“My wife talks.A lot. She indicated you and my son have been… at odds lately.”
Of course Flora told him. I’m surprised she hasn’t taken out a billboard in the center of town.
JOSEPHINE AND ARCHER HAD A FIGHT!
I sigh deeply. “I just thought… maybe… a little space might not be the worst thing. I’m sorry. It was a stupid idea, and I definitely didn’t think it through.”
“That’s true.” Miguel nods slowly. “I mean, for starters…” He jerks his head at the car beside me. “The Bentley’s basically out of gas. You’d make it about three blocks before you ran out.”
“Oh.” Color floods my cheeks. “I didn’t know that.”
“Figured as much. That’s why I stopped you.”
“That’swhy you stopped me?”
“Well, sure. I’ve got a busy day ahead of me. I can’t be playing your knight-with-shining-gas-can, rescuing you from the roadside.” He reaches into his back pocket, pulls out a key, and tosses it my direction. Baffled beyond belief, I manage to catch it with my fingertips before it clatters to the cement floor.
“Uhh…”
“Take the Cabriolet,” Miguel says, pulling off the cover, revealing a hunter green convertible with a tan ragtop roof. “She’s got a full tank and fresh oil.”
I walk toward the Porsche. Even if you know nothing about cars, it’s spectacular — a vintage 1965 model, with a front trunk compartment and round, buggy headlights. It reminds me of something Audrey Hepburn or Elizabeth Taylor would drive around in, cruising down Hollywood Boulevard between movie sets.
Nothing else in this garage can hold a candle to it. Not the Rolls Royce with its regal glamour or the Bentley with its astronomical price point or even the brand new Tesla with it’s self-driving pizzazz.
“Miguel, I can’t take the Porsche.”
“Sure you can. It’s warm today — perfect for riding with the top down. Just do me a favor? Don’t crash it. This car costs more than most people make in a year.” He pauses. “More like two years, now that I think about it.”
I swallow hard. “No pressure.”
“JoJo.”
I look up and meet his eyes. His steady gaze reminds me so much of Archer, it makes the breath snag in my throat. “Yeah?”
“Cars are made to be driven. Not to sit idle, waiting around for someone to finally appreciate them.”
Miguel strokes his hand gently across the tan ragtop. Unlatching it with care, he folds the cloth back into place, exposing the convertible’s creamy, camel interior. The wooden steering wheel. The gear shifter, sticking out of the floor.
I whistle appreciatively, excitement sparking to life. I’ve only driven the Porsche twice before, and never beyond the gates of Cormorant House. The circular driveway provided a perfect makeshift learning course for lessons last year — first in Miguel’s beat-up truck, then with my father’s fleet.
Archer was infinitely annoyed that I mastered manual transmissions so much faster than he did. Ever since we got our licenses, he’s wanted to sneak the Porsche out for a clandestine drive up the coast. If he knew I was about to do it without him, he’d be apoplectic.
Not that I care.
“For what it’s worth,” Miguel says suddenly, drawing my attention back to him. “That same advice applies to human beings, JoJo.”
“What?”
“You can’t spend your days waiting for life to happen to you, safe in a weatherproof hangar. You have to get out on the open road. Crank the windows down. Let the wind mess up your hair. Maybe end up on a route you never saw coming.” He winks playfully. “Then again, I’m just a handyman. What do I know?”
“Miguel—”
But my words fall short; he’s already walking away. “Get going now, kiddo. You don’t want to be late for school.”
* * *
Miguel was right— it is a beautiful day. Warm and sun-drenched, the air rife with the promise of summer. I take the winding route to Exeter Academy, following the Essex Coastal Scenic Byway through salt marshes and small inlets, past pebble beaches and crystalline coves. I shift gears, letting the Porsche fly when I reach a secluded straightaway. Above all, I try not to think about Archer.