“Even better.”
They stood quietly for a moment.
Through the open garage, the Mustang gleamed beneath the lights.
Sandra looked at it.
“So that’s the famous car.”
Elijah followed her gaze.
“Apparently.”
“Worth all the trouble?”
He smiled.
“Every bit.”
Two mornings later, Elijah woke before sunrise.
The neighborhood was unusually quiet.
The Hartmans were moving that weekend.
Their house stood half packed, curtains gone from the windows, cardboard boxes visible through the garage.
Elijah poured coffee into a travel mug.
Then he walked outside.
He opened his garage.
Morning light spilled slowly across Grabber Blue paint.
He stood there for a while.
His father would have found the whole situation hilarious.
Samuel Grant had possessed a ruthless sense of humor when it came to foolish people getting trapped by their own arrogance.
Elijah could almost hear him.
You bought a house for peace and started a neighborhood revolution.
“Yeah,” Elijah murmured.
He climbed inside.
The interior smelled of leather, old metal and memories.
His hand rested on the steering wheel.
For one strange second, he was twenty-eight again.
His father sat beside him.
Grease beneath his fingernails.
Coffee balanced between his knees.
Radio playing softly.
Then the memory faded.
Elijah inserted the key.
The Boss 429 turned over.
The engine roared awake.
Deep.
Heavy.
Beautiful.
Several porch lights came on.
A bedroom window opened.
Mr. Alvarez appeared outside in his robe and gave Elijah a thumbs-up.
Elijah laughed.
He backed slowly down the driveway.
As he reached the street, he noticed Logan standing beside the Hartman moving truck.
The teenager watched the Mustang.
For once, there was no smirk.
No arrogance.
Just something Elijah had not previously seen in him.
Embarrassment.
Maybe regret.
Elijah could have driven past.
Instead, he stopped.
He lowered the window.
Logan hesitated, then approached.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Finally Logan said, “My mom says you ruined our lives.”
Elijah rested one arm on the window frame.
“What do you think?”
The question surprised him.
Logan looked toward his house.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s probably more honest than anything you said three weeks ago.”
Logan shoved his hands into his pockets.
“My dad says we did it to ourselves.”
Elijah nodded.
“Your dad may be right.”
Silence.
Then Logan glanced toward the Mustang.
“I really did just want to drive it.”
“I know.”
“I wasn’t going to wreck it.”
“You didn’t know that.”
“I’m a good driver.”
Elijah smiled.
“You’ve been driving for two months.”
“Almost three.”
“That changes everything.”
For the first time, Logan almost smiled.
Then his expression became serious again.
“I shouldn’t have told my mom it was suspicious.”
“No.”
“And I shouldn’t have kept coming onto your property.”
“No.”
“And the thing about buying and selling the police department was probably stupid.”
“That was memorable.”
Logan groaned.
“Everybody at school saw the video.”
“I suspected they might.”
“Someone printed T-shirts.”
Elijah tried not to laugh.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“You’re right.”
Logan finally laughed.
It was small.
But real.
Elijah studied him.
There was hope in moments like this.
Not certainty.
Hope.
“Listen to me,” Elijah said.
Logan straightened.
“You’re going to meet people in life who tell you no.”
The teenager looked uncomfortable.
“You’re going to hear it from teachers, employers, women you date, friends, strangers and people who own things you want.”
Logan nodded slowly.
“How you respond to that word will determine a lot about the kind of man you become.”
Elijah tapped the steering wheel.
“This entire mess started because somebody told you no and you believed that meant you had been wronged.”
Logan looked down.
“It didn’t.”
“No.”
“It meant the answer was no.”
“Exactly.”
For several seconds, the only sound was the low rumble of the Mustang.
Logan stepped back.
“Take care of yourself.”
“You too.”
Elijah began raising the window.
“Mr. Grant?”
He stopped.
“Yeah?”
Logan looked at the Mustang.
“Your dad did a really good job.”