Delores Parker's Arc

Chapter 9 of 10

The drive stayed empty long after the last car turned onto the road. Delores went back inside the garage to wipe down the picnic table. Her husband stood by the middle Ford with his hand on the hood. He had not moved in ten minutes. The blue shirts sat folded on the bench where the fathers had left the extras. Delores watched him and knew what was coming before he said it. "I don't have their numbers," he said. "Whose numbers." "Any of them. Farmer Fred. The one who sold his car. Frank." He tapped the hood once. "They came, they ate, they left. I never asked." Delores set the rag down. He was trying to sound flat about it, but his hand kept tapping. "You could ask next year," she said. "Next year is a long time." He pulled off his cap and set it on the fender. "I thought I'd see them tomorrow. That's stupid. I know that's stupid." She walked over and stood beside him. The six red Fords lined up under the tall windows, chrome catching the last of the light. She thought about the marker outside with its six brass rings. Six men. Six cars. No phone numbers. "The marker," she said. "What about it." "They brought it themselves. That means someone ordered it. Someone paid for it." She waited. "That means a receipt. A shop. A name on an invoice." He looked at her. His mouth opened and shut. "Go check it," she said. He went. She heard his shoes on the gravel, then the pause while he crouched by the stone, then his shoes coming back faster. He held up his phone. He had taken a picture of the base. "Engraver's stamp," he said. "On the underside of the ring. I can call Monday." "There you go." He stared at the picture. He did not smile, but his shoulders came down an inch. "I'll get a list. Numbers. Addresses. Whatever they'll give me." "And then?" "Then I invite them back. Not next year. Sooner." He put the phone in his pocket. "Labor Day. We open the garage. They bring the kids. I cook." "You don't cook." "I'll learn." Delores laughed once. He almost laughed too. Then he looked at the row of cars and his face went quiet again. "I didn't know I'd miss them this fast," he said. "I know." She took his hand. The garage held the six Fords the way it was built to. She had spent a year making peace with them staying. Now the cars were doing something she had not expected — pulling people back toward this house. She was going to have to make peace with that too. Six cars. Six fathers. And her husband already planning the next meal.