She
stared at its 1950's redolent body, polished pale green and white exterior and matching pale green roof.
It was clearly the car in the Bechtle painting, the car in the book object without a key, the car that she had seen in front of her building on the first day of the semester.
Reoccurring in her memory was the moment four years ago when Mackie Alarie had cornered her in the redwood forest that surrounded a picnic area, where a birthday celebration was in progress. He should not have tried so forcefully to kiss her when she clearly said no.
And she probably should not have stepped back and used the one-two punch that her Father had taught her in the gym in the basement of the Princeton home where she grew up.