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"We'll see you soon sweety, don't forget to lock the door behind us, you have our itinerary-"
"I know, I know," a smirk and a shooing motion, "you'd think you were leaving forever instead of a few days!"
"Well, I suppose you're an old hand at this now, " a matching smirk and open arms, "Come give your Mama a hug."
An embrace, exchanged well wishes. The door closes, an engine purrs off into the distance; the only sound left is the leaves dancing along the snow.
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"- and this just in. The private jet reported missing yesterday has been found. Flight AF165 crashed in the first true blizzard of the year, an investigation has begun into the cause, but we can now report that there were no survivors among the passengers or crew-"
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"Miss, I understand that this is a stressful time, but perhaps consider waiting before making such drastic decisions."
"I hear you, but I want this done and over. Just let me move on."
"But… everything?"
"Everything. Auction it, donate it, I don't care. Hire people to take care of it. What's the point of all this money if I don't use it am I right?" Another smirk, this one contrasting with bloodshot eyes bruised from lack of sleep, "the three of us never needed all that crap and I certainly won't on my own."
"As you wish. Moving on…"
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It's been over four years since then, Clara considers as she hums along to something catchy on the small radio that came with the rental house. It was a cute place, from the window over the kitchen sink she could see her small garden. Or is it a a garden if there's only cacti and rocks?
A sharp pang shoots through her at the memory of the large apple tree at the manor, it had separated the vegetable plot from the flower garden, every summer had been filled with vibrant smells, and a riot of colours. Where she is now is about as far opposite as one could get. She's been in this town for close to eight months and is starting to feel restless once again. The only question is where to go next.
"-and now for a quick commercial break," the song ends to Clara's disappointment, "The best cars. The greatest racers. Palm City's Speedhunter's Showcase is only one month away, book your tickets, register your cars, and get ready to Start. Your. Engines.-"
Well. Guess that's a good a sign as any. It's time to see a new State anyways.
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Palm City is a bit of a misnomer. Made up of over a dozen districts it does have Palm trees in the primary downtown location on the East coast, however it also covers mountains, wetlands, and smaller towns under its umbrella. The weather is warm year round with wicked squalls blowing in out of nowhere, just to keep you on your toes. It's been a central for racing for decades, even had its own permanent race circuit back in the glory days. With the up-tic in racing festivals taking over the streets during the day time it turned into a breeding ground for illegal challenges during the night. The more the cops crack down, the more the youth rise up.
At least, that's what Clara could infer based on the recent news articles from the city.
Back when she first got wrapped up in the street racing scene she hadn't even been old enough to drive. Get enough bored, rich, kids together and they are bound to find trouble. For Clara it was an easy access point to under age drinking. Her Dad had been a collector of high end cars, her mother a mechanic he fell in love with, so she was able to keep up with the crowd instead of being one of the scantily clad girls who only came to have their picture taken on the hoods at the showcases. Well. They called them showcases. Really it was just meeting up in quiet underground parking lots to take promo shots, set the routes and place bets. Sometimes larger meet ups would turn into a party with lawn chairs, beer and talking shop about what latest mods everyone had gotten their hands on.
As time went on, Clara never got her own car in a race, since she kept her after school activities on the down low. She did have a couple different partners who would sometimes let her take a turn behind the wheel. And she was good. Hell, she'd practically been born behind the wheel so it only made sense. Cars were in her blood. Her father taught her to love the beauty in the aesthetics, her mother fostered her love for getting her hands dirty, and she fell in love on her own with the adrenaline of not only going fast, but being faster than anyone else.
When she went away for university she fell out of touch with her friend group. Trying to juggle learning business and engineering as well as figuring out what the hell she wanted to actually do with her life when she would probably never have to work a day in her life of she didn't want to. It's not like she has a sob story start, but just because she didn't have the same challenges of the average student didn't mean that she was immune to stress and exhaustion.
And now here she is; 26 years old and a drifter across the continent. No family and no home other than the back seat of her car. She had the funds, wandering in grief had turned to wandering in search of a purpose. Maybe she missed the thrill, maybe it was fate, but just the commercials were giving her the itch to floor the gas pedal and take corners just a little faster than recommended.
Packing up takes barely any time, two duffel bags contain her entire life, a couple weeks to quit her part time job at the local pottery store and give notice of her vacating the premises and she's back on the highway. It's amazing how all roads start to look the same when you've driven them enough.
It'll be close, but a four day road trip and she should arrive with just enough time to source a car to compete with and get in on the beginning of the festivities.
Yet another beginning in the never ending story that was her life.