Chapter 1

I'll be the first to admit, I was never aware of the blessed life I had lived. I never treasured what I had. Better yet, who I had.

Vain as Mother could be, and for good reason being the picturesque strutting model image, I was very much loved.

I was assured I was beautiful. As I was. No matter a pair of knobbing knees and tiny irises from a cross eye condition. Didn't affect my actual seeing-- but still a severe condition-- moving on.

I clung desperately to my Dad's first 1980's Dodge. There was the recreation and some better models bought over the years or kept from pre-releases. 20 o 9 at least, or 90's rather, same kind of shape in a more compact, rounded roof but there was nothing like that one.

It didn't have the same jostle in the front seats or unorthodox warmth at your bottom. Not the sickly cling of expensive orange perfume or the odd dent at the roof Mother and Father both refused to talk about. Probably some nauseatingly embarrassing lovey anecdotes about when they were supposedly "young and cool" as I was.

Then I promise here and now: I, Harley Scott, appreciate my lot in life. I am blessed. I'd been blessed to be spoiled, I'd been blessed to have a Dad who'd taken my side even when I lied and whined to no end.

What I wouldn't give to have that back.

What I would give to have the Dodge back rather than some square and hideously beige Camary that belonged to a mid-forties picket fence homemaker.

Why hadn't I realized it wasn't a car that kept him going back to her dealership?