The car transfer took longer than Tyler expected. Evelyn wanted the title checked, Luis wanted a few remaining items inspected, and the family needed time to choose insurance appropriate for a restored classic. Margaret refused to rush any of it for the sake of a photograph in a company newsletter. When the paperwork was finally complete, she arranged a quiet handover on a sunny Saturday morning.
Ruth wore the same blue scarf she had worn to see the Buick. Denise had slept well enough after treatment to come along, and Tyler arrived in his clean work shirt with a shy smile. Caleb brought the signed packet and placed it on the desk in the old garage. Evelyn explained where every document belonged, including the vehicle registration and recent service report.
"I want you to know one thing," Margaret told them. "This car is yours to use, preserve, or pass along. Walter would never have wanted a gift to turn into an obligation you resented. If caring for it becomes too difficult, you have the right to make whatever decision is best for your family."
Ruth shook her head. "I won't be selling it while I can still tell my own name."
"I had a feeling you might say that," Margaret replied, laughing.
Tyler accepted the keys. Their metal was cool against his palm, heavier than the key fobs he handled every day at the dealership. He turned to his mother and grandmother. "Who wants the first ride?"
"Your grandmother should sit up front," Denise said.
Ruth shook her head. "Nonsense. The passenger seat is for your mother today. I want the back so I can see both of you. I spent enough years driving that thing myself."
Tyler opened the rear door for her. As she settled onto the restored blue seat, she ran her hand along the familiar door panel and looked out at the old garage. For a moment her expression held the wonder of the young nurse who had first driven off that gravel lot in 1974.
Denise climbed into the passenger seat and fastened the belt. "Mama's car," she whispered.
"Our car now," Tyler corrected gently.
"Then drive nice and steady, baby."
"I always do, Mom."
The Buick started with the deliberate turning sound of an older engine, then settled into a smooth idle. Tyler listened carefully, as he had been taught. The car was not a new luxury sedan, and he knew its mechanical limits. But the sound of it filled the old garage with a warmth he could not have purchased from a showroom window sticker.
Margaret stood beside Caleb as the Buick rolled slowly out into the morning sunlight. Ruth waved from the back seat. Denise rested her head against the passenger window for a moment, smiling at memories she had not expected to revisit.
"Walter would have loved that," Caleb said.
"He would have followed them to the first intersection to make sure everything was all right," Margaret replied. "Then he would have pretended he was merely going out for coffee."
They laughed, and Margaret wiped one small tear before it reached her cheek.