Chapter 26. The Weight of Time Is Too Heavy.
Chapter 26. The Weight of Time Is Too Heavy.
I tore through the dawn air, stomping down on the gas pedal of the truck that barely wanted to accelerate, and made it to the emergency room.
Huff, huff!
“Jason? Over here.”
An old man sitting on the emergency room guardian waiting bench recognized me as I came running in, drenched in sweat, and raised a hand.
It was Bill, who sometimes came by the shop and bickered with Donnelly.
He worked in construction, and he was such a close old friend that he had personally made and gifted the sign for the opening day of Donnelly Auto & Machine.
“Bill? Where’s Donnelly?”
“They’re running a few basic tests on him inside...”
Bill trailed off at the end of the sentence.
I quietly sat down beside him.
“What happened all of a sudden?”
“Whew... it’s not all of a sudden. This happens from time to time. He kept making me promise not to tell you, but... Earl’s got terminal cancer.”
Bill bit his lip.
I had sensed indirectly that Donnelly’s health was not good, but terminal cancer, not just simple old age...
For a moment, I felt dazed, as if someone had hit me in the head with a hammer.
“The truth is, he’s been refusing inpatient treatment for months now, but it looks like there really isn’t much time left. Damn it...”
In America, there are a lot of people who want to spend their final moments at home.
Doctors respect that choice, and beyond permitting home hospice care with visiting nurses, they usually do not interfere much more deeply than that.
“Then... is there nothing that can be done now?”
“Not really... except let him live the rest of his time as much as he wants.”
The old man’s eyes trembled pitifully.
I could not even begin to imagine what it must feel like to stand by helplessly and watch a friend wither away day by day.
“Bill... just tell Donnelly I came by. I don’t think I have time to sit around here.”
But there was something I could do for Donnelly.
Something only I could do.
“What? You came all the way here, and now you’re leaving without even seeing his face?”
“Yes. Right now, there’s something even more important.”
He looked startled that I had come racing over like this only to leave again after not even sitting for five minutes.
But then, as if something occurred to him, he slowly nodded.
“Hmm, all right then. Go. I’ll stay with Earl and make sure I bring him back safely. And don’t push yourself too hard either. If something can’t be done, then it can’t be done...”
If something cannot be done, then it cannot be done.
Bill probably meant it kindly, in case I started to despair too much...
But the moment I heard those words, a certain voice played in my head.
Run harder, breathe deeper! Don’t stop, you idiots. Quit is not an option.
That voice sounded in my ears as vividly as if it had been yesterday.
“...Then I’ll leave him to you.”
Without a second of hesitation, I turned on my heel and walked straight back out of the emergency room.
“Huh, that kid... what a terrifying look in his eyes.”
I heard Bill mutter softly behind me, but I did not look back.
“Dusty, starting today, we’re going to be sleeping at the shop for a while.”
After returning to the warehouse, I packed up Dusty’s food, his cushion, and the rest of his things.
Then I stuffed a few changes of clothes and a blanket into my duffel bag and hitched the trailer to the truck.
I made sure not to forget the camp cot either.
“Whine...”
Maybe something about the way I was hurrying around made him uneasy, because Dusty let out a soft whimper.
“Let’s go.”
I patted his head a few times, then started the truck.
Vroom, rattle-rattle-rattle—
By then, the morning sun had already risen over the harsh desert earth.
It was the kind of landscape that inspired awe every single time, no matter how many dozens or hundreds of times I had seen it.
But right now, all I could think was that it was blinding.
I pulled out my sunglasses and slipped them on without a word.
Then I pressed down on the gas.
The Corvette restoration was almost finished.
But the hardest stage still remained.
The body restoration.
The Corvette’s body was not made of the usual steel or aluminum, but of fiberglass-reinforced plastic—FRP.
You could think of it as a material with the same sort of feel as the plastic commonly used in things like water tanks.
The reason Chevrolet insisted on using it for the Corvette body was because FRP had some powerful strengths of its own.
First of all, it was light.
And in automobiles—especially in sports cars—low weight gave an overwhelming advantage in agility.
On top of that, FRP did not rust, and it was easy to mold, which made complex curved designs possible.
One look at the graceful lines of the Corvette C2 was enough to understand that immediately.
But aside from its weak rigidity, its biggest drawback was just how difficult it was to repair.
You could not hammer it out like sheet metal, and welding was impossible. The only option was to grind away the damaged area piece by piece and rebuild its shape with resin.
“Restore a C2 body shell? Hmm... I’d have to see the area and the extent of the damage, but even at a minimum, it’d run you over a thousand dollars per panel. More depending on the spot.”
“Excluding materials, and including the polishing, you’re looking at at least five thousand dollars.”
I had contacted a few specialist shops capable of FRP molding and repair, but all I got back were estimates that made me suck in a breath.
And even the shop that could fit me in the fastest asked for at least a month to finish the work.
I can’t wait that long.
FRP body work consumed huge amounts of time and labor, but I had a broken special ability. If I truly set my mind to it, it was not impossible.
The slanting morning sunlight illuminated the Corvette’s surface.
The spiderweb-like fine cracks running from the door all the way back to the rear fender glittered into view.
[Loading FRP Restoration Procedure] ▶ Warning: Protective gear must be worn before beginning work.
If fiberglass touched your skin, it became unbearably itchy and prickly. Water did not wash it off well either.
Just imagining it getting into my eyes or lungs made goosebumps rise all over my body.
“Wait in here a little. While I’m doing this, you can’t come outside.”
I picked Dusty up and placed him temporarily in the inner office, then took out the work suit I had bought in advance from the truck.
The suit was made of a rustling waterproof paper-like material, with elastic bands at the wrists and ankles to seal the openings.
I pulled on nitrile gloves so no bare skin would be exposed, then put on a cartridge respirator and goggles before I was finally ready.
[Check the extent of internal and external damage.]
I carefully pressed around the cracked areas with my hand.
Just like Donnelly had taught me. Do not rely on your eyes alone—use all five senses.
Most of it felt solid, but one or two spots flexed like a wave.
That meant the invisible internal fiber structure had snapped.
When my special ability combined with the real-world know-how I had learned from Donnelly, the result was incredible synergy.
“Good. Then let’s grind.”
There was no time to hesitate. I immediately picked up the dual-action sander.
Where the cracks were shallow, I sanded lightly and finely.
Where structural restoration was needed, I sanded aggressively and without restraint.
It was to reveal the damage more clearly and make room for the reinforcement layers.
Whirr, whirr, whirr—
With Donnelly not beside me, there was no one to ask for advice. No nagging, either.
I simply moved my hands in silence, following the work procedure manual unfolding in my head.
Every place the sander passed over turned white, exposing the inner layer beneath.
Luckily, it’s not as bad as I feared.
The damaged areas were more limited than I had expected. That would save a lot of time.
Next, I cut fiberglass patches, soaked them in resin, and applied them over the repaired areas one layer at a time.
In rough terms, it was a little like wallpaper repair.
Once the layers were built up to the proper thickness, all that remained was to wait for them to cure.
At least a full day.
“Whew...”
The moment I stopped working, silence settled over the shop.
Not that long ago, this kind of routine silence had felt normal.
Now, that same quiet only made my chest feel noisier.
I quietly looked at the Corvette, now covered here and there with reinforcement patches.
Just wait a little longer. I’ll have you out on the road with your owner soon.
.
.
.
Tap, tap—
“Okay. It cured properly without air bubbles.”
The first thing I did the moment I woke up early that morning was tap the surface of the cured FRP.
If I heard a hollow, bouncing sound here, then the entire day I had poured into the work yesterday could end up having been for nothing.
But thankfully, what came back was a dull sound with no resonance.
“Good. I’ll sand it right away and send it to paint today.”
Scrape-scrape-scrape-scrape-scrape—
First-stage sanding with sandpaper from the coarsest 80 grit up through 120 grit.
After that, a second-stage sanding with 180 to 220 grit.
And then finally, focusing hard to keep any waviness from appearing in the surface, I completed a very fine third-stage sanding before it was finally ready to be sent to the paint shop.
“Whew... now I understand why FRP restoration quotes are so insanely expensive.”
I had started the job at 5:30 in the morning, and it was already nearly 3:00 in the afternoon by the time I finished.
And even that had only been possible because the damaged areas were limited.
“First, I need to get it to the body shop as fast as possible.”
Since the proper order was to install the engine and transmission after paint, it was important, schedule-wise, to get the painting work entrusted a day sooner if possible.
“Are you keeping the original solid color for the paint?”
I decided to use the same body shop I had used for the Crown Victoria before.
It was not particularly cheap, but the results were reliable, and more than anything, I liked that the owner personally discussed the work scope and method face-to-face.
“Yes. GM paint code 923, and no modern clear coat. Please do it in single stage. Paint the engine bay matte black, and leave the underside seams rough as well.”
Single-stage paint, where the color and gloss are applied at once, had much worse durability and shine than modern paint systems, but it was the original method used at the Corvette factory back then.
(Translator’s Note:Single-Stage Paint — A paint system in which pigment and gloss are contained in the same coating. Unlike modern basecoat-clearcoat systems, it does not use a separate transparent clear layer.)
The request to paint the entire engine bay flat black regardless of the exterior color was for the same reason.
“Understood. For a classic Corvette like this, restoring it to factory condition is the right way to go. Riverside Red is going to look incredible.”
(Translator’s Note: Riverside Red — A factory paint color offered on early Chevrolet Corvettes, including the 1963 Corvette Sting Ray. It carries emotional significance in the story because of Earl and Nora Donnelly’s Corvette.)
Fortunately, the owner of the paint shop was someone who understood both the value of the car and the exact restoration concept I was aiming for.
“Whew, I’ve really made it to the final stretch now.”
When I stepped out of the body shop, I arched backward and let out a long breath toward the sky.
A few days later.
The paint came back sooner than expected.
For me, someone desperate to save every bit of time, that was very welcome news.
Now, only the engine and transmission installation remained.
Once this is done, it’s really over.
The closer I got to the finish line, the stronger that thought became, and I could not allow myself even a moment of rest.
And the more that happened, the more anxious I felt.
Lost in the work, I eventually realized it was night again. Fortunately, the Corvette was almost complete.
Only then did hunger and exhaustion hit me in a rush.
I was wondering whether I should drag my tired body off to eat or just go to sleep, when an unexpected visitor appeared.
“Bill? What brings you here...?”
“The look on your face that dawn kept sticking in my mind.”
Bill hovered awkwardly near the entrance to the shop.
“Ah... have a seat first.”
Bill glanced briefly at the camp cot inside the shop, then sat down in the chair I offered him.
“So you really went all in.”
“There isn’t any time.”
I answered shortly.
“Still, take it easy. Earl wouldn’t want you overdoing it.”
“...How is Donnelly doing?”
“Well, he’s not exactly well... but he’s stable for now. Probably after a few days of rest, he’ll come out again.”
After exchanging a few words about Donnelly’s condition, neither of us said anything for a long while.
Only the sound of the desert night wind brushing past dry branches came and went.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?”
I was the first to speak, addressing Bill, who had been sitting there awkwardly.
“You’ve got something like that? Sure. Make it hot.”
I gave a small nod and handed him a cup of mix coffee I had brought from the warehouse.
Bill looked down into the little paper cup for a moment as if wondering what kind of coffee this was, then reluctantly brought it to his mouth.
And then...
“...Jason.”
“Yes?”
“Pour me another.”
He emptied the cup in an instant and held the paper cup out to me again.
“Uh... it’s only because the serving size is this small. The caffeine content’s still the same.”
“Up to three cups a day is fine. What, are you being stingy?”
“No, it’s not that.”
In the end, I had no choice but to make him another cup right away.
“Man, this coffee has a really remarkable taste! I normally hate sweet coffee too. What was the name again? Anyway, in honor of that, come on, give me one more.”
Bill emptied the second paper cup just as quickly.
“Bill, I’ll pack some of this coffee mix for you, so please stop for today. At this rate, you really won’t be able to sleep.”
From how much thinner and more haggard he looked, what he needed right now was not coffee, but sleep.
“Really? Well, if you insist. Hup, then I’ll get going. Good work tomorrow too. Lock up properly before you sleep. Looking at that little dog, I’d say he’s still a long way from guarding the place...”
Bill got up to leave barely thirty minutes after arriving at the shop.
“Huh? You’re leaving already?”
“What else would I stay here for?”
Bill answered indifferently and strode off toward his car.
“Drive safe!”
I shouted after him.
Instead of answering, Bill simply waved a hand a few times high over his head.
A few packets of the coffee mix I had given him were sticking out of his jacket pocket.
Watching his back as he walked away, I had the strange feeling that I understood why Bill had come here today.