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My dad stops mid stride toward the cabinets lining the far wall, seemingly stunned at my appearance.
“What are you doing here? We aren’t practicing today,” he says before approaching the cabinets and yanking the doors open.
“I needed to drop something off,” I say.
I watch as he yanks files from boxes, turns out the pockets of a sports coat that had been hung in the closet, and up-end a metal cash box that had been filled with random odds and ends.
“It’s just absurd. How is it nowhere to be found?” He shouts.
Before I can ask what it is he’s looking for, the other man in the room speaks.
“Is it possible he could have sold it?”
“What? No, he wouldn’t have done that,” he says, clearly flustered, and he scans the room, hands hanging on his hips.
“Dad?”
“Damn it, Bodhi. Does it look like I have time to deal with you right now?” He shouts, clearly irritated.
“I just needed to drop this off,” I say, not taking kindly to how he feels he needs to address me in front of a complete stranger.
“What? What is so important that you had to interrupt me?”
That’s it. I was trying to be nice. Trying to keep him in the loop, but he clearly doesn’t give a shit about anything other than… whatever he’s dealing with.
“The insurance company sent over a copy of the claim. I thought you’d want a copy to put on file,” I say, and step forward to drop the copy on his desk amidst the other piles of paper.
“And what? I’m supposed to praise you for being responsible for once?” He sneers.
“Sir?” the man interjects.
“Just… go find me something useful,” he says, sending the man on his way.
Once he’s gone, I turn back to my dad, curiosity getting the better of me.
“Who was that? Are you in some kind of trouble?” I ask.
He clearly thinks I’m amusing, scoffing once before deigning to answer me.
“I don’t get in trouble,” he says, reaching up to loosen his tie before pulling it off altogether, throwing it down on top of the clutter.
“So, what’s all this about?” I ask, just wishing for once he’d give me a straight answer.
“T.J.’s car,” he says, running his hands over his thinning, gray hair.
“The Mustang?” I ask, my interest in the subject suddenly piqued.
My dad hasn’t been able to find Tommy’s car since after he died. It’s been driving him absolutely insane not knowing where it is.
“Yes, the Mustang.”
“Who was that guy? Does he know something?” I ask, leaning against the back of the chair in front of me.
“He’s a private investigator I hired to search for the car, but he has yet to find anything substantial,” he sighs, sitting down and reclining back in his seat.
I could understand why it was important to my dad. He and Tommy spent years putting that car together. It was their project. I’d always wanted to be included, but dad always said I would just end up losing parts or making a mess, so he never let me join them. It used to piss me off so badly.
“And he thinks maybe Tommy sold it?”
