~~ • ~~
Now, we stood in front of the garage.
The doors were wide open.
Inside, Father sat in the driver's seat. A silver Avanza—not exactly new, but not quite old enough to be called an antique, either. Its paint was slightly dull, coated in a thin layer of dust.
The engine idled quietly.
The car slowly backed out of the garage.
Yuna and I stood by the door.
Yuna stayed quiet, watching the rear wheel roll
toward her.
It was very close.
Maybe just ten inches from the tip of her sandals.
Her body went stiff.
She didn't dare to move.
The car kept backing up, passing slowly in front of us.
Once it was far enough, Father turned the steering wheel and parked it in the yard.
I went straight into the garage.
The smell of iron, dust, oil, and damp wood all mixed into one.
I crouched down in front of the pile of tools.
"Car jack..."
My hand reached for the old hydraulic jack in the bottom corner.
I lifted it and set it on the floor near Yuna.
