For one terrible moment, the Mercedes seemed to hang motionless.
Then it began swinging toward my house.
“Everybody back!” Orson shouted.
I scrambled away from the porch railing.
The operator worked to stabilize the load, but the Mercedes had already moved too far.
A sickening crash split the afternoon.
The rear corner struck my porch railing, smashed through it, and slammed against a wooden support.
Glass shattered.
Concrete dust rose from the barrier where the car had clipped its upper edge.
Somebody screamed.
Orson controlled the remaining movement and carefully lowered the Mercedes back onto the lawn.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then I looked at my porch.
The railing was destroyed. One support post leaned at an alarming angle. Broken wood covered the steps.
Richard’s Mercedes was badly damaged, but I barely noticed.
My house had been hit.
“What have you done?” I whispered.
Richard rushed toward the barrier.
