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Dad went to bed at ten. Never later. Never sooner. Besides, the drive home was therapeutic. He could forget the pressure-filled work of cranking out burgers and fries and let his mind paint images of his future. His 1967 VW Beetle served as a decompression chamber. To his father, it was a collector’s item, but then his father was a mechanic and any old thing with an engine was something to be adored.
    Another thought rattled around in his mind as he drove onto Clairemont Mesa Boulevard: Jesus. Three days ago, that would have been an odd thought. Not that he was irreligious. He and his parents were regulars at a local Methodist church. Well, Easter and Christmas. They went to church when there was a need: funeral, wedding, baptism of a friend’s child. He couldn’t think of a time when one of his parents said on a Saturday night, “Let’s go to church in the morning.” There was always something else to do, or Dad was too tired from busting his knuckles on car engines.
    Then, last week, something happened. Something unexpected. An ongoing conversation with an acquaintance at school turned into something more than jawing about history. He had had little time to think his decision through, something he hoped to do tomorrow. He had been invited to church and was certain he would go—
    The headlights in his rearview mirror caught his attention, first because of how bright they were—some moron was driving with his high beams on—then by the speed at which they approached. The first fact annoyed him, but not unduly. At this time of night, local watering holes were disgorging their tipsy customers to swerve their way home. The second fact, however, alarmed him. It was one thing to be drunk and driving, but drunk and speeding was just an accident looking for the right spot to forever change lives.
    The car swerved to the left, nearly impacting the concrete barrier that separated the two westbound lanes from Ellis’s eastbound ones. Then it veered into the right lane—Ellis’s lane.
    Ellis pressed the accelerator of the VW Bug and the vehicle’s four pistons increased their work. It wasn’t enough. He was driving an old car up a persistent grade. The car had never been fast, and it wouldn’t become so just because some joker felt he was immune to the quart of liquor he had consumed.
    Ellis’s heart pounded harder than the pistons he was begging to muscle the car up the hill faster.
    The bright headlights grew in the rearview mirror.
    â€œCome on, car.”
    The headlights moved back and forth in the lane, closing the distance. Each second brought it closer. Ellis cranked the wheel to the left, moving to the other lane, but the human-guided missile behind him did the same.
    â€œYou gotta be kidding!”
    That’s what Ellis wanted to say, but he only managed, “You gotta—!” before snapping the wheel to the right. The little vehicle responded, obediently skipping over the dashed white line that delineated the lanes. An eye-snap gaze at the rearview showed the trailing vehicle doing the same. Ellis doubted he would have time to change lanes again. The driver seemed intent on running him over, a coyote snatching a rabbit while on the run.
    â€œOh, God.” It was only the second time Ellis had prayed.
    Nothing but headlights in the mirrors—eye-stabbing glare. Ellis narrowed his eyes and then, at the last moment, veered to the shoulder of the road. A yellow streak passed him on the left, its left tires just a foot inside the other lane.
    It jerked to the left as if the driver had just now seen Ellis’s VW. The sudden motion turned the yellow muscle car sideways.
    It hit the safety barrier with enough force to lift the tail end two feet in the air.
    Ellis hit the breaks as the Camaro spun a half turn and rolled three times. Dust and bits of car flew in the air, reflecting Ellis’s headlights. He kept his car as far right as possible as