“I should feel special.”
“Or worried.” She glanced sideways, studying him again, and he felt heat rise to his face that had nothing to do with the climbing temperature of the day. He fumbled for words that weren’t there, but then she’d moved past him, picking up her pace until she strode beside Ty. Their voices floated back to him, and he gazed up at the unbroken blue bowl above.
~
They came to the first house before mid-day. It was barely set off the road, a ramshackle patching of tin and plywood. A dead dog lay in the yard at the end of a chain, swarms of flies lifting from its body as they mounted the porch steps. Inside was a blotchy stain three times the size of a person beside a ragged EZ chair. The house smelled of rotting food and dirty laundry. They found half a dozen boxes of Mac-N-Cheese along with two cans of baked beans. Quinn procured a can opener from a kitchen drawer, and they ate the cold meal in silence at the cluttered table covered with bills and cigarette ashes.
In the leaning garage was a car covered by a huge, white drop cloth. A stack of wide tires encircling chrome rims stood in a corner. An impressive array of mechanic tools lined the wall with some strewn about the floor. Quinn walked to the edge of the sheet covering the car and tried to tug it free, but before he could really pull, the cloth began to slide toward him, gathering speed as it went. He stepped back, drawing the revolver as it fell to the floor.
“Holy shit,” Alice said from beside him.
The car sat on blocks, its empty wheel wells giving it a skeletal look. It was low and sloping in a powerful way that struck a bell inside Quinn’s chest. Shiny, black paint covered its entire length, polished to a sheen that reflected everything in the room. A spoiler grew from the long hood and bright strips of chrome shone from the bottoms of the doors and bumpers.
“What is it?” Quinn asked, approaching the machine.
“It’s a Dodge Challenger, either a seventy or a seventy-one,” Alice said, moving forward to run her hand along a fender. “My dad was restoring one when…” Her voice trailed off, and she moved around the front of the car. She cleared her throat. “Pop the hood, will you?”
Quinn opened the heavy driver’s door and found the hood release. Alice pushed the hood up and whistled.
“That’s a three-eighty-three big block. This is a brand new engine. Look at the exhaust and the plug wires. This thing hasn’t even been out on the road yet,” she said, her words a tone of awe.
“Didn’t know you were into cars,” Quinn said.
“I’m into this car. Look at how sexy she is.”
“Mom,” Ty said from the other side of the garage.
“Sorry, honey, but this is one fine piece of craftsmanship.”
“What is this kind of car doing in a place like this?” Quinn asked, moving around the vehicle.
“I’m guessing whoever lived here was a mechanic. You’d be surprised how many of them have side projects like this.”
“But how could he afford it? You saw the inside of the house.”
“Not all of us can live on private estates in mansions, dear.”
“That’s not what I meant. I—”
“Priorities, that’s how he afforded it. He ate macaroni so he could buy the perfect carburetor.”
“Seems strange,” Quinn said, eyeing the Challenger.
“Everyone sacrifices something for what they love.” She glanced at him and then leaned into the driver’s seat. “Keys are here. Should we see if she runs?”
“Do it, mom,” Ty said. Denver woofed.
Alice twisted the key. The starter engaged, and the engine turned over with a throaty groan before catching. It chugged to life, idling loud in erratic pulses like an irregular heartbeat. Alice stood from the seat and smiled.