Thunderbird Road.

Chapter 1

As I arrived at the car shop, I stopped, got off my bike, and stood on the sidewalk, looking at the building in awe.

I knew Dad had gotten a job working on vintage cars, but I never expected the place would be so attuned in theme. I looked at the old metal building and listened to the retro music playing inside the garage, muffled by the sound of tools and motors.

The faded pastel blue of the metal paneled building, with its large red letters on the front indicating it as "Vinton's Vintage Repair," looked so cool, and the enormous garage, with white painted over metal and wood, made me feel like I had stepped into one of those old movies with street gangs and old diners.

"I might look more in style if I wore a pink sweater and poodle skirt," I thought.

I walked inside through the open garage door to see if Dad was in. It should not have been a surprise that the inside of the shop would be similar to the outside. Still, I never thought the owner would make the effort to decorate it so intricately.

Covering the panel walls were old vintage calendars, posters remembering old Americana, racing flags, and uniforms. A few old Hot Rods and motorcycles stood displayed on the side of the large garage, covering a big neon sign that leaned against the wall.

On the other side stood a wide workstation with many shelves and drawers, probably filled with sockets, screwdrivers, hammers, wrenches, and all the tools a group of mechanics would need to fix a car. At the end of the wall, an old cooler in the shape of a soda bottle stood filled with bottles of cooling liquid, water bottles, and other chemicals for repair.

I looked at all of it, amazed, while a group of men calmly worked on two cars, a Beetle and a Corvette.

I then shifted my eyes to them and noticed that none of them was my dad; they were too short. Then I saw one beneath the Beetle, using one of those flat beds with the wheels that mechanics use to pull themselves underneath the vehicles, and realized that was Dad. His long, muscular legs popped out from underneath the car like it ran over a giraffe.

"Señorita?" a young Hispanic man suddenly asked me.

I looked at him, smiling, surprised. He looked like a nice enough man, staring back at me with a questioning gaze. He probably wondered why a strange girl was dragging a bike inside his place of work.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I laughed. "I was just looking for my father, Joe Curry."

"Oh, Joe. Yeah, he's down there," he said, pointing to the Beetle.

I smiled, nodding.

"Yeah, I noticed. Thank you."

"Joe!" The young man shouted, tapping the side of the car. "There's a lady here to see you, man."

Then he nodded at me and returned to his job.

It took Dad a few minutes to get out from under the car, as the thing with wheels couldn't pull his entire body. Still, when his face finally emerged from underneath, covered in sweat and oil, he looked surprised to see me.

"Tammy, baby, what are you doing here?"

"Hey, Dad. I just came to bring you some food."

My father took his time getting up, fixing his suit, and cleaning his face with a crusty old rag.

"Baby, I'm working, don't you see?" He said, wiping his hands. "Anyway, did you tell your mom you were coming here?"

"Yeah, I messaged her so she wouldn't worry. I just wanted to see where you worked. Is that bad?"

"No, no, baby. It's fine. It's just a bit awkward, that's all," he said, smiling and leaving the rag on a big, red metal toolbox with wheels. "So, how's grandma? Did you see her?"