The little house was exactly as he had remembered it. A memory frozen in time.

How does it look exactly the same?

He'd wanted it to be different. To be all overgrown, paint-chipped, and messy; nothing like the neat and tidy house his mom had worked so hard to make a home.

Even the lawn had been recently mowed, which was confusing as all get out because Lightning had only been keeping up with the taxes and certain necessary bills. He definitely hadn't been paying anyone for lawn and garden upkeep.

So, what the…?

He sensed Doc's presence hovering a few feet behind. Giving him space. Giving him time.

Lightning sucked in a breath. You've wasted enough time already.

Get on with it.

If he treated it like a bandaid that simply needed to be ripped off, maybe it wouldn't be as hard. His eyes had felt eternally damp ever since Atlanta, but standing on the very same walk he used to cover in sidewalk chalk, he found they were dry as a dust storm.

And he hoped they would stay that way.

Fingering the key he'd kept on his race car key ring for as long as he could remember, Lightning forced his feet forward.

At some point, he heard Doc's gentle footfalls trailing behind.

It felt… nice to not be alone.

How many times had he come home to this house after visiting the hospital to find it empty? How many nights had he spent here alone? Blasting his stereo and hoping to chase all the ghosts of loneliness away. And all the while, praying someday she would get to come home.

Lightning didn't realize he'd been fumbling with the lock, trying in vain to insert the key, until Doc's hand steadied his own. Seconds later, the door was open and they were greeted by a musty darkness.

It felt the same. Why did it have to feel the same?

Because it wasn't.

It was deceiving. Everything was exactly how he'd left it.

"Are you all right, son?" Doc's voice was soft and tender. If anything, the mere sound of it was what was going to make Lightning cry.

Thankfully, his eyes kept to their dry season.

He cleared his throat. "Yeah." And he couldn't tell if that was a lie or not. "Just… I don't know, explore, I guess."

"Is there anything in particular you're looking for first?"

"Her hospital things." It was out of his mouth before it even struck him that this was why he was there. He wanted to see the last of her, give himself some closure to her ending.

Doc nodded, venturing off into the darkness—no doubt to open a window shade or something. Lightning hadn't seen any reason to keep paying the electric bill.

The second he found himself wandering into the kitchen, he froze, then turned tail and got out of there as fast as he could.

Because his card was still on the table. The one he'd written and set nicely beside some flowers, which were far beyond dead.

Her welcome home card, just in case she was discharged while he was out on the road with Mack.

Just ignore it, it's fine. It doesn't mean anything anymore.

Except it meant everything.

It was a product of a bygone era, the last tangible memory from a time when things were different. From a time when she was still here.

Light flooded into the living room as Doc opened the shades and Lightning ducked into the short hall where two rooms stood facing each other. His and hers.

Part of him wondered what he'd left behind in his room, if there was anything he'd still want… After it all, he'd opted to buy new things to replace the old ones he refused to go back and get, despite Mack's encouragement to do so.

Bandaid.

Right.

He would open her door first.

There wasn't much in the small room. Besides her bed, nightstand, and closet, only an oak chest remained. A direct result of her not spending much time there those last few years…

Opening the chest wouldn't do any good—her hope chest, she'd always called it. An antique from her grandmother she had filled with treasures to bring into her marriage when that time came around. Not much was left in it now; she'd taken it all with her. Trinkets, books, puzzles, anything that would brighten up the dreary hospital room.

Lightning could almost hear tiny footsteps pattering across the hall. He saw a much younger version of himself climbing into her bed, snuggling up against her welcoming arms as he made a vain attempt to hide from the thunder outside.

Blinking, he shut the door. He would… leave that room alone for now. Before he could venture into his own room, Doc's voice rang out from somewhere in the living room.

"Is this it, kid?"

Heart skipping a beat, Lightning forced himself not to run. The house wasn't large; he would get there eventually.

And then, there it was: a large box stuffed to the brim with miscellaneous. Everything from clothes to books to an overflowing envelope of cards and letters.

Mom had a lot of friends, so the hospital room was always full of cards and flowers.

Doc was already kneeling beside the box, both silently beckoning Lightning to join him and making it clear that Lightning could take his time.

You can do this. It's just stuff. You're okay.

But it wasn't just stuff, he realized with a pang, kneeling down on the opposite side of the box. It was her legacy.

"Yeah," Lightning choked out. The silence was getting to be too heavy and he felt he had to say something. "Yeah, this is it…"

"Would you like to go through it?"

He nodded, throat suddenly dry, hands frozen at his sides.

Move.

Move, idiot.

Yet, he couldn't. Something was stopping him.

The last time he'd seen all this stuff, he had kissed her cheek, given her a hug, and told her about his next trip with Mack. He'd been on his way to whatever track Harv had arranged for him to train on that week.

She had been so excited for him.

He'd never forget the way her eyes had teared up when she'd told him how proud she was…

A rustling startled Lightning out of the memory and he tuned in just in time to watch Doc ease the top off the box.

He knew. Somehow, Doc always knew.

Knew when Lightning needed a push or a little extra help. Knew when he just needed someone.

Not for the first time, Lightning was beyond grateful not to have walked through that front door alone.

"It looks like she loved to read," Doc said, a gentle smile gracing his face as he picked up a book off the top.

"And write," Lightning added, forcing his hands to move at last; to sift through the memories.

Doc nodded. "I remember you telling me that."

Months ago.

A warmth nipped at the edge of the cold block in Lightning's chest.

Doc remembered that from months ago. November… Back when everything had gone down with Harv.

"I think…" He swallowed, willing his voice to remain steady. "I think her rough drafts are in here somewhere…"

Over the course of the next twenty minutes, they found all her favorite books, two rough drafts, a notebook of poems, a few DVDs (Lightning caught Doc's grin when he saw one of them was a National Geographic), a crocheted blanket, and half a dozen little nicknacks.

"She read this one to me, like, five times. She always did the best character voices."

"I should get these to an editor, maybe get them published sometime…"

"I'm definitely saving this one for later. It's a six-documentary collection pack. I think you'd like them."

"I think this was her mom's. She couldn't get past crocheting in a straight line, but she still enjoyed doing it."

"Oh! I remember when she won this Kewpie doll at some weird old carnival that came through town, like, ten years ago."

It was only when Lightning discovered something he didn't recognize that he paused.

A small, leatherbound journal, so unassuming and worn from frequent use. Curiosity drove his hands forward as unwanted emotions clawed at his heart.

The second he flipped to the first page, he slammed it shut, heart thudding.

Doc furrowed his brows and Lightning could feel his chest seize. "What is it?"

"It's…" He swallowed, throat shrinking to a dangerously small size. "It's… They're letters."

"To who?"

"Me."

Lightning wondered if swallowing one's heart was at all possible because he felt like one wrong move would get his own lodged in his throat.

He couldn't read these.

Can'tcan'tcan't—

Not now. Not here.

Not in the house that had lost its soul the moment she—

Not in this hollow shell of what used to be…

Doc must have picked up on Lightning's apprehension because he began gathering the books. "Come on, let's start taking some of this stuff to the car."

Lightning gave a slow nod, fingers still tightly wrapped around the journal.

How many letters were in there? What else did she write? Why hadn't he seen this before? Had she hid it from him? Had she been saving it for him? For if she—

Sucking in the breath his lungs craved, he grabbed a few more things and followed Doc outside. He tucked the journal under a pile of books and purposed himself to forget about it.

He'd think about it later. It was too much for right now.

Had she known? Had she felt that she wouldn't make it, so she wrote to him to—?

Later, remember?

Right.

Later…

They tackled the kitchen next and Lightning made a point to avoid looking at the table.

"Hey, Doc, want a new set of china?" He opened the cupboard to reveal an antique set of plates and bowls in delicately painted floral white.

"At the rate you store leftover plates in your room," Doc said with a wry grin, "we could always use more glassware."

"I brought all those down to the dishwasher before we left this weekend. I always do."

Doc just cocked a brow. "The bowl under the bed?"

"Oh… Yeah, my bad. I'll get that when we get home. How'd you even see it?"

"It's not very well hidden."

"It wasn't trying to be," Lightning shot back, but he couldn't keep a smile of his own off his face as he started unloading the china set.

When Doc eventually asked, no, he didn't want to keep any of the larger furniture pieces. Not only would they be a pain to transport, but they didn't really have room for them back home.

It was funny, the more he thought about it. Lightning never expected he'd come to call another house home.

Because home isn't a house, it's where your family is.

"Wait! There is one piece of furniture I want…"

Then, he whipped out his phone.

Lightning: Hey, Sal, do you have a hope chest?

Sally3: No, why?

Lightning: Do you ever know what one is?

Sally3: Of course, I do, Stickers. XD

Lightning: Oh, good. Cuz I didn't know about them for, like, a long time.

Sally3: It's kind of a girl thing.

Lightning: Right lol. So. Do you want one?

She knew where he was, what he was doing. He'd texted her when they had arrived in Jacksonville, which made her reply that much more sweet and sincere.

Sally3: I would love one, Lightning. Thank you!3

There. He pocketed the device with a smile, the warmth chipping away a little bit more at that ice block in his chest.

"Don't you want to take a quick look in your room, rookie?" Doc asked when Lightning started toward the front door with an air of finality.

"Nah." He waved a hand. "I replaced most of it a while ago and I've lived this long without it all, so…"

Doc shrugged. "Maybe there's still a few things you'd like from there. Thing you forgot about."

"That was old Lightning's stuff." But he could feel himself caving. "Old me liked stupid things that I'd probably never—Hold on a sec…" He couldn't believe he'd forgotten about it. "Wait, Doc, you've got to see this!"

Brushing past his mentor, Lightning ripped open the door and made a beeline for the book shelf. The thick volume was right where he knew it would be.

Right where he'd left it…

Doc let out a low whistle. "I think the number of books in here rivals your DVD collection back home."

"See? I read." Or, I used to. Most of them were car manuals or racing guides.

But this one…

Lightning thumbed through it, scanning for the right page.

"Here! Look!" At his beckoning, Doc glanced down. "See? You're famous."

"I know I'm famous, kid. What I don't know is why my old pictures are cluttering the pages of this book."

Lightning let out a chuckle before reading a section of the mini biography. "See? 'The Fabulous Hudson Hornet holds the Piston Cup record for most wins in a single season. This famous driver from the east coast made history when he won the Piston Cup three consecutive years in a row at the dawn of what has now become a major sport.'"

One glance at Doc revealed his furrowed brows, but Lightning couldn't stop smiling. He remembered devouring page after page of this book, studying each and every racing legend as he dreamed about adding his own biography to it someday.

"What's this called, anyway?" Doc tilted the cover until he could make out the title. "'Legendary Drivers: The Men and Women who Formed the Piston Cup Series.' Huh. Don't know why I'm in there…"

"Are you kidding? You're practically one of the pioneers of the sport!"

Doc hummed at this, looking entirely unconvinced. "Well, it explains how you knew who I was and all those statistics about me that first week."

"Yeah, I'm definitely taking this one home. You could say you're the one who inspired me to start racing."

Another raised brow. "Really?"

Lightning smirked. "You… and everyone else in this book."

"Right." But Doc was chuckling. "Do you want any of the others?"

"Yeah, I guess it'd probably be a good idea to take them…"

Packing up the rest of the books took longer than Lightning had wanted.

He was ready to leave. To get out of there before the memories came flooding back. Before he stumbled upon any more unexpected treasures that were bound to rip his heart out all over again.

"What do you think you'll do with it?" Doc asked as Lightning finished locking up.

He shrugged. "I don't know yet. I think I'll just leave it for a while. It's all paid off, so… Yeah. Maybe I'll figure out something, but not right now."

"That's fine, son." Doc's hand was warm and comforting on his shoulder. "I'm proud of you for getting this far."

Blinking back the distant pain pressing at the backs of his eyes, Lightning nodded. "Thanks, Doc. And thanks for coming with me."

"Of course." Doc smiled. "Anytime."

They discovered shortly before departing that the neighbors had been taking care of the landscape upkeep, having been close friends of Lightning's mom.

Upon hearing this, the ball of warmth grew bigger, almost replacing the ice block completely.

Almost…

It was days later that Lightning worked up the nerve to open the journal.

The first letter was dated about halfway through her stay at the hospital. The last one was written only a few days before Lightning got the call.

Reading them was like hearing her voice speaking right to him. The words and phrases were so her that Lightning caught himself glancing up once or twice to make sure he was still alone on the living room couch.

He didn't notice the tears cutting trails down his cheeks until Doc came home from the clinic and sat down next to him.

"She knew," Lightning said, throat clogged with emotion as he leaned into the arm Doc slipped around his shoulders. "She… She knew she was going to… to… Anyway," he moved on, swiping at his eyes, "she said she wrote me all these letters so I could read them when… when she was gone and so… so she would still have something new to say to me when I was alone."

"Did you read them all?" Doc asked after a few minutes.

Lightning shook his head. "I skimmed through all of them, but only read the first few. She said… Well, she told me in the first one that I should read a letter each day, to stretch them out for a while."

"She sounded like a very wise woman."

"She was." In spite of the unwelcome tears, Lightning felt a smile stretch his lips. "I wish I could tell her that I'm not alone anymore."

"She knew you well, son. I think she knew you wouldn't be alone for long."

A nod was the best Lightning could give and he felt Doc's hold tighten.

"I've been reading through that Legends book of yours," Doc began and Lightning was grateful for the topic change. "Whoever wrote that knows more about me than I know about myself."

Lightning laughed. "That's called research, Doc. The author probably went straight to the sources to get that information."

"What sources?"

He shrugged, wiping the last of the tears from his eyes. "I don't know. Maybe there's someone out there from your old racing days who spilled all the tiny details. Who knows?"

The brief look in his mentor's eyes spoke of a story that Lightning was dying to ask about, but the flash was gone before he could bring it up.

"Maybe…" was all Doc said. "I feel like they should've asked permission for the photos, though."

"Well, they didn't exactly know where to find you."

"Still, it's the principle of the thing. I should probably sue."

Lightning laughed. "Doc! Come on, those pictures are most likely in the public domain now because you have to be, what, at least seventy years old?"

"Well, thanks for that, kid." Doc's tone was dry, but his eyes were smiling. "I'll have you know that a thing can only go into the public domain seventy years after someone dies. So, I definitely think I should sue for these. Who's the author again?"

"Aw, come on, Doc." Lightning's laugh faltered when Doc got up and wandered into the kitchen. "Wait, you're not actually gonna… Doc, don't tell me you're actually going to sue them, are you? Doc? Doc!"

Doc didn't believe in fooling himself. Not anymore, at least. He was getting on in years, sure, and while he had no intention of pushing daisies any time soon, it didn't hurt to be prepared.

One each day…

It was a good idea. Hopefully, when the time came, Lightning wouldn't mind that he'd stolen it.

He didn't think the kid would.

Doc didn't have many old notebooks, never having been much of a writer, so that old, faded leather-bound would have to do. When the time came, the kid would just have to excuse his notes from ages past. The ones that ranged from medical to auto to the last grocery list he'd made years ago before forgetting about the book's existence.

Something told him Lightning would love the book all the better for these added bits of memory.

Flicking on his bedside lamp, Doc settled against the pillows, pen in hand.

Dear Lightning,

I hope you don't mind me taking a page out of your Mom's book, but I have a feeling you'll appreciate something like this when the time comes around. By the time you get this little journal, I plan to have taught you everything I know. In case we don't get that far, however, here are a few lessons I learned from my own crew chief back in the fifties. Things sure were different then, but the heart of the sport was still the same…

Doc paused. Going through that house with Lightning had stirred up some of his own long-buried memories. What happened to all his old stuff? All those things he'd left behind when he tore out of town and never looked back.

Had people thought he was dead? Had Smokey left everything frozen in time like Lightning had?

He shook his head. That was a rabbit trail he didn't need to go down again.

It was time to put his thoughts to better use.

So, Doc continued writing. After his first letter to Lightning—'future Lightning,' the kid would say—there was another letter he needed to pen.

Smokey, he thought with a smirk, does author name John Carlton mean anything to you…?