James was three years gone and Molly was three years older, and still her heart ached and nothing could soothe it.
The Vincent Black Lightning was a splendid machine but a terrible excuse for a widow’s pension. What use was it without James in front of her, his back flexing and his long hair in her face as she held onto his hips and swung with him around the corners?
Sometimes she thought of selling it, but she couldn't trust anyone to treat it right. So she rode it, weeping into the wind, because James would have wanted her to.