But she didn't rush me.
She didn't tell me to be brave.
She simply waited.
Finally, I opened the door.
The familiar scent of leather rose from the interior.
I slid into the driver's seat.
Adjusted the mirror.
Fastened my seat belt.
And rested my hands against the steering wheel.
For several seconds, I stared through the windshield.
Whole.
Clear.
Unbroken.
Ruth climbed into the passenger seat.
She looked around.
"Well, I have to say."
I turned.
"What?"
"This is a very nice car."
I laughed.
"Thank you."
She adjusted her seat.
"Your mother had good taste."
I smiled.
"She did."
Ruth looked toward me.
"Ready?"
I took another breath.
Then nodded.
"Ready."
We drove slowly through the neighborhood.
Past the park.
Past the grocery store.
Past the church where my father attended services every Sunday.
Then we turned onto a broad road leading toward the countryside.
For a while, neither spoke.
The engine hummed quietly.
The sky was bright.
Traffic moved around us.
And the world looked ordinary.
That ordinary feeling was something I had missed.
Eventually, Ruth glanced toward me.
"Where are we going?"
I looked toward the road.
"Somewhere I haven't wanted to go."
Her expression changed.
She understood immediately.
"The highway?"
I nodded.
She studied me.
"Are you sure?"
I considered the question.
Then answered.
"Yes."
We approached the same stretch of highway where Garrett had stopped me.
The service-road entrance was still there.
The broad shoulder.
The fence.
Ruth's house beyond it.
The place where my life had changed.
As we passed the intersection, my heart began beating faster.
For a moment, I could almost hear the baton.
I tightened my fingers around the steering wheel.
Then Ruth spoke.
"Renata."
I glanced toward her.
She smiled gently.
"Look ahead."
I returned my eyes to the road.
The pavement stretched toward the horizon.
No patrol lights.
No shouting.
No broken glass.
Just the highway.
Ruth continued.
"That's where you're going."
I swallowed.
"Forward?"
She nodded.
"Forward."
For a long moment, I couldn't speak.
Then I smiled.
The tension in my shoulders began to ease.
And I kept driving.
Later that afternoon, we returned to my father's house.
He was standing on the porch when the Phantom pulled into the driveway.
He raised one hand.
I parked.
Turned off the engine.
And climbed out.
My father looked toward the car.
Then toward me.
"How'd it go?"
I considered the question.
Then smiled.
"Good."
He raised his eyebrows.
"Just good?"
I laughed.
"Really good."
He nodded with satisfaction.
Ruth climbed out of the passenger side.
"She drives like her mother."
My father looked horrified.
"That bad?"
Ruth burst out laughing.
I stared at him.
"Dad!"
He grinned.
"Your mother drove like she was late to her own birthday party."