The Great Legacy
The funeral was held in a small but beautiful chapel.
Amid a profusion of flowers, Donnelly lay in a top-quality mahogany coffin, dressed neatly in a navy suit. Seeing him in that suit made it finally sink in that he had truly left this world.
At the main service, Bill and I sat in the family section, as Susan had wished. I was also asked to give a eulogy, but I declined, saying I didn't trust myself to speak properly.
That afternoon, after the funeral was over.
Beside the deep-dug grave, a headstone with a reddish tint had been prepared.
Donnelly had never liked flashy things, but the Riverside Red of the '63 Corvette was the one exception. After searching through several shops, I found a headstone with a subtle red luster that resembled the curves of a Corvette. It was a stone that wasn't too showy, yet when it caught the sunlight it shone as smoothly as a well-polished hood.
After the officiant's prayer ended, Susan threw a handful of dirt onto the coffin. Then it was my turn. Instead of dirt, I took an old half-inch wrench from my pocket and gently laid it on the coffin. It was the worn hand tool he had first given me.
"......"
The words "thank you" were caught at the back of my throat. It didn't matter. I felt certain he already knew everything in my heart. He always had, even while he was alive.
Even after people had drifted away one by one, I stood before the grave for a long while. In the center of the red stone, the inscription Susan and I had discussed and had engraved was written neatly.
[Earl Donnelly]
—To the side of Nora, whom he longed for all his life.—
I was thrown back into ordinary life, as if shoved into it.
I don't know who set the time limit on grief, but the world did not permit mourning for more than a week.
I, too, found that easier, truth be told. While I was moving my body and sweating, there was no room for stray thoughts to seep in.
I apologized and began taking inspection appointments again, the ones I'd put off. To repay their kindness and their patience, I worked through twice my usual schedule.
Hailey had set the Mini's restoration and delivery deadline far later than I'd requested. But I stayed up several nights and delivered it on the original schedule anyway.
"You know I told you it's fine to send it slowly..."
"No, you've got your own delivery plans. I can't keep putting it off forever."
"Still..."
Bill also seemed worried about me—he called almost daily, using work as an excuse.
"Concrete pouring should start today. At 4,000 PSI, like I said before. Khum, anyway, the weather's nice again today."
Honestly, I was worried about Bill most of all, so it was a fairly efficient phone call for both of us.
"Yes, that's why I'm working even harder. What about you, Bill?"
"Same as always. All right. Then eat something proper."
"Yes, you too, Bill.
Click—
But sometimes, after ending a call with Bill like that,
"......"
A bitter silence settled in.
"Whew......"
At times like that, I sank deep into my chair and looked up at Arizona's high sky. The cloudless blue was so vivid it felt unreal.
Lick, lick—
"It's okay, Dusty."
Dusty had grown noticeably calmer over the past few days. When I sat like this, he would quietly come over, lie down beside me, or lick me.
Ring ring ring—
As I sat lost in thought for a while, the phone rang. This time it was Susan.
"Hello, Jason. Are you doing all right?"
"Yes, I'm fine. How about you, Susan?"
"About the same. I was wondering—if you have time, could you come by my father's house?"
Now that she mentioned it, today was the day Susan was cleaning Donnelly's house and sorting through his belongings. It couldn't be easy for a woman alone to clear out the yard and the whole house.
"Yes, I just finished up work today anyway. I'll head over now."
Cleaning the house would only get it dirty again, so I went in my work clothes.
My first visit to Donnelly's house since the funeral.
"Whew..."
I steadied myself and turned the front door handle. Beyond this door, it felt like Donnelly should be sitting in his rocking chair, smiling.
Creak—
Naturally, no such miracle happened. If anything, contrary to my expectations, the place was already largely cleared out—empty except for the sofa and a few pieces of furniture.
"Jason, you came?"
Susan, who had been tidying the kitchen, spotted me and greeted me warmly.
"Susan, I came to help you sort things, but you've already finished so much."
"Oh... no, that's not why I called you. There's something I absolutely have to give you."
She handed me a small notebook that had been sitting on the coffee table.
"This is... what...?"
"I found it while clearing out Father's dresser. I think he must have left it for you."
On the cover of the notebook, its corner slightly frayed, was written in small letters: "To. Jason."
"Then take your time looking at it. ...I'll go make some coffee."
"Oh, yes. Thank you."
While Susan opened one unfamiliar kitchen shelf after another, I sat on the sofa and slowly opened the notebook with trembling hands. And the moment I saw the first page.
'...Donnelly......'
I choked up despite myself.
[On Engine Misfires]
Break the habit of relying on the scanner alone.
Start by thinking through the root cause of the error code.
There are times when experience gained through your own hands and ears will help more than sensors.
[When Reassembling After Disassembly]
Assembly is the reverse of disassembly, but not always. Depending on the condition of the parts, some steps may come earlier or later.
[On Wiring Work]
[Characteristics of Sounds by Vehicle]
[Pros, Cons, and Cautions by Material]
[How to Choose Hand Tools]
The notebook was densely packed with the record of a life and the maintenance know-how Donnelly had learned with his body over decades, breaking and bumping along day after day. In handwriting pressed firmly onto the page, one letter at a time.
'When on earth did he write all this...'
Now that I thought about it, every time I visited Donnelly's house, he was always wearing those thick magnifying glasses, writing something.
'So that was all...'
The notebook looked to be at least fifty pages thick.
In it were not only simple maintenance know-how but detailed notes on mindset—and on how to deal with the customers and suppliers you'd meet doing this work.
And on the very last page was a detailed layout drawing of the equipment arrangement for the new restoration shop I'd recently moved into. Complete with countless tiny annotations.
*If you're putting in three lifts, pull one out at a right angle, separately.
*Install the work shelves low and long. If they're high, it can be dangerous lifting tools up and down.
*Always put anti-slip stickers on the chairs in the work area.
*For hand cleaner to remove grease, "Orange Goop" is good.
.
.
.
*Congratulations, Jason. Things will go even better from here on.
The moment I faced that last annotation, pressed onto the page in handwriting that wobbled and shook—perhaps because it had been too much for him—
I couldn't hold on any longer and hurriedly shut the notebook.
Because that short sentence felt like Donnelly's final farewell, as if he were giving my shoulder a pat.
'...Ah, really...'
My hand, resting on the notebook's worn cover, trembled. I bit my lip, trying to hold it in.
In the end, tears spilled drop by drop onto the back of my hand, like a dam bursting.
I think Donnelly already knew.
That by the time I opened this notebook, he would no longer be by my side.
And how much I, left alone, would miss him and feel lost.
But at the same time.
That the boundless trust contained within it would lift me back to my feet.
A long while later. Susan, who had been sitting in the kitchen under the pretext of coffee, returned to the sofa carrying two steaming mugs. A sweet, familiar aroma spread through the living room.
"There was a whole stash of Korean instant coffee in the pantry. Did you buy it, Jason?"
The mug she handed me, as if to comfort me, was the thick, clumsy one I'd seen so often in this house.
"Oh... yes. Donnelly really loved that coffee."
"Ha ha, I know. He used to call me and brag about it so much. Lately he went on and on about samgyeopsal, too..."
She cast her gaze into empty space as if looking at distant mountains, a faint smile on her lips, and drew out one memory of her father after another.
Susan said she lived in Washington State because of her husband's job.
"After the cancer diagnosis, I begged him to come stay with us. He said he had no intention of leaving this house, this neighborhood, even if he died. I was so upset at the time, but thanks to that, he met you, Jason, so now it's a bit of a comfort."
"Nobody could ever bend Donnelly's stubbornness..."
A man who wouldn't even go far for the hospital was never going to leave the place he'd lived his whole life. In the end, as he wished, he was buried in this earth beside his wife...
"And... I don't know how you'll feel about this, Jason, but I've decided to sell this house."
Susan brought it up with difficulty.
She explained in detail that even if she rented it out, managing it from a distance would be hard, and her current finances weren't exactly comfortable, so she'd made that decision.
"I see... I understand..."
The truth was, she had no obligation to confide this much in me. Donnelly himself had kept putting the house up for sale while he was alive, and more than anything, I—not a drop of blood relation to him—had even less right to stick my nose in.
But somehow, the thought that I'd never be able to set foot in this house again left a large hole in my chest.
"Then... has a buyer been decided?"
Breaking a brief silence, my mouth moved before my will did.
"No, the location's remote and there's quite a bit to repair, so I think I'll have to lower the price further. It's been over half a year without selling."
Susan answered with a troubled expression.
"What price were you thinking of, if I may ask?"
"Sorry? Um... for now I'm even considering down to two hundred seventy thousand dollars."
The building was roughly 1,200 square feet. In the southern Arizona style, the living room and kitchen were on the larger side, but there were only two bedrooms. The yard was a bit smaller compared to the neighboring house with a similar lot width, but befitting a mechanic's home, the garage was much larger.
'This house for two hundred seventy thousand...'
It wasn't a bad price.
The problem was that all my savings to date were slated to go into construction and equipment costs for the building on the land I'd just leased. Those costs were larger than I'd expected—far from having room to spare, I'd come up short.
Of course, people almost never pay all cash when buying a house, so even if I considered a loan. At minimum I'd need a down payment and the credit score for loan approval. And right now I was badly short on both.
'Wait... can't I just use the VA loan program?'
Just then, a thought brushed through my mind.
I excused myself to Susan for a moment, went outside, and hurriedly called Logan.
"Oh, Jason. What's up?"
"Chief, it's nothing much—I wanted to ask you something. Is there a time limit on the VA program after discharge?"
"Um... VA? No, not as far as I know. Why, don't tell me your PTSD's gotten worse."
VA (Veterans Affairs) is the umbrella term for programs supporting veterans, mainly tied to medical care, rehabilitation, and loan-related services.
"No, it's not that. I was just curious about a home loan."
"Phew... you scared me. Yeah? Well, with your record you'd get a hundred percent loan through the VA. It was made so veterans don't end up homeless. I bought my house with it when I got married."
"Really? Got it. Thank you!"
When I hung up and went back inside, Susan was looking at me with a puzzled expression.
"Jason, are you all right? Nothing's wrong, is there?"
"Oh, yes. No, it's nothing. I just had something to look into."
I sat down and organized my thoughts for a moment.
'The loan should go through, at least. The problem is the monthly interest and the upkeep costs...'
In America, just owning a house drains an enormous amount of money every year. Taxes, too, come out in proportion to the house's value—so much so that some people actually dislike their home values rising.
Just then, a set of familiar framed photos on the shelf caught my eye. In them, Donnelly was looking at me with a bright smile.
'...Is there any reason to hesitate?'
The moment I saw that face, my worries and hesitation vanished like a lie.
Donnelly had said things would go even better from here on. I figured there was nothing as certain as the credit he'd given me.
I opened my mouth quietly, toward Susan, who was watching me with a worried expression.
"Susan, I'll buy this house."
{@PIC:824973}
[Austin Mini John Cooper tune]
cc-by-2.0 by Andrew Bone.
{@PIC:824974}
[Austin Mini interior]
cc-by-2.0 by The Car Spy
