Brad hires Elise Buchanan because her father’s a loyal customer, the kind who sends his cousins and co-workers to Brad’s shop and keeps him busy in the off season. He hires her though he doesn’t need a secretary. When a car’s ready, Brad wipes his grease-stained hands on his coveralls and handwrites invoices on a clipboard—cash sales go into the drawer, charge accounts in a black box he deals with at month’s end. Well, mostly deals with. But Elise is, as his mother would say, “easy on the eyes”, and plans only stay until something opens up in her field, which she says will likely happen in the fall.
A mechanic’s shop has a certain smell—motor oil and exhaust. It’s a familiar scent that signals the beginning of the workday. But when Brad pulls his BMW GS Enduro into the garage on Elise’s first morning, the aroma of fresh coffee and perfume wafts over his workbench. In the front room, the magazines are piled neatly between two waiting chairs and the Penzoil calendar on the wall has been changed to the right month. After the first couple of appointments clear, she tackles the grime on the front window.
“You don’t have to do that,” he says, a little embarrassed by the bucket of black water.
“I’ve got this,” she says, tossing a thick auburn braid over her shoulder. Dragging the squeegee down the window, she sings don’t go chasin’ waterfalls while she works out the streaks.
What he wants to say, what he thinks is, this isn’t a job for a woman, but that makes him feel old, and he doesn’t need another reminder of his impending birthday. Besides, Elise’s arms are strong. He tears his eyes away and heads back to his inventory nook. He’s working on a Vanagon for a couple headed up the Peninsula and needs to find an accelerator cable. He meets a lot of vacationers because he has all the right spark plugs and know-how to clean up rust deposits and get travellers back on the road. There’s a certain pressure to fixing up a vehicle that doubles as someone’s accommodations. He prides himself on getting customers rolling before dark and for that, earned a mention in The Beatniks Guide to Van Life: The Canadian Edition. It’s silly, he knows, but he loves seeing his name in print. He finds the cable in the loft and heads back down the ladder. Elise appears at the bottom, holding it steady.
He nods his thanks, and she shrugs as though it was the most natural thing in the world to spot him.
“Off limits,” he mutters. How many years between them? Fifteen at least.
~
His mother was the first person Brad remembers declaring he was a solo rider. She was playing canasta with her girlfriends one evening and Brad walked into the kitchen looking for Cheetos. He greeted the women around the table and was almost down the basement stairs when she declared:
“I don’t think my Brad will ever settle down. Some men never do. He’s like my brother Jim…likes the open road and tinkering around with rusty old cars. A solo rider.”
“What about Caitlin? Didn’t they used to go out?” Hilda McGuire asked.
Brad closed his bedroom door. He didn’t need to hear his mother’s friends dissect his dormant love life. He laid on his bed and sighed. Once he thought he’d loved Caitlin. He’d watch her at her pottery wheel for hours and try to imagine their future together. But after a few years he realized she was just as happy with him as without him. You can’t build a life with someone who doesn’t need you, he decided. She saw his contented nature as a character flaw. Don’t you want more out of life? Somehow, they remained close friends. She was the one he called for help after his mother’s “solo rider” comment.
“I can’t live at home anymore,” he said. “I need my own place.”
“About time!” she laughed. She was proud of him for wanting, but she didn’t want him back.
Why was he always the last to see what others thought was obvious? A week later, Brad rode his motorcycle across town and moved into a one-bedroom cottage by the river. He’s been there ever since.
~
Each day, at twelve o’clock noon, Brad turns off the lights, closes the blinds and heads across the street for a sandwich at the General Store and Café. Elise looks up from the computer and blinks.
“I’m just finishing—”
Brad shakes his head. “Come have lunch with me.”
They find two stools together at the far end of the Formica lunch counter and Jill, the waitress, brings Brad his usual ham and cheese on rye. Seeing Elise behind a menu, she frowns.
“What can I get you?”
“What’s the soup today?”
“Split pea.”
Elise makes a face. “I’ll have what he’s having, and a water please, no ice.”
Jill looks from Brad to Elise and slides away.
“You come here every day?” Elise asks.
“Ever since I started working for Karl Rohr as an apprentice. When he sold me the shop, he made me promise never to work through my lunch hour.”
“Why is that?”
Brad smiles. “Ever heard the story of Amundsen and Scott?”
“They don’t sound like mechanics.”
“No,” he laughs. “They were explorers racing towards the South Pole in 1911. The Norwegian, Amundsen, got there first by sticking to a plan of not exhausting his men or dogs, only travelling a maximum of twenty miles a day, essentially the discipline of taking a lunch break, and Scott—”
“—lost the race?”
Brad takes a sip of a coffee that’s appeared before him, two creams, one sugar. “He died of exposure along with his entire team. His diaries reveal a man who tried to do it all. He used tractors, ponies, dogs and travelled further when the weather was good and stopped when he was exhausted.”
“He worked through his lunch?” Elise says.
Brad nods.
“Okay…great story. Pace yourself, I get it. But,” she drops her voice. “If you eat this ham sandwich every day, you are not winning anything.”
“I am not a complicated man,” he says.
She’s quiet for a moment. “I respect that. My ex was obsessed with trying new things…never satisfied.”
“That sounds exhausting,” Brad says.
“He was a venture capitalist. His main goal in life was to acquire things.” She scowls. Brad can see that she is not the type of woman one acquires like a condominium or blue-chip stock.
“I think I know the type.”
Elise finishes her sandwich and then turn towards him. “I shouldn’t criticize your lunch. If you want ham and cheese, have ham and cheese.”
“A little push now and then isn’t so bad.” He thinks about how long he lived in his parent’s basement.
Still, If he doesn’t show up at Jill’s counter for his regular order, she’ll think he’s been crushed under the carriage of a vehicle. He looks at his watch. There’s just enough time for a quick nap, but he’s not used to another person in the shop. He sleeps on the old couch in the inventory nook, but it would be strange to sleep while Elise was there, in the other room. He realizes with some surprise he has become set in his ways. Maybe he can give up ham and cheese, but not his nap. Just as he’s wrestling out how to solve this dilemma, just as he’s wondering again whether he needs a secretary, she gets up to leave.
“I’m going to walk along the river and stretch my legs. See you back at the shop at one?” She tucks a generous tip under her plate and saunters out the back door towards the trail.
“What made you hire someone after all these years?” Jill asks, pocketing the extra cash and looking out the back door.
Brad shrugs. How can he admit that he didn’t know what he needed until Elise arrived?
~
The next day is jam night. He tells Elise not to book anyone after three o’clock because he has to clear out the shop for the musicians. His neighbour Lorne, the owner of Valley Hardware, comes over after work and laughs to hear him straining as he rolls the tires into the alley.
“Come on Grandpa, you’re not forty yet.”
Brad tries to make light of it. “Nope, not yet.”
Elise appears wielding the shop broom. He told her she could go home early but she isn’t a rush to leave. “When’s your birthday?” she asks. “You having a party?”
Lorne jumps in. “We’re overdue for a get together. Let’s throw a laneway party, in the alley, with the band set up in the shop.”
“That would be so fun! I can help plan,” Elise says. “Forty is special, right?”
Brad shrugs. He can’t remember the last time he’s had a birthday party. Usually, his mother makes his favourite meal, and he rides out to the Beach and mingles with the tourists. He is about to protest the idea; it seems like a lot. But suddenly he remembers something Caitlin said to him when they were still dating. You know what your problem is? You don’t think you’re special.
“Yeah, okay. Might be fun.”
Forty is special, right?
Lorne raises his eyebrows.
“Great! We can borrow Chuck and Sharanne’s smoker and you can decide if you want chicken or pork.”
“I’m a vegetarian,” Brad says.
Her eager smile disappears in an instant. “Oh! Sorry. I didn’t know. Well, okay…”
“I’m kidding,” he says.
She punches him, hard, in the arm. “You need me.”
He chuckles and rubs his arm as she gathers her purse and leaves. When the door closes Lorne sits on his chair and starts tuning up his guitar.
“Hmmm.”
“What?” Brad says.
“I didn’t say anything,” Lorne says.
“But you’re thinking it.”
“What am I thinking?”
Brad snorts. “I’m not even entertaining the thought, so you can wipe that smirk off your face.”
Lorne begins to play Only the Lonely, and Brad rolls his eyes. The others arrive and they spend the evening coming up with a set list for the party Brad knows will happen whether he wants it or not. But weirdly, he does kind of want it.
~
A couple weeks later, Elise is standing beside his motorcycle after work, hands on her hips. “Can we go out for a ride sometime?”
He turns and grabs an extra helmet from a post on the wall. “Can you wear your ponytail a little lower?”
She loosens her hair, and he puts it on.
“Got a warmer jacket?”
When she shakes her head, he opens his locker and gives her his old school coat, Class of ’73. They do a few circles around the alley, back to the river and out to the main street. When he leans into the turns, she sways with him, like she’s done this a hundred times before, like she trusts him completely.
“Where do you want to go?” he asks.
“Let’s get a drink at the Hillsview.”
He looks over his shoulder. “It’s kind of a dive.”
She’s grinning. “I know!”
He revs the engine and they’re off. He travels up the Valley Road towards the peak, so they’ll have a view of the water. The air smells sweet, the scent of hay drying in the fields in golden bales. He pulls into the parking lot at the top of the ski hill, and they get off to admire the view.
“I missed it here when I was away at school,” Elise says. “I’m not a city girl.”
Brad isn’t sure what to say. He never left the Valley and can’t imagine why anyone ever would. He’s always known he was lucky to grow up in paradise.
“You like to ski?” he asks.
“I’ve tried a couple times,” she admits. “I fell a lot.”
“Did you have lessons?” he asks.
“Yeah, Buchanan lessons. My dad dropped me off and told me to have fun.”
Brad laughs. “You’re lucky you didn’t hit a tree.”
She lifts up her bangs and shows him a scar above her left eyebrow.
“I don’t want to ask if you can swim.”
Elise smiles. “I can keep my head above water.”
They sit on the chairlift platform in silence for a while until Brad says, “Time for a drink?”
The Hillsview bar has been in business for decades. Its clientele are a mix of the newly legal dance crowd and the newly divorced soccer moms and red-nosed men from all walks of life keeping the bar stools warm. The floor is already sticky when they walk in. They get two beers and sit down near the back. Just as Brad is about to ask Elise about her plans for the fall, the music gets louder, and people head towards the small dance floor.
“Oh! I love this song!” She bounces up from the table and joins the crowd, leaving Brad alone with the drinks. He has no idea how to move his body to a song with the refrain totally bombastic without looking like a fool.
He nurses his beer for another two songs and finally she returns to the table and takes a long sip before reaching for his hand.
“Come on. They’re going to play some of your music.”
“My music?”
“Yeah. The stuff your band plays.”
He follows her onto the dance floor. He can feel the other men at the bar staring. His body is moving to the wrong beat, slower than the bodies all around him. When the music changes, he recognizes the intro right away. The newly legal head towards the bar. Elise seems oblivious. She grabs his hand and spins herself into his chest. He can’t remember how to dance, or talk, or breathe. She is lovely. Young and lovely. He doesn’t care about the looks from the bar, except that he agrees with the unspoken judgement: she could have anyone, why would she waste her time with you?
“We should go.”
“Now?”
“Yeah.” He mumbles something about work and heads back towards their table. She stands alone on the dance floor for a moment, crestfallen. Another man approaches her to finish the dance, but she shakes her head. On the way home, she holds Brad so loosely he feels the wind whistling between their bodies. She gets into her car at the shop and leaves without saying goodbye.
It’s for the best, he tells himself. But when he returns to his cottage and sees the furniture his parents gave him when he moved out ten years earlier and the Jamaican flag a friend left behind as his only curtains, he feels defeated. He remembers all the times he didn’t try out for a team, because he was too short, or too slow or too full of excuses.
You’re a chicken is what you are.
He doesn’t sleep well, tossing and turning. He was fine before she arrived, he tells himself. But every time he tries to close his eyes, he sees her standing with her arms at her side, alone on the dance floor.
~
The following morning, Elise comes into work and tosses her purse onto the desk, scattering papers onto the floor. As she heads to the back room to make coffee, she lets out a loud sigh. Brad stands in the doorway. From the slump of her shoulders, he can tell she’s upset, but he doesn’t know what to say. He clears his throat, and she turns around.
“My dad is coming to talk to you.”
Brad startles. “About what?”
She looks at the floor, reddens. “I’m an adult. I can do whatever I want—”
He takes a step towards her. She’s put more than six scoops of coffee into the coffeemaker. Gently he takes the carafe and sets it down.
“What do you want?”
“I want to go riding with you.”
“Oh.”
“But my dad doesn’t allow motorcycles.” She makes air quotes when she says ‘allow’.
“I see.”
The bell rings on the front door.
“That’s him. Talk to him please.”
Brad slowly walks out into the office. Ron Buchanan is wearing a clean shirt. He left chores to come into town before noon. Brad motions him into the shop, away from Elise.
“That’s a beauty,” Ron Buchanan points to a 1957 Chevrolet pick-up Brad is restoring. It came off the factory line when he was only a toddler.
“Have a seat,” Brad offers.
Ron sits behind the wheel and Brad takes the passenger seat. Ron doesn’t waste time.
“I don’t like my daughter on a motorcycle,” he says. “It may be an adventure for you, but she’s very special to me, you understand?”
“Yes sir, I think so.”
Ron Buchanan frowns. “No. I don’t think you do, son. I think you’re pretty clueless.”
Brad straightens. “I beg your pardon?”
“She likes you.”
“And I like her, she’s been great for the shop—”
“Open your eyes man! She’d be great for you.”
Now Brad was confused. He remembers why he enjoyed tinkering with cars. It was uncomplicated.
“Elise’s last boyfriend…some big shot. A real bully. Couldn’t stand the boy. None of us could. She needs someone solid, like you. Someone who knows the value of a good car, a good woman. I’m not saying my daughter is like a car…I’m rambling here.” He pauses, wipes his brow. “The main thing is you like her, anyone can see you do. Even Jill approves, and she doesn’t like anyone.”
Was everyone scheming behind his back?
“I won’t take her out on the bike again.”
Ron Buchanan gets out of the truck., nods. “You could take her out in something like this,” he says, patting the heavy door. “She’d like that.”
Brad turns away. “I’m too old for her,” he mutters under his breath.
Ron Buchanan hears him anyways. “Guys like you live a long time,” he says, and tips his hat on his way out the back door. Brad goes inside and pours two cups of coffee, one for him and one for Elise. He sits on the desk, the desk that’s so quickly become hers, and hands her a mug.
“So?”
He could have asked her then. He could have said, let’s be together. He loves the way she holds the bills in one hand and her coffee in the other, as though she were capable of doing two things at once, while also fixing her eyes on him.
“How about we take a drive tonight, and you help me plan my party?”
Her face relaxes. “No more motorcycle?”
Brad shrugs. “It’s easier to talk in a truck. I’ll get the Chevy running today.”
That night they go for a long drive, and somehow Brad tells her the truth: he has a crush on her and feels like she’s too young for him. She tells him she knows it’s usually not a good idea to date the boss, but he has a cute butt.
“When are you checking out my butt?” he asks.
“What do you think I’m holding the ladder for?” she smiles.
“So, what do we do?” Brad asks.
She moves across the bench and rests her head on his shoulder. “Let’s be Norwegian.”
Brad wonders for a moment if this is some kind of code, and then he remembers. Take it slow. Twenty miles a day. Even if he turns forty next week, they’ll still find enough time to get there together.
~
Elise borrows coloured patio lanterns from everyone she knows and spends the day stringing them across the alley, from Lorne and Monica’s balcony to Greg’s metal studio. Brad empties the shop, and the band sets up their gear in the late afternoon. Soon, Chuck and Sharanne arrive with the smoker and start up the rotisserie. The sizzling meat brings friends, customers, music lovers and a couple with a broken-down van into the back alley to enjoy a beautiful summer evening. Lorne and Brad’s band play an early set of rock classics and then a friend of Elise’s takes over as DJ, and the music switches to Boys II Men and TLC before returning to the 60’s and 70’s.
When Roy Orbison’s “You Got It” blasts from the speakers, Brad looks for Elise across the crowd. She’s standing in a circle on the other side of the parking lot with Sharanne, Monica, Ella, Hilda McGuire and his mother. He politely elbows his way across the alley and takes her by the hand. They dance in the lane and their friends make a circle around them. He feels a calmness in his chest. Leaning into her hair he whispers, “I’m selling the bike.”
“You don’t have to,” she says, tightening her arms around his waist.
“I know.”
But there are other ways to stay young, and he’d rather hold onto Elise.
So long, solo rider.
The End