The Mystery of Grace by Charles de Lint

Author:Charles de Lint [Lint, Charles de]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780765317568
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

I find it hard to take seriously—this concept that we’re trapped here in somebody’s dream—but I can’t stop thinking about it. And though I try not to, I can’t stop obsessing about John either. The odd thing is, that’s not who I am. I’m not the type of woman who reads the fashion magazines, poring over the articles on how to get, or keep, or please, a man. I’ve been in relationships before, and I enjoyed them, but I never felt so passionate about someone before.

I suppose I’ve just never been in love, except I even have trouble with that. I’ve never believed in love at first sight, unless it’s for a car, and they don’t come with emotional baggage. But people? How can I be in love with someone I met only once? It wasn’t just that the sex was so good. Everything felt good. Better than good.

“It’s part of going back to the other side,” Conchita tells me. “Everything’s more intense over there. We feel like we’re alive here, but it’s not until we cross back over that we realize how much this life is just an imitation of the one we had to leave behind.”

“I know,” I say, remembering how unbelievably good the tamales and latte were. And that first Modelo at the Solona Music Hall? Heaven.

“And trust me,” she adds, “I know all about obsessing over a guy. After the six months I put in, I could write a book about it.”

I know she’s saying this to make me feel better, but I only feel worse.

Does the fact that everything’s super-intense over there mean that what I’m feeling isn’t real?

What if I want it to be real?

I don’t know if I do or I don’t.

There are too many questions, and there’s too much time in which to think about them, so I decide to do what I always do when I need to distract myself: I work on a car.

Near the corner of Guadalupe and 25th, just down from the park, I find myself a junked 1948 Ford coupe, rusted, dented, and up on blocks in the alley behind a long adobe building. It looks like someone’s scrap yard find, except he never got to restore it. At least not in this world. On the other side, it might be street worthy, and he’s driving it to meets and shows.

It doesn’t matter. All that’s important is that it’s exactly what I’m looking for.

I ask around, but that car’s just here, no one’s laid claim to it. So I do. I’m going to play with it. Maybe I’ll hot rod it—go all “Big Daddy” Roth, even—or maybe I’ll just do a custom, but one thing’s for sure: I’ll get it up and running again. I’ll find the lines.

Considering how I don’t have access to my tools and the parts at the shop, it’s a project that’s going to take a lot of ingenuity and plain hard work. In other words, it’ll keep me busy for at least the next six months.

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