Read The Car for Free Online Page B

small opening behind the seats and leaned back, taking the summer night air on his face with the same soft smile he’d had earlier, when he first stuck his head in and spoke Shakespeare to Terry.
    They moved onto the highway. Terry shifted the Cat to fourth and looked at the speedometer.
    Sixty-five exactly. He had just seen a sign saying that was the speed limit. He didn’t want to speed. If the cops stopped him they’d find out the plate wasn’t really any good and that he didn’t have a license and it would be all over. He’d have to take it easy.
    But it was hard to think of problems.
    He was heading west on a warm summer night. The stars were coming out. The headlights seemed to be adjusted about right. Waylon was humming some kind of tune next to him, and Terry didn’t care about yesterday, tomorrow, last week, or next week.
    Just tonight. And the road. And the car he’d made with his own hands.
    The Cat.

8
    T HE HIGHWAY he took west—I-80/90—was a toll road. He went through the booth, feeling the man inside was staring at him, and then drove for two hours, holding sixty-five, letting the warm wind coming over the top of the windshield and around the sides blow Cleveland somewhere to the rear.
    When he’d put the dashboard together it had come with a small map light that had given him problems. It hadn’t fit the hole made for it, and he had finally used a round file to enlarge the hole. Then the wire in the harness that came with the kit hadn’t been long enough and he had spliced a piece in to make it fit and the splice hadn’t been good enough and now the light flickered.
    He turned the light on and worked a hand up in the area of the splice and squeezed it and the light glowed steadily.
    Waylon was dozing, and Terry took a moment to study his face in the glow.
    He seemed happy. Even sleeping he had a smile in his eyes somehow, some look that made Terry want to smile as well.
    Terry was still concerned. He was setting out on a trip across the country with what amounted to a complete stranger. It was crazy. But the whole thing was crazy anyway. What was one more crazy part?
    Waylon’s eyes opened suddenly and he was looking directly into Terry’s eyes. He smiled, or rather his sleeping smile widened.
    â€œI have done this for so many years it all seems like one car, one highway, one country.” He rubbed his face, looked at his wrist—there was no watch there but he nodded. “About three in the morning. This is the worst time to drive as far as sleep is concerned. You want me to drive awhile?”
    Terry started.
Let somebody else drive the Cat?
“No . . . I’ll take it.”
    â€œI thought as much. So then, we’ll talk. What do you want to talk about?”
    Terry shrugged. A truck moved past him on the highway and the wind from the trailer of the semi buffeted the Cat around. He held it in the center of the lane.
    â€œHow about how we should leave the highway?” Waylon asked.
    â€œWhy? It’s good road and goes the direction we want to go and . . .”
    â€œAnd it’s patrolled heavily and you’re underage, driving a car with invalid license plates, and if you get popped I get popped. It’s not new for me. I was detained a few times back in the sixties and seventies—when getting arrested meant you cared. But it might not be so much fun for you.”
    â€œHow did you know all that?” Terry had actually jerked the wheel in surprise at Waylon’s words.
    â€œI know you’re underage because of how you look and how I see things. If you’re too young to have a driver’s license, the plates probably aren’t valid. I know you haven’t been arrested because we’ve met three state patrol cars and you didn’t notice any of them. If you’ve ever been arrested you always see police.”
    â€œWe did?” Terry turned and looked back. “Are