Part 2
Roger’s days had become unremembered fogs of simple chores (the house was at least clean and neat) and reading. Every month he ventured out less often, only when he ran out of something he couldn’t find a substitute for. He exchanged pleasantries with the supermarket clerks, and nodded in a friendly way to the people he passed in town. Some he remembered from school. But after a flurry of invitations and drop-ins after the funeral, Roger’s contact with people had almost imperceptibly tapered off. He couldn’t remember exactly when he’d last had a conversation that went beyond “nice weather today” with anyone. Occasionally he worried about his memory.
Roger didn’t feel lonely. Even in elementary school he’d been more comfortable as a loner, and never minded being by himself. His abbreviated time at college had been the same; he attended classes and had the occasional chat with his fellow students, but when the latest keg party was planned, somehow nobody thought to mention it to Roger. That had suited him just as well; he had attended two parties in high school. At each one he felt out of place and simply wandered out and went home.
Now it seemed he had wandered out of everything and gone home. Feeling like he was in a fog wasn’t unusual, but finally began to bother him one October. On that day, while sipping is morning coffee, he thought maybe it was time to try to break out of the rut he seemed to be in. Hadn’t he decided at one point to decide what to do with the house, the money, and his life? Probably. He didn’t remember, exactly. But never mind; it was time to start something new.
Roger wasn’t entirely sure what his something new was going to be, but thought that facing something head-on might be a good first step. Something he was reluctant to do. So he headed for the garage.
The garage wasn’t in the best repair, and he wasn’t sure the barn doors would open freely. He thought if they did, maybe he would even park his Toyota in there. It was plenty big enough, a midcentury land yacht had resided there comfortably.
There was no lock on the garage, but the right-side door had to be opened first. The doors were sagging a bit more than he remembered. He lifted slightly on the right-side door and pulled backwards, and it swung open easily enough. There were no windows in the garage; that had made it seem extra creepy when he was a kid. But extra creepy didn’t even come close when the door opened enough to let some sunlight in. There was a car in the garage. He was puzzled at first; had some neighbor asked to use the space and he’d forgotten? No, he was sure nothing like that happened. He opened the left-side door as well, and got a better look at the car. It was weird; it looked a lot like his father’s old car. Same color, even. Then he saw the license plate.
Roger’s father had doted on his car, keeping it in perfect condition even though it was pretty old even before the accident. He had paid for a personalized registration plate: 82-LTD. If this was somebody’s idea of a prank, Roger thought it was in pretty bad taste. The car in the garage was a dark blue Ford LTD, complete with the chrome “Ford” and “LTD” badges. And in the middle, attached to the bumper, was the plate: 82-LTD.
Roger couldn’t think of anyone who’d bother to prank him like this. There had been Jimmy…was it Atherton? He’d known Jimmy in college, and this was maybe the kind of thing Jimmy would have done back then, but not nowadays. And anyway, they hadn’t been in touch in years. He took a closer look at the car.
Somebody had gone to a lot of trouble with this. Finding the matching car, the right color, and even the registration plates. The car seemed to be an exact match. Roger remembered his father once explaining that while a 1982 LTD was not a particularly unusual car, his was much rarer than normal because it was a two-door coupe style. He’d boasted about how few of them had been made, compared to the sedan and wagon versions. Roger didn’t remember the numbers his father had quoted, but that didn’t really matter. The point was this was a match for the body style and color, so it would have been hard to find one. Besides, this was New England, and cars from that era had almost all rusted into nothing decades ago. This one must have come from a southern state, or maybe California. A lot of trouble. And not cheap.
