Weightless, as his classic Camara arced forward, then plummeted to the jagged rock below. Lew imagined an instant of elation as his stomach rose from the lack of gravity. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, then …
Nothing.
Why did that appeal so much to him right now? Almost like a drug he couldn’t take, dangled in front of him, calling him, teasing him.
Then visions of Billy crashed into his mind. The smile draped by that fu-man-chu that looked like a chocolate milk mustache had dripped to his chin on either side. He’d slap Lew on the back and tell him how much he appreciated his help at the garage. Could Lew really believe his son loved him after a lifetime of neglect? All those prayers that he’d change one day.
Lew ground his teeth. He’d never live up to Billy’s hopes. The kid would always want Lew to be something more, ever since he’d gone through rehab ten years ago and got religion.
The trees whizzed by as the end of the road zoomed forward. He could see the far edge of the quarry and the tiny trees that dotted the ridge. How far would the Camaro fly before it made its downward trajectory? Lew’s heart raced faster than the tires spun. Just a few seconds more and he wouldn’t need to measure up to anyone’s standards again.
The little blond boy came to mind—Tibo was it?—and the feel of his delicate arms around Lew. If only he could roll back the years with his own son. He’d change things. Would his boy have looked at him like little Tibo did?
You can’t change the past.
Lew’s chest constricted. He gulped air, shifted higher, squeezed the gas. More power, more speed. He wanted to bridge the gap as far as he could. One last moment of glory.
Boy, that kid’s deep brown eyes sunk into him. He couldn’t shake it. It was like the kid had found something good when he looked inside, and then grabbed hold.
Ha!
Lew’s throat clogged.
The edge drew nearer. He’d conquered the corner before, spun to the edge and straightened just in time to hug the road and drive on. But this time he’d conquer the pit … and his destiny.
The trees opened to display the road to the left. He sucked in a lungful of air. Would that help him float? He gunned the engine and …
Swoosh!
The back tires sluiced as he made the hard left. His heart pounded his ribcage. He needed to gain control. The rear wheels tasted the edge before they gripped and propelled him forward and down the road. He slammed his brakes, shifted to neutral and pulled his parking brake.
Lew’s chest heaved for air, competing for space with his pounding heart. His eyes burned. He gasped for more breaths as he peered around at the trees clapping their leaves in the breeze, like they mocked his failure.
What was he thinking?
Why couldn’t he do it?
Coward!
He shook out of the competing voices, shifted into drive, and cranked the stereo. Zepplin played on the classic rock station. He spun the volume control higher to drown out the noise in his head, then drove the rest of the maze of dirt roads until it was time to go home.
Chapter Eleven
Vince pulled up to the ramshackle house. These community projects always energized him—fixing up the home of someone in need. The early July sun beat down on all the Water’s Edge Community Church volunteers busy on ladders at the front, or digging in the gardens, or mending the fence.
Times like these he was proudest of his congregation.
Billy Lewis tilted the circular saw up from the lumber he’d cut and waited for the piercing buzz to fade. “Hey Vince.”
“Looks like you all got a jump on me. Didn’t you say to be here by 10:00 a.m.?”
Billy glanced around. “Oh yeah.” Why did he look like he’d been caught with his hand in the till? “I forgot to mention, some of us thought it might be a good idea to get a head start.”
Vince scanned the yard filled with workers. “It seems like the whole crew is already here.”
Billy grabbed another two-by-four.
Nothing.
Why did that appeal so much to him right now? Almost like a drug he couldn’t take, dangled in front of him, calling him, teasing him.
Then visions of Billy crashed into his mind. The smile draped by that fu-man-chu that looked like a chocolate milk mustache had dripped to his chin on either side. He’d slap Lew on the back and tell him how much he appreciated his help at the garage. Could Lew really believe his son loved him after a lifetime of neglect? All those prayers that he’d change one day.
Lew ground his teeth. He’d never live up to Billy’s hopes. The kid would always want Lew to be something more, ever since he’d gone through rehab ten years ago and got religion.
The trees whizzed by as the end of the road zoomed forward. He could see the far edge of the quarry and the tiny trees that dotted the ridge. How far would the Camaro fly before it made its downward trajectory? Lew’s heart raced faster than the tires spun. Just a few seconds more and he wouldn’t need to measure up to anyone’s standards again.
The little blond boy came to mind—Tibo was it?—and the feel of his delicate arms around Lew. If only he could roll back the years with his own son. He’d change things. Would his boy have looked at him like little Tibo did?
You can’t change the past.
Lew’s chest constricted. He gulped air, shifted higher, squeezed the gas. More power, more speed. He wanted to bridge the gap as far as he could. One last moment of glory.
Boy, that kid’s deep brown eyes sunk into him. He couldn’t shake it. It was like the kid had found something good when he looked inside, and then grabbed hold.
Ha!
Lew’s throat clogged.
The edge drew nearer. He’d conquered the corner before, spun to the edge and straightened just in time to hug the road and drive on. But this time he’d conquer the pit … and his destiny.
The trees opened to display the road to the left. He sucked in a lungful of air. Would that help him float? He gunned the engine and …
Swoosh!
The back tires sluiced as he made the hard left. His heart pounded his ribcage. He needed to gain control. The rear wheels tasted the edge before they gripped and propelled him forward and down the road. He slammed his brakes, shifted to neutral and pulled his parking brake.
Lew’s chest heaved for air, competing for space with his pounding heart. His eyes burned. He gasped for more breaths as he peered around at the trees clapping their leaves in the breeze, like they mocked his failure.
What was he thinking?
Why couldn’t he do it?
Coward!
He shook out of the competing voices, shifted into drive, and cranked the stereo. Zepplin played on the classic rock station. He spun the volume control higher to drown out the noise in his head, then drove the rest of the maze of dirt roads until it was time to go home.
Chapter Eleven
Vince pulled up to the ramshackle house. These community projects always energized him—fixing up the home of someone in need. The early July sun beat down on all the Water’s Edge Community Church volunteers busy on ladders at the front, or digging in the gardens, or mending the fence.
Times like these he was proudest of his congregation.
Billy Lewis tilted the circular saw up from the lumber he’d cut and waited for the piercing buzz to fade. “Hey Vince.”
“Looks like you all got a jump on me. Didn’t you say to be here by 10:00 a.m.?”
Billy glanced around. “Oh yeah.” Why did he look like he’d been caught with his hand in the till? “I forgot to mention, some of us thought it might be a good idea to get a head start.”
Vince scanned the yard filled with workers. “It seems like the whole crew is already here.”
Billy grabbed another two-by-four.
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