"The next morning, we got up and there was Martin's car in the driveway with a ribbon tied around the hood ornament. He'd come in silently in the middle of the night and left it. There was a note on the seat that said congratulations and that he used Pennzoil in it. The registration was signed over to Patrick. I mean, we didn't even have a car. The next week, away we went, rocking down the coast to a new life." "Nice, that was nice," Cree said. "Patrick was fanatic about the car. He changed the oil about once a month. Jesus. It was a great old car though; we used it all through graduate school. It was still running when we came out to the west coast. Patrick's father loved it. We left it with him." There was a second burst of shrill cries; arms held high moved in the other direction. Mustangs even, 1-1. "See," Cree said. "Are you in touch with Martin?" "We talk on the phone every once in a while. He still lives in Woodstock; he's got a recording business. We try to visit every couple of years, but you know how it is. Time keeps flying by." "Scary," Cree said. "Remember that guy, Wendell? He was a hunk." "He was." "Did he ever show up again?" "Not while I was there," Cree said. "He nearly killed Sam; he had to disappear. He just did get away." "Was it the FBI or the CIA that Sam was working for?" "Not sure." "The bad old, good old days," Willow said. "Remember Parker?" "Yeah, Patrick's boss." "He took off. Left Hildy and the kids for another woman. Sooner or later, just about everyone split up. What's your secret?" "The dotted line painted down the middle of the house," Willow said. "Patrick needs a visa to enter the kitchen." The Mustangs were pushed into their end of the field. A fine drizzle began to fall. The two watched, cheeks glowing, as their sons fought back. "We were talking about Woodstock last night, actually," Willow said. "Patrick's landlady left him a treasure chest when she died. She didn't really leave it to him; she didn't want her family to get it. Patrick says it was her last wish. We've kept it with us ever since. He won't open it." "Isn't it driving you crazy?" "I'm dying to know what's in it. He won't open it, though. He says it's ours to respect and to keep private. He says he knows what's in it anyway." "What?" "True love." Cree's eyes went back to the struggle on the field. "Hang on to it, Baby," she said.