Mr. Pittman reviewed the checklist line by line, asking me to read the entries so we could confirm nothing important had been skipped. I read more slowly than usual. My mouth had gone dry, and the pencil in my hand left a small gray streak across the page. Then he nodded, looked at the others, and told me we were ready for the controlled attempt.
I climbed into the seat only when he said I could. The black covering had been repaired, though a crack still ran along one side, and the steering wheel felt enormous beneath my fingers. I had sat there before, pretending to drive while the engine was apart, but this time the dashboard lights and the faint electrical hum made the seat feel different. I looked toward Grandma. Her face had become very still.
Mr. Pittman checked that I understood the agreed procedure and reminded me he was in charge if anything unexpected happened. I nodded. For a moment I couldn't make my hand move toward the key. I thought of the auction, the tin can, the first long list of unknowns, and the winter nights when Grandma counted bills in the kitchen. I thought of Grandpa leaning over that service manual, pointing at the drawing of an engine sleeve with his thick square fingernail.
The starter turned the engine. It sounded heavy and unfamiliar, and then it stopped without the engine firing.
Nobody cheered. Nobody groaned. Mr. Pittman listened, checked the situation, and announced a pause. I took my hand away from the key and tried to keep the disappointment off my face. Grandma stepped closer to the doorway but did not speak.
The first attempt had not worked. We had known that might happen, but knowing it in advance did not make it easy. Mr. Pittman said the engine had turned normally, which was useful information. He wanted to review the relevant systems before trying again. I climbed down and handed him the checklist, my throat so tight I could barely swallow.
"Did I do something wrong?" I asked.
"You followed the plan," he said. "A failed first start isn't evidence of a failed restoration. We learn what happened before we decide anything else."
The adults assessed the fuel delivery and related components, using the service information and the work already documented. They found an issue left over from the first setup that needed correcting. It wasn't the disastrous internal failure I'd imagined in the seconds after the engine went quiet. Mr. Pittman explained what the finding meant, and I recorded it carefully even though the writing looked crooked. We waited until every person responsible was satisfied that another attempt was appropriate.
The second time, the engine caught for a moment and then stopped. I felt the brief vibration through the seat, a ghost of the power that had been missing for twenty years. My heart leaped so hard it almost hurt. Mr. Pittman raised a hand to tell me not to do anything else until the team completed another check.