They've been sitting silently side by side for what feels like hours. In all reality, it probably has been hours, but no one's bothered to notice. It's still daylight outside. The weather hasn't changed. The same fresh flowers adorn the polished headstone. Perhaps it's only been a few moments.
It doesn't matter.
Cal continues to stare at the mound of freshly turned dirt. Nearby, the ground still hasn't completely flattened from the last loss. Too much, too soon. Way too soon.
Eventually, Strip takes a breath. He hadn't spoken much since Cal returned home, though he'd remained by his nephew's side nearly the entire time. Most of his recent words were due diligence at the funeral. But sometimes words just aren't good enough. And more often, aren't needed at all.
"Y'know, Cal, sometimes I wonder – what if I'd chosen to do somethin' else."
Cal remains silent. He shifts his gaze slightly to the left, in the direction of his uncle, but doesn't make eye contact. He cannot escape the sight of the grave.
"What if I'd skipped the racing scene altogether and done something normal. Could've been a farmer. Could've been a businesscar. Anything. We'd all have been a lot safer."
"Don't." Cal whispers. "It's not your fault."
His voice is rough and squeaky from lack of use. It hurts. It's an extension of that fiery hollow that's still surging, wide open and vulnerable in his soul. It's so raw and full of coals he sometimes questions if he didn't literally have his engine ripped from his body that night.
"I know," Strip responds quietly. "Things like this aren't anyone's fault. But I still wonder."
Cal feels another wave of emotion coming. He can't seem to run out of tears, no matter how hard he tries. There's too much history, too many loved ones in this plot of land. The newest addition seems not only unnecessary, but insulting.
"How'd you do it?" Cal asks, a new stream of tears running down his right front quarter panel. "When Aunt Lyn passed, how'd you move on?"
Strip sits silently for a long time. The wind starts to pick up, carrying a chill on it as the sky begins to darken. Maybe they have been here all day.
He casts a glance to his left at the mound of earth nearby that hadn't yet settled back into place.
"You don't really move on," he answers honestly. "Some days are fine, some are better than others. Some days hurt just like today. You just… sorta learn to accept it. We're still alive for a reason. It's hard to see sometimes but… it gets better. Eventually you start to remember the positives again. All the happy times. That's what keeps you goin', those memories."
Cal remains still. His mind cannot perceive a world without grief. He knows he should listen to what his uncle says, but the words are just sounds in the wind.
"I reckon this is different, though," Strip adds on as an afterthought. "Losing someone before their time ain't never right."
"What do I do?"
Strip looks over at his nephew. He recognizes the anguish in the younger car's eyes. He's lost and alone and experiencing something no car should ever have to.
"Whatever you have to. Take your time. I'll stay with you until you're ready to start new again."
Cal sniffles and catches his breath.
"Thank you."
The Weathers' take the remainder of the Piston Cup season off. It's the first time in years that neither of them are at the tracks in some capacity. McQueen kindly takes over as interim crew chief for the Cup series while his friends take the time to restructure their lives.
Cal gets to work on a memorial that'll span generations. There's a new seasonal award that's given out before the Piston Sippy Cup championship in his honor. The Adam's Legacy award goes to the car that's demonstrated the most promise throughout the season but remains winless. Sometimes misfortune befalls us all and our potential is the only thing that proves who we are.
The second annual Dirt Bowl championship is held in Adam's honor. There's no profit from the event – all income less operational fees is donated to a camp for aspiring, newly manufactured racers – the very same organization where Cal came across a young Adam in need of a home all those months ago. The Home for Young Racers is now able to provide top of the line (age-appropriate) training gear and experiences on top of the work that is already being done to find them suitable families.
Cal's never quite the same. No one ever is after something like that. But he returns to the racing scene the following season and takes up the helm of Team Dinoco at the Cup level, relieving Strip of his crew chief duties and giving him a higher degree of freedom in his so-called 'retirement'. He and Cruz are a great team. It's therapeutic for everyone involved. Success comes and they reap the rewards.
Every year, though, before the team heads out to New Hampshire, Cal makes a special trip to the family gravesite. He updates Adam on everything that's going on – like how well Cruz is racing and what she's learned, what crazy adventures Tex keeps sending Strip on as an ambassador for Dinoco, and so on. Cal knows Adam is listening, he's out there somewhere, as true blue, racing born and bred as they come.
"I'll get you that stupid lobster this year, kiddo. You'll see."