"Very important at my age."
Richard laughed.
"Would you like to take it for a test drive?"
Daniel looked at him.
"Yes. But I have one more question."
"Certainly."
"Can we drive somewhere before we come back?"
"Where would you like to go?"
Daniel looked through the windshield toward the street.
"There's a cemetery about fifteen minutes from here. Oakwood Memorial Gardens."
Richard recognized the name.
"Of course."
"My wife and son are buried there."
Richard's smile faded into a respectful expression.
"I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thank you."
Daniel rested his hands on the steering wheel.
"I promised Thomas that when I finally replaced my truck, I would drive the new vehicle to see him. He always wanted me to stop driving that old thing."
He smiled faintly.
"He used to say it was older than some of the people working on it."
Richard laughed softly.
"That sounds like something a son would say."
"He was a good boy."
Daniel looked down at his hands.
"Even when he grew up, he was still my boy."
Richard closed the door gently and walked around to the passenger side.
They began the test drive a few minutes later.
The Cadillac moved smoothly through the city streets. Daniel paid close attention to the brakes, steering, and suspension. He asked Richard about the safety systems and the maintenance schedule.
Richard answered every question.
There was no pressure.
No condescension.
No attempt to hurry him.
For the first time that morning, Daniel felt that he was being treated exactly as he should have been treated from the beginning.
As they approached Oakwood Memorial Gardens, Daniel asked Richard to pull into a small parking area.
"I'll walk from here," he said.
Richard nodded.
Daniel stepped out and walked slowly along the path between the headstones.
The cemetery was peaceful beneath the afternoon sun. Trees cast long shadows over the grass, and a light breeze moved through the leaves.
He stopped at a grave marked MARGARET CARTER.
For a while, he said nothing.
Then he crouched carefully and removed a small piece of debris from the edge of the stone.
"Hello, sweetheart," he whispered.
He told her about the morning.
About the showroom.
About the Cadillac.
About the salesman who had mistaken his clothes for the sum of his life.
He even told her about the manager who had remembered Thomas.
Margaret would have enjoyed that part.
She had always believed that people could surprise you when you gave them the chance.
Daniel placed a small flower beside her name.
Then he walked toward the neighboring grave.
THOMAS DANIEL CARTER.
Beloved son. Devoted husband. Friend to many.
Daniel lowered himself onto the bench nearby.
"Well, son," he said softly, "I made it."
He looked at the photograph he had carried all morning.
The young Thomas in the picture was smiling as if the world had not yet taught him how fragile happiness could be.
Daniel remembered the last conversation they had.
Thomas had been in the hospital, his face pale and his voice weakened by illness.
"Dad," he had said, "you need to stop worrying about everybody else for a change."
Daniel had tried to laugh.
"Someone has to."
"Not all the time."
Thomas had reached for his father's hand.
"You spent your whole life making sure Mom and I had what we needed. You worked when you were tired. You gave when you barely had enough. You fixed things for people who couldn't pay you."
Daniel had looked away.
"I did what a father does."
"Exactly," Thomas had whispered. "And now it's time to let someone do something for you."
Daniel had shaken his head.
"I don't need anything."
Thomas had smiled.
"You don't need much. That's why I worry about you."
Then he had made Daniel promise to visit Sterling Motors when the time came.
Not because the dealership owed him anything.
Not because the trust required it.
But because Thomas wanted his father to experience something simple.
He wanted Daniel to walk into a place where he could choose something for himself without feeling guilty.
"You're allowed to enjoy the life you have left," Thomas had said.
Daniel had promised.
Now, sitting beside his son's grave, he felt the full weight of that promise.
He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
"I still don't know how to do this without you," he admitted.
The breeze moved gently through the trees.
"But I'm trying."
He sat there until the sunlight began to soften.
Then he stood, placed the photograph back into his jacket, and walked toward the Cadillac.
Richard was waiting beside it.
He did not ask what Daniel had said at the grave.
Some conversations belonged only to the people who had loved each other.
Instead, he opened the passenger door.
"Ready to head back?"
Daniel nodded.
"Yes, sir."