"So they say. I'm not sure if it's in the news yet. I only heard it from my mother. We know the wife's family."
"Yes, of course. Well, that's quite a story."
"It's horrible. I don't believe it myself. I've met Heather, and she's lovely. There's something else going on. I'm sure of it." I reached for his hand. "But I really must go. Thank you again."
I took his hand and squeezed it, and I focused on him, his thoughts, his memories.
Give me a vision. I mentioned Nansen's death. Now show me what Johnson is think--
Darkness.
A car's windshield. Night beyond it. A dark road. Hands gripping a steering wheel. A woman's voice, but he was paying no attention to it. The radio, then.
Johnson gasped. His foot shot out for the brake. Lights. Squealing tires. The car spinning.
The vision stuttered. Johnson's hands again, almost concealed by darkness. One held a cell phone. He lifted the other hand to check his watch. I could see a deflated airbag in the background.
Another stutter.
Johnson was running. I was still inside him, feeling his heart pound, hearing his ragged breath. Behind us, the hounds bayed.
Another stutter.
A newspaper headline. Nansen's death. Johnson's hands gripping the paper as it shook slightly, his breath coming fast.
I snapped from the vision as Johnson dropped my hand. He backed away, blinking hard.
"Are you okay?" I said.
"I..."
"You don't look so good, Mr. Johnson. I think you should sit down."
I put my hand on his arm as I led him to a chair. I hoped for more of the vision, but it was gone. For me to catch a memory-vision, the other person needed to be actively recalling that memory when I made physical contact.
I sat him down. "Let me get you some water."
"No, no. I'm fine. Just a bit dizzy."
"Okay, I'll take off then, but I'm coming back for that test drive. Thank you so much, Mr. Johnson. You've been terrifically kind. I'm sure I'll see you again soon."
Sixteen
Olivia
I dropped off the Cobra at my parents' place, putting it in the garage with the rest of Dad's classic cars.
No, not Dad's. Mine. He left these to me, and the only one I'd taken out before now was the Maserati. I'd even been reluctant to use that until my old Jetta mysteriously developed serious engine problems...after Gabriel failed to convince me that if I loved the Maserati, I should d
rive it.
I don't know what to do with these cars. They deserve to be driven. They deserve to be seen. I supposed Dad envisioned me living the kind of adult life where I'd own an estate like this, with a massive garage like this, and I could do as he had, taking whichever vehicle caught my fancy. I loved these cars, so he bequeathed them to me, and now they sat, gathering dust.
A perfect metaphor for my old life. It sat here, too, the old Olivia, abandoned to rust and rot. Most of my clothes still hung in my closet. My new life held no place for a dozen cocktail dresses or a closet full of shoes. Almost all my belongings were still in my room. Treasures that I'd walked away from...and then realized I didn't need.
The house itself had sat empty for the past year, my mother paying for weekly dusting and airing. I didn't know whether she'd ever return or whether, like my former friends, she'd given up on me. The old Liv was gone, and they had no interest in the new one, and I'd be lying if I said that didn't hurt.
I wondered what my father would think of my new life. In my deepest funks, I worried that he would have abandoned me, too, but I knew that was a lie. He'd seen past the old Liv, known there was another one underneath. He'd been the one who'd encouraged me to get my master's. Who'd thought James was a fine young man...but not for me. I didn't think he would actually care about the cars. They were a gift, not an obligation, just like my shares in the department store that bears our family name. I served on the board now, mostly because I felt I should, but I doubted he'd expect that either. I would do it, though, in his memory.