Everyone was silent. Karen covered her face, sobbing. Aunt Lucy squeezed my arm.
“He really did try, Hazel. For both of you.”
The mechanic, Pete, stood awkwardly with his cap in his hands. “I’m really sorry, Hazel.
My boss says we can undo the sale if you want. Nobody knew about any of this.”
“Nothing’s filed yet,” he added. “Not officially.”
I swallowed hard.
Karen looked at the envelope as if it was a bomb about to go off. She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. “I can’t take it back.
Not after what I’ve done. Take the money. Take the cruise.
Hazel, please. I can’t… I can’t even look at it.”
She shoved the envelope at Aunt Lucy.
“Take it. All of it.”
Aunt Lucy didn’t touch it. “It goes into the estate account,” she said.
“You don’t get to buy your way out of this.”
“If you want to go, go, Hazel. Or we can —” Karen’s voice faltered. “Maybe you and I could use a reset too.
I don’t expect forgiveness. I just can’t be alone right now.”
Aunt Lucy stepped in, her presence a soft anchor. “Not here.
Home. Then lawyers.”
I lifted my chin. “Call your boss. Right now.
Tell him the title is disputed, the sale is contested, and if that car moves again, the next call is to the police — and my attorney.”
Pete blinked, then nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
I turned to Karen. “You don’t get to hide behind ‘surviving spouse’ after what you just did.”
Aunt Lucy stepped forward, loud enough for the people still drifting past.
“Karen will sign whatever the lawyer puts in front of her. Today.”
Karen opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Pete nodded, eyes darting between us.
“I’ll tell my boss the sale is frozen — and I’ll put it in writing.”
“I almost asked Dad for help last week,” I blurted, surprising myself. “I was behind on rent. I kept putting it off.
Now I never can.”
Karen met my eyes. Her mascara had run, making her look younger… and lost.
“We all wanted something from him. That’s the problem, isn’t it? We just kept taking.”
I nodded, a lump rising in my throat.
In the envelope, behind the letter, was a small photo—Dad and me in the garage, both laughing, grease everywhere. On the back, in his spiky handwriting: “We don’t quit on things we love.”
