You lean over the table and pull the curtains back just enough to see outside. On the other side is a small bay window that overlooks the north entrance to the church. From where you are, looking out from the second story, you can see a few blocks down the road into Jessup in either direction.
“Wait a minute—” you whisper and begin to climb up on the table to lean a little further forward into the window. “Is that—”
Your neck cranes to the side, twisting your head just far enough to see up 35th street past Cliff’s Furniture store. There, heading toward you is the unmistakable shape of a 1970 Ford Mustang Boss 429. The sight of it makes your pulse begin to race. You know that car better than you know your own family. You watch as it drives closer and closer. Soon, you can hear the distinct rumble of its turbo-charged V-8 engine. You imagine the feeling of its leather-wrapped steering wheel in your hands and having command of every single one of its 550 horses right under your foot. You swallow and feel your eyes becoming wet with moisture. It’s the greatest machine you’ve ever known.
It’s Lance’s car.
And you helped him build it.
It slows down as it drives past the church but doesn’t come to a full stop. It’s impossible to see anything about the driver other than a pair of black gloves. From the last you had heard, the car was sold after Lance died to help pay for his funeral. You rack your brain for a moment, trying to recall who made the purchase, but it happened while you were doing time at the Colt Dam.
You continue to watch the driver until they are out of sight beyond the Church. The driver then slams down on the accelerator, squealing the rear wheels across Lions Avenue as they take a hard right hand turn and disappear back into town.
The feeling of solitude rushes back into your mind and you look around the room, feeling much the same way you had when you first woke up.
“This isn’t your home,” you remind yourself. “You belong in that car.”