d probably have ended up working on cars. To be honest, there were certainly times that I wished my life had gone that way. I didn’t think I could count the number of times during the height of the Cruckson case that I was tempted to just throw it all out the window and go down to a technical college and get some grease on my hands.
I realized that I’d started driving to work at that time, not because I was too tired and worn out to walk the few blocks between my apartment and the office but because I craved the hum of the engine, the feeling of motion that came with driving, even in the traffic hell that was my neighborhood. I thought back to my first day in Berwick, when I decided to walk to the store instead of driving for my first load of groceries. The active choice to walk instead of drive probably said a lot about just how relaxed I actually was by seeing Amy’s cottage. Quite the change from how tense and wound up I’d been when I got in the car just a few hours earlier.
But all of that was neither here nor there. I couldn’t go back in time and change the path I’d taken to get me to where I was. What I could do was see if Hyde Garage was up to my standards for taking care of the regular service on my little GTI for the next six months.
I pushed open the door and was greeted by a smiling woman, maybe a couple years older than me, at a neat desk. “Good morning.”
“Hi,” I said. I let her know that I’d be in town for a few months, with a VW, and wanted to check the place out.
“Unfortunately, for insurance reasons, we can’t let you onto the service floor, but we do have a waiting room over there with some big windows that will give you a good view.”
“Damn lawyers, huh?” I said.
She gave me a noncommittal nod. Considering some of the clientele, I imagined that she had learned to be careful about what kinds of opinions she expressed in front of potential customers.
“Nice looking place,” I said, as I stepped into the waiting room. There was a higher-end Mercedes up on a lift, between an old Buick and a Toyota that had been used hard. I also noticed that the people working on the cars showed each of them the same care. That right there bought them a lot of credit in my eyes, and I felt like I’d found the place to take my GTI.
After watching the work on the shop floor for a bit, Boy shouldered my leg. I turned around to see the receptionist, standing as if she’d been trying to catch my attention for a bit.
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry,” she said, with a perplexed look on her face. She hadn’t figured out what she was apologizing for yet, but I knew. I turned my head to the side and tapped my cheek, just in front of my ear. I saw her register the hearing aid, and she looked a little bit relieved that she at least knew what was going on.
“Do you know when your next service is due on your car?” I could tell by her face that she had started speaking louder and slower.
“I’ve got the three-year checkup coming up next month,” I told her. “Also, you can speak at a normal volume
and pace with me. I just have to be looking at you.” I gestured toward my lips while I spoke.
“Would you like to set up an appointment now?”
“Please,” I said. “Looks like you have a great operation here.”
“Come by some Sunday afternoon,” she said, leading me back to her desk. “The guys here and some of the locals bring by their restoration projects.”
“I would like that very much. What is Mr. Hyde working on these days?”
“A ’71 Porsche 914/6.”
“What color?”
“It was originally Bahia Red, but he found a nearly perfect match for the Gold Metallic of the era. He’s got all the painting done now and is finishing up on refurbishing the interior.”
“Sounds great,” I said. “And I'm free this Sunday. Maybe I’ll see you then.”
“Of course. And we’d love to see you and your car at your service appointment. Next month, you said?” she asked, waking the computer on her desk.
After spending a little more time observing the garage in action, Boy and I headed back toward Thomas Avenue, Berwick’s main street. I found myself paying more attention to the shops and restaurants than I had earlier. I thought that the visit to the garage had given me a little more of a sense that I was in the place I needed to be for a while. As we walked back toward my car, I started taking a mental inventory of where all the businesses were located in relation to each other.
Halfway to the car, I found myself in front of a diner that had an absolutely divine smell coming from it. I looked at the menu posted beside the door and saw the day’s special was smoked brisket. Unless my nose deceived me, there was a South Carolinian working the kitchen. I’d know that Carolina gold sauce anywhere.
For just a moment, I was tempted to turn away and never darken their doorway again. I’d developed my taste for Carolina barbeque through my relationship with Ashley. I had this distinct feeling that I should find that sauce repulsive and disgusting since she had left my life. My stomach and my taste buds told me there was no reason for me to turn away from good food because a woman that just broke my heart introduced me to it. “What do you think, Boy? Is there any reason to hold one former fiancée against an entire culinary tradition?”
Boy quirked his head to the side. He looked to me like he said it would be silly to do so. Especially since there’d certainly be some bits of brisket coming his way.
“Well, that is way too heavy of a meal for lunch. How about I come back down here tonight for dinner, and bring you back a doggy bag?”
I turned away from the restaurant and we continued our walk. Just before crossing the street to get back to the car, I took a look at one of the few empty storefronts on Thomas Avenue. It formerly housed Stephano Law Office. By the looks of it, the office had been closed for quite some time. I pulled out my phone and looked up other law offices in Berwick. The only hit was for the defunct Stephano. The next nearest lawyer was in another town thirty miles away.
I sighed and walked away, the sense of contentment I’d been feeling on my walk rapidly falling away from me. Indulging my little fantasy of working at Hyde Garage had been a fun distraction, an absurd mental wandering into a different life that I could have had, not the one that I actually lived.
The idea of settling into Berwick as a small-town lawyer. That seemed to be less far removed from reality. That was a temptation that I could actually succumb to. That was a thought I didn’t need to be having on my third day in the place, even if I was bored and felt the need to do something.
Chapter Seven
Amy
The Past
May 2000
“Amy!” Mommy yelled. “Sit back down!”
Auntie Jean turned. She said the really bad word again. “Buckle up, Amy!” she yelled.
Too many people were yelling. I started to scream again.
Mommy reached over her seat and tried to push me back down, but I was too mad at everything to sit down. Too much lying was happening today, and I didn't like it at all. I got in trouble every time I lied, so why should the grownups be allowed to do it?
“Amy, please,” Mommy said quietly. “Just buckle up and when we get to where we’re going. Auntie Jean and I will tell you everything about what’s going on.”
Auntie Jean was still driving very fast, and I could see her looking in her mirror. She had a very angry face on.
“I don’t want to,” I said.
“Please, Amy,” Mommy screamed while she was trying to strap me in.
“Amy…” Auntie Jean said, looking at me in her mirror.
“What’s back there?” I asked and turned around.
“Amy, what Daddy is doing is very dangerous. I really need you to sit down and put your seatbelt back on.”
I could see him getting closer, and I could tell Daddy was very, very angry. I had never seen him so mad before, not even when hitting Mommy. While I was looking, Mommy grabbed the back of my shirt and pulled me down into the seat. I started to fight her, and then everybody started yelling again. Auntie Jean said a very bad word, and then I felt something hit her car really hard. There was a lot of noise, and the car went sideways and upside down, and I fell onto Mommy, and she held on to me so tightly as we both left the car and out of the window.
◆◆◆
When I did wake up, I was in a white room. I remember, this woman. She was a nurse. She smiled at me and said, “Hey, Sweetie.”
I just wanted Mommy. I didn’t want her.
“Hey. Are you awake?”
“Mommy?” I asked.
“Your mommy isn’t here right now. My name is Wendy. How do you feel?”
I started crying, and I kept crying for a long time, because I wanted to talk some more, but I couldn’t because I felt tired and wanted to sleep again.
◆◆◆
“Hello, Amy. It’s Wendy again.”
“Is Mommy back yet?”
“No, she's not. We’re going to take care of you, okay?”
“I want Mommy.” I felt sick in my tummy, and I hurt all over my body, and I could hear Wendy, but I couldn’t see her.
“You can’t see Mommy right now. You got hurt in a car accident, and we need to help you get better.”
“Where’s Mommy?” I asked. I felt like crying again.
Wendy put her hand on mine. “Let me check you out first, okay, kiddo? You can hear me. That’s good.”
“I can hear you,” I said. I thought Wendy was lying to me about Mommy. Too many lies that day.
“Good girl, Amy. Now, I'm going to squeeze your fingers. Tell me if you can feel this.”
She squeezed my fingers and my toes, and she moved my arms and legs around. I wanted to move my head, but it was stuck in something.
“Could you hold still for me, Amy? It looked like you might have hurt your neck in the accident, so we want to keep it very still until we’re sure everything is good.” She brushed a hand across my forehead.
“Could you turn the lights on?” I asked.
“They are on, Amy. You hurt your eyes in the accident, so we have big bandages on them so they can heal up.”
I reached up to my face and felt a lot of cloth wrapped around my eyes. Wendy took my hands and pulled them away.
“I want to take the bandages off,” I said.
“We need to keep them on until your eyes get better.”
“My eyes are better!” I said. “Where’s my mommy? Or even my auntie?”
She said, “I can’t, darling. They’re gone.”
“Gone where?” I asked, thinking why they would leave me in a hospital. I thought that we were going somewhere together.
“I’m sorry.” I could feel her stroking my hair. “They’re dead. They’re not coming back. There was a lot of broken glass, and it hit your face and your eyes. We need to keep the bandages on until all the cuts are better.”
“I’m fine!” I yelled at her. “Where is Mommy?”
“Amy. If you keep trying to pull the bandage
s away, I will have to tie your hands down to the bed. I just told you. Your mommy’s dead.”
“Bring Mommy here!”
Wendy and I had a very big fight, and I yelled at her a lot. Wendy tied my hands to the bed and tried to talk nice to me, but I was too mad at her. I just wanted Mommy or Auntie Jean to come and sit with me, but stupid Wendy told me they couldn’t come. She said that they were dead, but I didn’t believe her. Mommy wouldn’t leave me, and neither would Auntie Jean.
◆◆◆
I couldn’t remember how long I’d been in the hospital, but I knew that it was for some time. They had someone come and talk to me. Someone nicer than Wendy. After she talked to me, I realized that it was true. Mommy and Auntie Jean were dead. If they were alive, they would have come to see me, and they wouldn’t allow Wendy to tie me to the bed.
“Are you finally ready to get these bandages off, Amy?”
“Yes!” I said.
Doctor Herbert was very nice to me. He didn’t ever tie my hands down to the bed like mean Wendy did. He was always very polite, and he talked to me, but whenever I got mad, mean Wendy came in and put my hands down.
Doctor Herbert told me about Mommy and Auntie Jean and Daddy. He told me they were all dead from the accident. That made me very, very mad when he said it. I was very mad about Mommy and Auntie Jean being dead but not mad that Daddy would never come back again.
Mean Wendy had to hold me down for a long time after Doctor Herbert told me that. I called her a liar a lot because she did lie about Mommy and Auntie Jean and why they never came to see me.
“Now, when I take these off, the light might be very bright, so close your eyes tight. When I tell you to open them, I need you to open your eyes very slowly. I have the lights in here turned way down, but after several days with bandages on, even a little bit of light might hurt. Understand?”
“Yes,” I said.
I felt something cold on my face and heard Doctor Herbert snipping at the bandages. Then he started to unwind them. I was so excited to be able to see again. I closed my eyes really tight like he asked me to.