Story One – Alexandra Adams

Part 1

Seven.

A young, boy-ish looking girl sighed leaning against an old wooden workbench. The small shop in which she currently resided was dimly-lit, but she was still able to see her playground perfectly.

The garage, of course, was no place for playing but that didn't stop her from referring as one. It was a place she spent most of her time in, a lot of it was just watching as things got done but there were more than enough times she was allowed to help—and she anticipated those times every minute she spent there. Smiling at the thought of getting another chance, she tilted her head back, her dirty-blonde bob following its movements as she took in the comforting smell of metal and grease.

Flexing her fingers, she held back the urge to just pick up a tool and butt in to the current project. Though, as much as she wanted to, she knew that she'd just get in the way. Besides, she was asked to go home hours ago because they could find nothing else for her to do, so—as she saw it—she was pretty much walking on thin ice by just observing.

Golden eyes glanced lazily at the clock—nine thirty it looked like it said. Thus, if she was right, meant that it was getting late. Honestly, telling time via face clock was never her strong suit—nor was paying attention to her teacher… but honestly who did that anymore?

Holding in a yawn, she shifted her gaze to the BMW parked in the middle of the workzone. She could vaguely remember the day that it was brought in, Ol' Wilson—one of the shops regulars—leant it to his nephew for a day, only for it to end up in a pile up. The car had become completely totaled and from day one it was a chore trying to get the thing back to its former glory. They eventually did it though; the only thing that was left to get right was the engine. Though there was no doubt in her mind that they would get it done, she held confidence in the people who worked there.

Her eyes shifted over to the two males huddled around the hood of the vehicle, a tender look crossing her features at their focused faces. She was proud to say that she knew them both rather well. The younger of the two being her sixteen year old neighbor and childhood friend, Randell Greybull—though he often went by Ray. He was older than her by nine years but they got along rather well and over time she'd grown to see him as a kind of big brother figure. The older of the two was the shop's owner and her father, Arthur Adams, who she proudly labeled, 'Most Awesomest Mechanic/Dad in the World'—seriously, she had it on a mug and everything.

"Alex."

The sound of her father's voice broke her from her deep thinking and their matching gold eyes met. "Yeah?"

"Hand me the wrench." Her ordered gesturing over in a general direction.

"Aye. Aye. Captain." She remarked playfully and turned on her heel with a salute, making sure to follow his finger to her destination. Alex knew where everything was in the shop. She spent just about all her free time there after all. And the reason? Cars. She loved helping her father fix them, but even more so she loved the sound of engines roaring and the sleek feel of a new coat of paint. She often found herself dreaming of one day sitting behind the wheel of one of them.

Picking up the appropriate tool off the bench, she skipped over and handed it to the mechanic receiving a light ruffle of her hair as a reward. Smiling cheekily, Alex snuck a glance under to hood as her father added his finishing touches. "So that's the new engine?"

"Yep. Nice, right?" her papa asked grinning, the stick of a newly unwrapped lollipop wedged between his teeth.

"Uh-huh." She nodded, tugging at her cargo shorts and cocking her head to the side, "Will it make a nice sound?"

Her father and his assistant exchanged a smirk, "Let's see shall we? Care to do the honors, Ray?"

The green-eyed teen shrugged as he was tossed the keys, "Sure, why not." Despite trying to act nonchalant the boy didn't waste any time sliding into the driver's seat and sticking the key into the ignition. He had received his permit not too long ago and still had the excitement almost all teens had about getting behind the wheel. Alex was a bit jealous of him. It'd be years before she'd be able to drive—eight years and seven months to be exact.

Ray started her up and the engine made a nice purr before roaring as more pressure was applied to the gas. The two Adams' gave each other a high five at the success. It had taken more than a few nights to fix it, but now it was finished and ready for Ol' Wilson.

Turning off the engine, Ray stepped out of the car and leaned against the door, "Sounds like she's all better."

"Mn-hm." Mr. Adams nodded, shutting the hood and giving his back a good crack. "You know, I'm hungry. Let's celebrate with some pizza, who's in?"

"I am!" and "Yeah, Why not," were the replies.

Ten.

Mr. Adams leaned over the kitchen sink, absentmindedly glancing out the window of his small third-floor apartment.

All was quiet. His daughter, Alexandra, was away at school and until her return he was left to contemplate life in silence. Memories of the past seemed to claw its way to the surface of his consciousness in the absence of his offspring, not all completely welcome. Images flashed through his mind—pictures of a woman who had long since left the world in which he dwelled.

'Hey Arty look at this.'

'Arty isn't that amazing?'

'I bet she'll grow up to be just like you.'

'I love you, Arthur.'

Her smiling face both pained him and gave him happiness. He didn't know whether to smile or break down into tears—though he was sure he didn't have any more to shed.

His eyebrows furrowed as one of his increasingly frequent pains resurfaced, burning his chest. He clenched his shirt and took a deep breath, lidded eyes staring at the sky. "I miss you, you know." The man spoke sweetly, talking to an invisible entity created, possibly, from the depths of his troubled mind. "I often ask myself what you would do. Alex is a good kid, but sometimes I don't know if I'm giving her what she needs… I'm no woman you know." He joked forcing a light chuckle. "Can I really do this?"

It was a question Arthur asked to the sky often. Though, he tried to keep himself calm in front of his daughter, like any parent would, he wasn't as strong as everyone seemed to think he was. A man who loved as hard as he did would always get twice as hurt when someone was taken from him… especially if that someone was his wife—it was his number one weakness.

As if answering his question, a light breeze pasted by, setting off the homemade wind chimes Alexandra made for Father's Day. Arthur smiled lightly for a moment at the memory, but it faded almost as quickly as it came and he began to feel the weight of his depression warring on him.

He needed to get rid of this feeling.

Hesitantly, he pulled out a box of cigarettes from the top shelf of one of the high cabinets. Unknown to his daughter he had not given up smoking. The only time he substituted with candy was when she was around. At school one day, Alex learned about the side effects of smoking and as soon as she was home she'd given him a long lecture about it. Not wanting to disappoint her he played along and pretended to give it up. It wasn't really that he couldn't stop smoking, but just because he could it didn't mean he wanted to.

Lifting one of the few cancer sticks left in the box he lit it and took a long drag. The smoke traveled through his system and pushed the unwanted memories back into their locked box. Whether this was an addiction or not, this was his escape. It kept him sane.

Exhaling, he let muscles relax and an air of calm wash over him. A feeling of normality came back and he leaned against the counter, taking another puff. The action repeated for a seemingly long amount of time until his mind settled completely.

"Papa! Papa!" an excited shrill called, the sound of the front door slamming soon after.

Quickly ditching the cigarette he watched in curiosity as a blur of blond zoomed into the kitchen. "What is it, Sport?" He questioned opening the window to air out the room.

"I got an A+ on my math test! See?" she exclaimed proudly, gasping for breath as she shoved the paper in his face.

"What? No way." he replied in mock disbelief, his parent persona finding its way back to his features as he scanned over the sheet. "You sure you didn't cheat off some nerd sitting next to you?" he added jokily.

"Hey!" Alex countered in playful protest.

Mr. Adams gave her a smile and patted her on the head, "Let's hang this up, yeah?"

"Ok!"

Twelve.

Alexandra grinned widely at the chorus of off key singing as she stared widen-eyed at the dozen glowing candles eliminating the darkened room.

Everyone was there for her special day, even Ol' Wilson and his son had dropped by at some point. Though they had to leave early, it was still an appreciated gesture. She bounced as she anticipated the song's end, when it can she took a deep breath and blew.

Unexpectedly, the fire on the candles swayed but didn't diminish.

Alex frowned and gave her dad a confused look. When had birthday candles gotten so hard to blow out? Mr. Adams moved the camera out his face for a moment and gave her a mischievous grin, "Try harder."

Her frowned deepened in suspicion, but turned her attention back to the candles blowing on them with more force. The light on a few went out, but as she went to blow out the others, they lit back up again. "Huh?"

"You're probably not blowing hard enough," Ray chuckled from his spot to her right.

"Am too." She huffed, before trying again. One flame seemed to die out for good but the others re-lit themselves… again. Alexandrea glared at the demon sticks—she'd had enough. Taking in the deepest breath she could muster, the tween puffed repeatedly at them in a heated motion.

At the end of her tirade she collapsed back into her chair and sighed, all but one had been defeated—though the others seemed ready for round two. She heard her father snicker and gave him a questioning glance; something told her that he probably had something to do with it.

"Trick candles," Ray explained as they watched the objects being taken off the cake one by one and dipped into a cup full of water.

"Papa!" An embarrassed flush creeping on her pale cheeks, she'd probably looked like an idiot in front of everyone—and worse, he had pictures.

"What?" his grin widened and he held up his free hand in defense, as if he did nothing wrong.

"Relax dear, you looked adorable." Mrs. Greybull—Ray's mother—cooed, rubbing the girl's shoulders. She relaxed a little under the familiar touch, but still gave her father a childish glare.

The mechanic held out a slice of birthday cake as a peace offering and Alex stared at it, half expecting the thing to blow up in her face.

The greedy teen next to her took this moment of hesitation as an opportunity and stuck his greedy fork into the delicious desert, taking a big chunk out of it. Chopping down Ray smiled at her outraged face, "It's Safe." He confirmed in between chewing and received a hard punch to the shoulder.

"Jerk." She mumbled shoving a fork full into her mouth before he decided to come back for seconds. Her anger diminishing as a yummy chocolate flavor seeped onto her tongue. She turning to face Ray's mother she gave a chocolaty grin, "Mrs. Greybull this cake is really good. Thank you." The woman always made the best cakes.

"You're welcome dear."

"Mn-hm." Mr. Adams nodded in agreement. "You've gotta teach me how to make this Anna."

The older woman chuckled, "No offense Arthur, but I don't think anyone can teach you to cook."

"Uh-uh." His daughter shook her head, cringing at the memory at his last attempt.

"Lost cause." Ray added, forking in another piece of Alex's cake when she wasn't looking.

"I resent that." Arthur glared pointing the fork at his apprentice.

"But Alex on the other hand… she could possibly be saved." Mrs. Greybull added raising her eyebrow at the girl, "What do you say, Love? Shall I teach you?"

"Uh… Sure. I guess that'd be cool." She nodded, not really wanting to say no to the woman. Plus she guessed she'd need to learn from someone since her father couldn't cook for his life.

"Maybe you should give her lady lessons too. Then she won't act like such a dude." Ray added, earning him another punch to the shoulder.

"Shut it."

"Make me, Beansprout."

"Ok, ok, ok." Mr. Adams interjected before Alex's fist connected the third time, "Finish your cake so we can open presents."

At the mention of presents Alexandra's eyes flashed over to the pile of colorfully wrapped objects and sparkled with enthusiasm. In her opinion, the best part of birthday parties were always the present openings.

Bringing her attention back to her cake, she doubled her eating speed—she didn't want to waste any more time. The wonder was killing her.

"Woah there, slow down a bit. They aren't going anywhere."

"Can't be helped, you've already gone and got her all excited." Mrs. Greybull hummed shaking her head.

Arthur sighed, "She's just like her mother…"

"Mn-hm, rest her soul."

"Done!" Alex shouted placing her plate down on the table, swallowing the last of her dessert. "Present time!"

"Alright there, Road Runner, sit still. I'm taking Daddy privileges and making you open mine first." Mr. Adams declared, earning him eyes rolls from around the room—impatientcy obviously ran on both sides of the family. Pulling out a small orange gift bag from the pile he presented it to her.

Alexandra carefully took the gift, despite her excitement, and removed the decorative tissue piece by piece—you know, to build dramatic affect. Her eyes soon lit up at the sight of her present, black racing goggles with green tinted lens. She had hinted to her Dad for weeks about them, but she never thought he would remember. The guy had terrible memory sometimes.

Without hesitation she strapped them onto her head, "Sweet! Thank you, Papa!"

"There's a card in there too with a little spending money, since the gifts kinda small…" he scratched his head in slight embarrassment.

Alex shook her head in disagreement, "Mn-mn. You didn't have to do that, this is awesome. I'll wear it always."

"Always is a long time."

"I know."

Fourteen.

"Hey, Ray?"

"Hm?"

Alexandra and Richard sat back to back, glancing up at the stars. It was a trend they started a few years back, but they hadn't gotten the chance to do it as much after Randell started college—and now the young man was days from starting at his new job. It kind of made her feel as if she was getting left behind.

"What's that on called?" Alex asked pointing to a cluster of stars.

"Orion's belt."

"Who's that?"

"He's a hero from Greek mythology."

"Aha. I see." She mustered before letting out a tired yawn.

Ray glanced at his watch, "Mn. It's getting late. You should head inside."

Alex shook her head, "No way. I rarely see you as it is, I can last a few more minutes."

"Didn't realize you missed me that much." He grinned.

"Don't get a big head, it was just boring not seeing that ugly mug of yours around anymore."

"Oh? That's it?" He sighed in mock disappointment, "And I thought you cared."

She elbowed him in the back, "Stupid." Relaxing she nestled into his back, "Of course I care." She cared more than even she herself realized, Ray had become more than just an older brother figure.

Sixteen.

"Ready? Go!"

As soon as her father gave the command Alex punched the throttle and the car thrust forward. With focused eyes and amateur hands she weaved through the designated orange cones. Her father's 1975 Lincoln Continental IV shaking lightly over the rocky ground of the old quarry.

"Cutting it a little close there, Alex. Don't turn so late!" she heard the mechanic call from his safe spot on a large boulder.

For a while now, the two often found themselves in this situation. Ever since Alex got her permit, Mr. Adams decided it would be best if he taught her how to really drive—not that crap they teach down at those boring driving classes… it was a waste of money in his mind.

Despite what many believed, he wasn't just a mechanic. Back before Alex was born he was the right hand to a man who spent his time as an adviser for racers. So, he didn't just know how to fix cars, he knew who to drive them too.

"Watch your rear!"

"I know, I know." Alex muttered under her breath tightening her grip on the wheel as the car's back tire narrowly missed knocking over a cone.

"Good, Good. Now do it in reverse."

Alex followed the order and rested her arm around her head rest. Glancing back, she drove backward—clenching her teeth as she hit the cone this time.

"Almost got it, Alex!" a new voice called over the hum of the motor.

The familiar tone caused her to stop the car in surprise and pop her head out the window, a large grin on her face. "Ray?" her eyes stayed glued to the newcomer, casually leaning next to her father, as she sprinted out of the car to greet him. "What are you doing here?"

"What? Can I not come visit my friend, just because?"

"No. Not when you're not going to call for days on end." She teased slugging him in the arm.

"So, How's it goin' with the fiancée?" Mr. Adams asked, casually sliding off the boulder to join the conversation. Both men missing the frown that formed on Alex's face—not that she was jealous… or anything.

"Good." Randell replied rubbing his poor bruised appendage.

"You've gotta bring her over, me and Papa want to meet her." The teen lied, he father nodding in agreement.

"Actually that's why I'm here. We're going to have an engagement party soon. I came to give you, your invite in person. She wants all our friends and family to be there." He explained, holding out a fancy looking envelope to Arthur.

"Her idea?" the mechanic asked glancing over the piece of parchment.

"Yeah." He sighed, scratching the back of his head.

"Women." The older men exhaled shaking his head.

"Women…" Ray nodded in agreement.

"Ahem." Alex raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. The two males chuckled.

xXx

"Tell me again why I have to wear this?" Alex asked tugging awkwardly on the orange form-fitting dress invading her personal space.

"Because. This is a formal affair." Mr. Adams answered smartly, "Anyway, stop complaining. I let you wear those goggles, didn't I?" Despite his words he fiddled with his tie in discomfort.

The Adams were never really into formal events, but this was special. "Alright, enough Dawdling." Her father told her dusting off his pants. "Ready?" he held out an arm for his daughter.

"As ready as I'll ever be." She mumbled, returning his grin.

The duo headed out of the lobby and into a small dining area. The place wasn't too flashy, but it looked nice. There were flower arrangements on each table and the room was filled with an off white—pearl, maybe?—color on various materials like table runners and seat covers. The guests themselves looked rather dapper; Alex even caught sight of Mrs. Greybull showing off a flattering red gown. It was probably one of the most fanciest parties she'd been invited to—not that she's gone to many in the first place.

"Seems like they went all out." She commented giving her father's arm a squeeze.

"Well, Anna and Mark were always the 'dotting parent' types." He explained, eyeing the buffet table.

"Mr. A! Beansprout!" the familiar voice of Randell called as the young man strolled up to the two, sporting an unbuttoned blazer and a tie-less green dress shirt. "You clean up good."

He wasn't lying either, Mr. Adams' slicked back hair and loosed up tie caught the eyes of many prowling females in the room. And, he had even given himself a clean shave that made him look pretty damn good—much to his daughter's surprise. Alexandra on the other hand looked beautiful, her orange dress flattered her collarbone and the updo that held her hair out of her face showed off her prominent cheek bones. The only thing that was out of place were the black goggles with the green-tinted lenses resting on her collar bones—but then again, this was Alex. She wouldn't be her without them.

"You don't look so bad yourself." The teen complimented putting her hands on her hips.

"So where's your beautiful fiancée?" Arthur questioned, running a hand through his hair.

"Uh…" Ray took a moment to look behind him and pointed to a brunette in a short white dress chatting expressively to an old couple, "Right over there speaking with my grandparents." They caught each other's eye and she excused herself from her conversation before trotting over to the trio with a friendly smile.

Alex hugged herself protectively. It was easy to see why Randell liked the girl so much. She was pretty—as begrudging as it was—and seemed sophisticated.

"Hey~" the new addition to the group sang, snaking her arm around Ray's waist. Her hazel eyes glanced at her fiancé before bringing her attention to the two blondes. "I'm Carla." She placed a hand on her chest and glanced upward, batting her lashes.

"This is Mr. Adams and Bean—I mean, Alex." Her love introduced and Carla shook each hand respectively.

The woman's smile widened at the mention of their names, "Oh my god! Ray has told me so much about you! He thinks really highly of you, you know Mr. Adams?" she told the mechanic a-matter-of-factly. "And Alex. He's spoken so much about you that I feel as though I know you already."

"You… don't have to tell them all that…" Ray mumbled, scratching his cheek in bashfully.

"Oh~ no need to be shy you big teddy bear." She cooed rubbing his stomach.

Alex twitched slightly at the bubbly aura seeping from the woman. She was so… feminine.

"We've heard quiet a lot about you too. We're so glad we're finally getting a chance to meet Ray's number one gal." Mr. Adams grinned. Alex mentally rolled her eyes.

"Randell!" a voice called from the other side of the room.

"Ah—Mother's calling. I'll be right back." He and Carla exchanged a light kiss before her went sprinting off.

"Well…" Mr. Adams trailed off rocking back on his heel. "I think I'm gonna go check out the buffet.. want anything?"

"Nah." Alex shook her head.

He turned to Carla, "You?"

"No, I'm fine. Thank you." She assured him, holding up a hand.

"Alright then." The mechanic said, leaving a little too quickly to stuff his face.

An awkward silence washed over the two females, and Alex instantly regretted not making a break for the food like her father.

"So…." Carla rubbed her arm, "I hear you're into cars."

"Yeah."

"Got a favorite?"

Alex gave her a curious glance, what did she know about cars? She didn't seem like the type. Deciding to test her knowledge out she picked an overlooked model, "1969 Plymouth Barracuda 440."

"Oh-ho. Nice a pony car."

Now Alex was amused, "What do you know about pony cars?"

Carla grinned, "What? They're cars like, the Thunderbird, Falcon, and Dart GT. Right?" She asked, playing coy.

"Most girls can't name off car brands like that."

"Well, I'm not most girls." She grinned playfully.

"The blond raised an eyebrow, "Car, lover?"

"Mhm."

"Aha." Ok, so maybe she wasn't so bad.

Seventeen.

Fridays were the days that Randell Greybull found himself back at the ol' car garage hanging out with the tools and the people of his past, but this Friday was a little different. He and his former boss were not slaving over a beat up lemon today—instead the two were sporting rather solemn looks, engaging in what seemed like a very important discussion.

"You sure Mr. A?"

"Yeah…"

"Does Alex know?"

"No."

"Well, don't you think you should tell her?"

"She'd just worry."

"She has a right to know."

"Ray, you know how she gets. I don't want to see her upset."

He sighed, "I understand."

"Can I ask you a favor?"

"Yeah. Of course."

"If anything happens you'll look after her for me, won't you?"

"Don't talk like that."

"Please?"

"…Alright."

The two stopped their conversation short as said girl busted through the door, a grin carved in her features, her long blond hair trailing behind her. She paused at the tense atmosphere, "Hmm~ Someone's puppy die or something?" she joked, tossing her school bag down on a nearby table.

"Ah—it's nothing." Mr. Adams said, forcing a smile. "Just couldn't find what the problem is with Henry's ford. It won't start up." He covered smoothly.

"Eh? Really?" she frowned a bit, something seemed off. "Let me take a look at it."

"Oh? You some kind of expert now?" Ray commented as she skipped over to glance under the hood.

"Nope, but I'm the daughter of one." She retorted, earning herself a pat on the head.

Eighteen.

Golden eyes scanned the corridor for the correct room number.

802. 803. 80-

Alex jumped at the sound of a cry in pain and quickened her pace. 805. She hated hospitals, the only thing that came to mind when her heard the word was death. 806. The place was always so clean and plain and boring—and many people died in it. 807. In her opinion the worst place to die was in a hospital. 808. Who wanted their last memory to be of clear, boring, white walls?

809. 810. 811.

Coming to a halt at room 812, Alexandra frowned. A slightly unsettling feeling wriggled around in her belly as her eyes re-read the name, 'Arthur Adams', printed neatly on the name plate. Her slender fingers grazed the door handle, her hand pausing just before it grabbed the metal object.

'Why are you hesitating stupid!' she reprimanded herself furrowing her eyebrows in frustration. She knew the answer to that though. She was scared. What would she see if she opened that door? What would she be told?

The fear had eaten at her ever since Ray came to pick her up at school. His look was so serious it had startled her. There weren't many times she'd seen him like that. Though the news of her father collapsing in the garage frightened her even more, she hadn't known what to think. Alex tried to see if Randell knew anything, but he found a way around her questions and she confronted him on his elusiveness he told her that it wasn't something for him to say—she didn't push any further.

Biting her lip, the teen let her fingers wrap around the cold metal. Ray was probably sitting quietly in the waiting room where she left him. He rushed her to the hospital and made her wait off to the side while he spoke to the doctor, when the time came that her father could accept visitors Randell made her go by herself, hence her current situation.

Taking a deep breath she tapped her goggles lightly with her free hand and pushed open the door. Stepping inside the room she let out a meek, "Papa?"

Mr. Adams didn't reply, but weakly waved her over from his spot on the bed.

Alexandra's frown only deepened.

He looked horrible, it was like he had aged a million years overnight—an exaggeration, of course. His skin was pale and his glazed over eyes seemed to have a hint of an irritated red color.

The man lying on the bed felt foreign to her, he didn't look like the lovely father who would ruffle her hair when she did something clever or sneak a smoke in the kitchen when he thought she didn't know.

Her eyes watered up as she slowly made her way over to his side, "Papa what's doing on? No one will tell me anything. Are you ok?"

The man placed a fragile hand on his daughter's forearm, "…Alex." He struggled, his voice cracking and horse from underuse. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner…" he cleared his throat and took a shaky breath.

Alex opened her mouth to speak, but he head up a hand seeming to struggle a great deal with his words, but finally let himself say it—and at the same time he came to terms with it himself. "I'm dying."

Nineteen.

The funeral came and went, but it still stayed fresh in Alex's mind. Every word spoken, every pitied look, she remembered it all.

It had been just a small event, just a few of the people her father was close to came. It was a simple ceremony, fitting of her father's lifestyle. The man had never lived extravagantly, and the funeral reflected that. Even though his car garage received relatively good business he rented a small apartment instead of buying a house and his clothes were almost always t-shirts and jeans. He wasn't the type of guy that liked to flaunt his money, his daughter and garage were all he really needed and Alex had always secretly admired him for that.

Sighing for what seemed like the millionth time since her father's untimely death, the young woman placed a hand on the tombstone of her beloved Arthur Adams. It felt so unreal. Part of her still believed that if she came running toward the garage she'd find him there working on Mr. Wilson's ol' jalopy for the third time that year, greeting her with his goofy looking grin. She loved that grin. She used to say that it had magic powers because it seemed to wash away all outside troubles.

However, the funny thing about believing was that it didn't always come true. And the rough tombstone brought her back to that harsh reality and it was at that moment that she ran her fingers over the concrete that she realized that this was all real.

There would be no more staying up late drinking hot chocolate as they watched James Bond movies, no more playing ball down at the rundown baseball field across the street, no more victory pizza parties after a late night of fixing up the vehicles of regulars… and even if she were to do any of these now, it wouldn't be the same.

Sad eyes glanced in the direction of the much older tombstone beside that of her father's. It's engravings—worn from nineteen years of battling the elements—still distinctively read the name of a woman she knew only through what others told her. 'Alexandra Adams', the stone read. It was the name of her mother as much as it was her own. In her father's moment of grief it was the only name that could come to his mind.

Alex had always made sure to carry it well. Arthur had loved her mother to the end. The mechanic never once remarried as one often did years after the death of a spouse, nor had he ever hidden his wedding ring away—deciding instead to wear it proudly on his finger, a testament to the memory of his loved one.

"Take care of him," she found herself whispering to the silent grave.

Alexandra was not sure whether or not she believed in life after death, but if such a place existed then she hoped her words were carried to the ears of that woman and that both she and her father could be happy with each other, like in the pictures she'd seen of them together. He deserved to be happy after all.

"So this is where you were." A deep voice stated from behind, snapping her out of her trance.

Turning her head slightly, she gave a small smile to the visitor and stood up from her crouched position. "Aren't you supposed to be at work or something?"

"It's 3pm…. on a Sunday, Alex."

"Ah` so I've been here for that long?" she scratched her head and gave a half-hearted chuckle, "Lost track of time, I guess."

"Don't you always?" her childhood friend asked playfully raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, guess I do." She nodded, glancing at the sky.

Ray followed her gaze silently.

After a long pause he shoved his hands in his pockets, "So what are you going to do now?"

She shrugged, "I don't know."