The twitch of Hank's pulse increasing on the short drive home. The garage door was left open with the Consul tucked inside. Part of Hank expected to see his father meander into view, pulling a rag from his back pocket to wipe his hands. Instead, it was Josie who responded to the growl of his truck. Hank's body went rigid at the sight of her while his mind struggled to catch up. He pulled his vehicle to a stop and let his eyes glance around the cab as he tried to collect himself.

"Josie." His acknowledgment was cool and sent a shiver down his spine.

"Hank I..."

Hank wasn't interested in her words any longer. He cut her off, "I have a lot of work to do."

He fought the natural tug of his gaze to her. Instead, he focused on his next duty, fixing lunch. Josie wordlessly floated past him to the sitting room. The melody of her chatter with Clara floated through the house; it set him at ease. If the tone was light, Josie was not pulling Clara into the web. Still, Hank could not understand why she would take care not to pull Clara in; it felt inevitable that the shoe would drop.

"Oh Henry, Josie here has offered one more delightful meal for us tomorrow night before she departs." Clara's voice was in a smitten coo over Josie.

"I should have the car finished by midday. We wouldn't want to keep you longer than we already have." Hank vaguely spoke in Josie's direction but avoided meeting her eyes for fear a piece of him may get sucked into her again.

"Oh, it would be my pleasure after the hospitality you have all shown." Hank sensed the smile in her words without visual confirmation. "Besides, if the car is finished midday, I can take it to the market to ensure there are no kinks left. You wouldn't want me headed out with shoddy work." It was a jest, but Hank couldn't help but wonder if she had some genuine concern.

"I should get to the car," Hank spoke solemnly. "Let me know if you need anything."

"Oh, Josie will help me with anything I need." The eagerness of an afternoon with Josie diluted Clara's voice to little more than excited babble. Hank felt a pang of worry strike through him, but swallowed it down as he headed out to the car.

He relished in the monotony of polishing the car; it was a well-worn task for his body. Still, he felt haunted by the car being back at the house. He caught himself in a stare when he was at the angle of the picture that sat on his nightstand. He could not grasp his father being unfaithful to his mother, nor that he would obscure a child. The two thoughts warred within him. A man that would kill and be killed for the secret to protect his wife was also unfaithful to her? He knew he would never grasp the heart of the emotions; he had steeled himself off from love. His recent interactions with Josie and Wendy had only reconfirmed that love was wasteful and messy.

Hank didn't notice when Josie slipped in. She somehow glided past him as he worked. He found her gazing at the derby photo still pinned above the workbench.

"Josie," he murmured.

"Am I allowed to speak now?" The words were biting, but guilt laced the tone.

"Have you told Clara?" He did not care about any games she wanted to play. His focus was on protecting his mother, as his father had died doing.

"Clara wouldn't care about the car. It surprised me you did." Her words were so straightforward that Hank was confident he had gone mad.

"Wouldn't care? I built this car with my father. He was a good man. I know you don't think so, but he was a good father and a good husband." There was mourning flowing through Hank that he'd been suppressing for 20-years.

"I know. He would have to be," Josie's eyes were sad; perhaps she was regretting her game. "So much destruction at the hands of one man," she spoke to herself, but the words enraged Hank.

"Get out," a heated growl burst from Hank. "Get out of this garage."

Josie's eyes widened in unmistakable fear that satisfied an animal in Hank that he had starved with years of duty. As she slipped past him, Hank's hand found her elbow.

"Hank, you're hurting me," her voice trembled feebly.

"Say nothing to Clara." It was a demand, clear as day. He released her arm, but didn't bother to watch her leave. She deserved no more of his attention.

Hank turned on music as he returned to work hoping it would calm him. He half expected the cassette player to stay quiet after years of neglect, but an old tape of blues songs started up just where his father had left it. He focused on the work, letting his hands flow over the car. Nagging rolled in the back of his head, the questions that lingered and would not connect; the intimate death, the child, the betrayal of the family, the suicide. Hank knew the pieces were not fitting, never fit, but he could not place them together.

Before he resolved the thoughts, Hank's hands had finished the polishing work. He washed his hands in the utility sink before he even registered the movement. The cut on his finger was healing quickly, but he still worked carefully not to reopen it. Josie was there, wordless, as she held the towel. He let his hand fall to the offering, conflicted by how carefully she worked to dry and bandage the cut. It made his mind itch at the anger of her callousness; she had shown her hand; there was no need to continue the act. As quietly as she arrived, she vanished. A few moments later, he heard the chorus of laughter from the sitting room as though the conversation had never even paused.

Hank watched from the doorway as Clara and Josie chatted like old friends over their cards. His chest throbbed at the serene smile on Clara's face; life stole the smile for so many years.

He again studied Josie's features; her full lips, hazel eyes, toothy grin. His mind struggled with the familiarity. She was there in his mind; she had always been there. Had he known of her in his youth, perhaps introduced as a daughter of a colleague or even a cousin? Or were her features just more pronounced subtleties of his father's?

"Henry?" Clara called from her seat. "How long have you been lurking in the doorway?" It was a teasing scold.

"I didn't want to interrupt your game," he carefully moved to his seat, avoiding Josie's gaze as he passed.

"I'm afraid I've all but lost this round," Clara sat back in her chair with pleasant contentment on her face.

"Are you hungry?" He offered.

"No, no. Josie and I had a late lunch." Clara looked tired as she spoke, despite it only being late afternoon. "Henry, dance with Josie," her eyes mustered a sparkle as she spoke.

"Mom, you look tired. Maybe tomorrow," Hank kept his voice low and smooth to mask any ill-temperament in his tone.

"I have enough energy to sit here and watch two young people dance," Clara spoke with the regal purpose she only managed when she was unwavering in her want.

"One dance, Hank; I'll put on a song."

Hank felt the familiar tug of duty as Josie piled on.

"A waltz Josie; find a waltz. My Henry taught Hank to waltz." Clara's eyes were distant, but Hank could not stop the pang when he heard 'my Henry.' He could no longer be just her Henry; they all share Hank Jr.

Hank rose as the music played, but this time he held Josie in rigid formality. He didn't pull her close to him or encase her hand in his own. Instead, Hank moved stiffly, working to avoid drinking in her intoxicating sense. Josie pushed to him, trying to break his resolve, but he held his gaze over her head. It was easy with her short stature. Clara clapped as the song wound down, oblivious to the strife between the brief partners.

"That was wonderful," Clara stirred slightly in her seat. "But now I must be off to bed." Hank was quick to her side to assist as she rose from her chair.

"Have a good night, mom," Hank murmured as her elbow slipped from his support.

Clara paused and surveyed her son for a moment, "such a good boy." It didn't feel she was saying it to Hank, even as her hand briefly cupped his face. She was too distant; everyone felt distant.