He nodded, seeming to make up his mind about something. “Needs a new coat of paint,” Rory mumbled before opening the door and looking inside. “New interior, new seats.” Was he making a list? “Rory?” My voice seemed to snap his attention back to me. He gave me a sheepish grin. “Your dad loved this thing; did you know that?” I shook my head, my heart heavy. I remembered riding around in it as a kid. The weekend camping trips he’d decide to take at the drop of a hat. “How’s it running?” he asked as he shut the door and headed back toward the driveway.
