It's Definitely Not All Mary Poppins

Compromising on the Nazi Deathtrap (2)

Squirming, Matthew uttered, "He's never let me down."

Eyes narrowing, Yang glared. "... that's it? 'He's never let me down'?" Scoffing, he turned away before his eyes moved back to Matthew. "If you're just entertaining the children with your...personification of this thing – "

"Daddy, you're being mean." Lilly puffed out her cheeks and glared.

Matthew assured himself that it was definitely an inherited trait.

"He hasn't said anything," her father reasoned.

"Because the answer is not what you're going to be looking for." Matthew glared, yet his eyes glimmered melancholic. "So what's the point of entertaining the idea when you've already written it off?"

Mr. Yang took in a slow breath, his eyes moving between his daughter and nephew and back to Matthew. Letting it out quickly, he put up both hands. "Please tell me why you won't sell...him."

Swallowing, he shifted uncomfortably in the chair. "There's...he should be in a scrapyard somewhere, or sold off for parts. I get that. I just needed a car. Something to get me around for a while. I bought him for two-hundred dollars from someone who kept him outside for ten years, and...just...he looked so sad, and beaten down. And I jus – something about him called to me. I don't know what, but I...couldn't let something that looked as sad as him be sold for scrap. So when I turned the key, I expected the engine to be a dud, but he started up like it was just another day." Matthew met the man's eyes. "That car should've died after I got it. He should've died five years ago, even before then. But he's kept going."

Lilliana cooed at the story, her eyes watering.

Eli switched his gaze between the two men and asked again, "But why's it a Nazi deathtrap?"

Matthew didn't answer. "I can't, just, get rid of him."

Mr. Yang sighed through his nose. "Yes, that was a sweet story, Mr. Robinson, but I still can't, in good conscience, let you drive the children around in it. At speeds, it – "

The girl groaned, throwing her head back. "Daddy, Matt drives so slow."

He turned to the girl. "If I drove fast, the engine would konk out! I'm not risking that."

"But you said he was a racecar once!" she added.

"No, I said the car, not Lloyd, was used in a racing movie."

"He could go fast! The speedometer says he can go up to 90," Elliot announced, standing on the angled wooden chair's seat. "I could enchant him with speed or something!"

"Elliot, sit down," Yang snapped.

Matthew leaned over and whispered, "We'll talk later." The suggestion, surprisingly, enticed him. Maybe he could find a good protection spell, too.

The boy sat down.

"There will be no discussions concerning enchantments or, or curses of any kind for that rusting hunk of metal, Elliot," Mr. Yang announced, cupping his head in his hands.

Matthew's side glance between him and the boy suggested otherwise.

The man groaned. "I cannot, in good conscience, let you continue driving the car around. There are no other alternatives. You lose the car, or you lose the job. Which do you want, Mr. Robinson?"

Diverting his eyes, Matthew held his breath. This is what he'd been waiting for, what he'd been expecting for the past week – to be fired – yet it tasted so poorly in his mouth. He didn't want to leave yet. He couldn't leave yet. There was so much he'd started that he couldn't hand off to someone else. Progress, albeit slow, had been made with the children. He had his own room. He couldn't throw it away. So he surprised himself when he found himself saying, "What about a conversion or something?"