A flashfiction scene based on the above photo.
Pleased her son had found it, the white-haired woman regretted it had sat there for years. Neglected. Forgotten. Still… there was a time when it was fast.
She closed her eyes.
With his heavy foot on the gas… oh, how it had made their hearts race. With each clutch and shift, his thigh rubbed hers, a sensual frisson. Freed by a necker’s knob, his brawny arm around her shoulders had held her tight. His fingers grazed the arc of her breast as they leaned in the curves and thundered down the highway. It didn’t matter where the road was going as long as they were together.
“Why are you smiling, Grandma?”
She turned to the young woman, her questioning look framed by a squint that drew the freckles—she had long ago told her were angel kisses—closer. “Katie, this was your grandfather’s first car.”
The girl looked at the car and then back. “I miss him.”
“I do too, dear. With all my heart.” Wind whipping her silver locks into a tangle, she placed her palm over a now wizened chest. “But he’s still inside.”
Katie hugged her tight, and the old woman felt those young arms—and her husband’s love—hold her. She let her go and watched as her granddaughter parted the dense thicket of tall grass and weeds to stand next to the once-abandoned car, touched, and patted its fender.
“I feel him with us, Grandma!” Brighter than the afternoon sun, Katie’s smile spread that dusting of speckles.
“I know, honey… I do, too.” And she knew he always would be.