Red Truck Rendezvous

pride, was worthy of respect.
“We thought she was just in a hurry for you to get it done, but it’s more than that, isn’t it?”
“She’s mad that I stripped the truck almost to the frame while she was gone. I think seeing her beloved truck that way, empty, and hollow, kind of shocked her.”
“She thinks you messed up.”
Pablo nodded, reaching for his mason jar full of tea. “I’m getting it finished and getting them both out of here as fast as I can.”
Carlos didn’t say more, he sat with his brother, quietly enjoying his meal without a word. It had become apparent to all of the family that Pablo had started to develop feelings for the young woman in the quirky camper over the past five weeks. Even now, he could see the hurt in his younger brother’s eyes.
“I’ll let you get back to it then,” Carlos finally said, gathering the plates and packaging of their picnic. “You’ll call if you need me?”
“I’ll call,” Pablo promised. “And don’t forget you agreed to help me update the garage when this is done. I have a few ideas.”
Carlos chuckled, lifting one basket in way of agreement as he walked from the garage.

Chapter 16
Pablo walked back to the workbench, downing the last of his jar of tea and flopping onto his stool. He was exhausted, but the major components of the truck were back together, the drive shaft reattached, and the hoses clamped down tight.
Tomorrow, he would fill the fuel tank with gas, bleed the lines, and see if Sweetie still had the will to get up and go.
Slouching wearily, Pablo placed the jar back on the bench, a glint of color catching his eye. The pretty red package his sister had delivered weeks ago sat, forlorn and lonely on the grimy bench.
Grabbing the small box, he turned it in his hands, examining every inch of it. One corner was coming unglued, and the shimmery paper curled up in that spot. He wondered why Carlos had brought the box to him, deciding his nosey little sister had probably insisted, her curiosity getting the better of her.
Turning the package again, Pablo remembered the miniature car ornament he had received nearly three years ago. The beautifully handcrafted wood-paneled low-rider truck, now hung above his nephew’s crib, a gift from Uncle Pab’o.
Grasping the curled corner of the wrapping paper, Pablo pulled, peeling the box open and peering in. A frosty chill seemed to wash over him as the golden string presented itself to him. Something small and red reflected in the glare of his shop light, and Pablo shivered, wrapping his finger around the string and giving a tug.
A cool breeze whipped through the breezeway of the former barn, swirling dust, leaves, and debris in its wake. Pablo looked toward the back door, blinking as he caught a hint of something red flicker from the corner of his eye.
The young mechanic rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. He was more tired than he realized. It was time for a bit of sleep, and then he would crank the engine on the old truck and put an end to this sad story.
Walking to the driver’s door, he pulled the door open on silent hinges, stretching to reach the rearview mirror and slipped the golden thread in place. The tiny red truck ornament, with the Christmas tree in the back, seemed a fitting gift for Portia and her vintage vagabond home.


Chapter 17
After a few hours of sleep on the sofa in his office, Pablo grabbed a cold shower and pulled his last clean jumpsuit on over shorts and a tee-shirt.
The night before, he had run through the final checklist on the truck, but he popped the hood and looked over the engine one more time. The moment of truth had come, and he climbed into the cab, slipping the key into the ignition and saying a prayer.
Twisting the key, on a cold click, Pablo leaned his head against the rear window and closed his eyes. This wasn’t right, he knew that he had everything in place.
Pumping the gas pedal twice, he twisted the key again, and the engine spluttered, then clicked over into a soft, steady thrum.
Pablo punched the air, his heart pounding as he put the truck in reverse and slowly backed out of the garage, a moment later he was soaring over the road the new tires floating as if on a cloud.
The truck was finished; he could deliver it to Portia and be done. It still hurt that she had believed he had ruined her classic truck, that she didn’t believe in him.
Pablo had been working on cars since he was old enough to get a job at one of the local garages. He had worked hard, building a reputation as a dependable and able mechanic. He had dealt with demanding customers before, even had some who were never happy with anything, but this hurt because he had developed feelings for the pesky Portia. Perhaps he was just a lowly country mechanic, but he didn’t think a big city garage could have done a better job.
Making the drive to the top of the hill, enjoying the smooth sound of the better than new truck, Pablo made a U-turn and headed toward home. It was time to take Sweetie back to Portia.
Soothing his damaged pride with the knowledge of a job well done, Pablo rolled toward the Inn and a final good-bye.
***
Portia had been sulking, and she knew it. She had bugged, bullied, and browbeaten Pablo into rebuilding her old truck, and then panicked when she had seen Sweetie stripped down to its bones. Portia knew she hadn’t been fair to Pablo, and now it was time to make amends.
For as long as she could remember, Portia had loved old things. They had character, soul even. Seeing Sweetie, sanded down to a dull orange, her frame up on blocks and tires missing, she was sure that the