The Grey Ghost

His wife hated his car. She truly despised it. As much as his wife deplored the antique Monte Carlo, Douglas loved it.
 From the smoke grey carpet, he had installed with friends. To the motor that he and his late fishing buddy Larry had rebuilt. He hadn't seen those guys who had helped with the carpet in nine years but he had ‘Gracie’s' plush floor to remind him.
His brother Denny, God rest the dead, had reupholstered the custom European racing seats. He had ordered the seats from ‘Euro Speed’  magazine with his first paycheck from Kroger.
 They didn't even publish that mag anymore.
 It had taken another three years to get the faux elephant hide and talk Denny into doing the actual work. He had done it though, and they were flawless.
 Douglas’s brother Denny had been a disabled veteran who had taught himself how to do upholstery. It was a calming experience for him. Doug wished that Denny had been able to continue to find solace in the detailed work. He had taken enough pills to have committed suicide twice, the Dr had said.
That car had memories. There were a lot of stocked grocery shelves, butcher's apprentice  abuse, and finally store management duties that had gone into creating “Gracie the Grey Ghost.”
Douglas couldn't understand his wife's position on his car. It seemed irrational. He wouldn't press the issue.  
He was an easygoing, almost meek man. The customer is always right attitude he exhibited at work carried into his home life.
He loved his wife. Her smile melted him. Her ire could spoil his day easily.  His few friends called him “Pussy whipped” or “Hen pecked” and maybe he was.  However he was happy. Not the every day is bliss, happily ever after, of a fairytale, but solidly happy.
Alyssa was a good woman and he was normally eager to please her. This was a line in the sand that he was not willing to give on. Gracie was family.
What Alyssa was asking him to do was like a murder, a kidnapping  or at least a forceful adoption.  No way! He was going to talk to her as soon as he got home.  He was not selling Gracie. 
Kroger had been busy. A storm was expected and as always the weather report caused a run on bottled water and can goods.
 As he got into his SUV Douglas sighed. He was weary.  People could be so petty when dealing with service workers.
For 12 hours Doug had kissed ass after ass. He just wanted to have some solace.
 If Alyssa was in a good mood when he got home maybe they could hit up the Marietta Diner. This time he'd know better than to drive Gracie.
“Oh I wish I was a drinker!” Douglas thought to himself as he turned into his subdivision. At least his day was over.
He had worked hard to have the space and tranquility his home provided.
“Maybe, if I play my cards right, I might get some tonight.” He thought as he sang  along with the radio loud and horribly off-key.
 "Seems like you're dancing kinda close!" He screamed off key.
As he neared his driveway he noticed Gracie was gone!
Instinctively he sped up the pristine flower lined concrete slab.
 He hoped that for some reason his wife had chosen to drive Gracie somewhere.  He did his best not to slam his door as he hopped out of his Escalade.
 “Alyssa!” He yelled still hoping that she wouldn't answer.  Hoping that she was out driving the finally finished classic. “Hey babe.” She answered shattering the illusion. “I have REALLY great news!” Douglas stood deathly still.
“I hope the good news is that someone is detailing Gracie.” He said softly.
 “No silly.” Alyssa laughed.
 Normally Douglas felt that her laughter was the most beautiful sound in the world. Today it filled him with Dread. “What did you do?” He choked out.
 Alyssa’s smile faded fast and her forehead creased. “I did what your ass should have done a long time ago!” Douglas started shaking his head no as she talked. “And I got $2000 whole dollars for that old eyesore.” 
Rage welled up in Douglas’s chest, he wanted to scream and break things.
 He had devoted nearly half his life to that car! He had memories of his late parents tied up in the framework and paint. He had sanded and bonded, scrubbed and painted,  ordered parts as he could afford them. His blood sweat and tears had gone into creating Gracie literally.
As something deep inside of him died his wife waved the check in his face. “Now let’s use some of this money to go to our favorite Mexican place.”
 Douglas pulled out his phone. “I need the number of the person you sold her too?” His wife matched his anger. “Her? See that's the problem. You treat that car better than you treat me.” She was to classy a woman to roll her neck or point, but she was in full swing. “I'm your wife, and I refuse to be second to anyone or anything else.”
Douglas couldn't understand. “Alyssa.” He began,using the placating voice he used for difficult customers. “I need the number. I bought that car from my Father. Who's dead now. I fixed it with my best friend who's dead now. My late brother did the seats. My late mother picked  out the color.”
 As he recounted all of the emotional attachments his voice rose in volume and pitch.
“NOW Goddamn it woman I NEED that phone number!”
Alyssa was ready to still argue her case. She knew she had been wrong, but her pride didn't want to admit that.
 Douglas was coming unraveled. “The FUCKING NUMBER!” He screamed.
 Breaking her revire. The realization of how much the car meant finally dawned on his wife.
So much so that her next statement was a whisper.
 “I didn't get their number.”