“You think I’m going to let you drive this car?” he asked, his face telling me he knew exactly what I was up to.
“I’m agreatdriver,” I said defensively.
“First of all, I highly doubt that,” he said. “You strike me as somebody very capable but also too much of a control freak for their own good.”
“Explain yourself,” I said, even though it actually sounded right on track.
“It means I think you’re probably a very effective driver, but I imagine you also can get bogged down with road rage and hypercompetitiveness.”
“Okay, but that’s everyone,” I said, which made him laugh.
“I guess I’m just going to have to make sure you drink so much that I have to drive home,” I replied.
“Nice try, but I travel tomorrow afternoon so I will not be overconsuming. Your plan’s not going to work today, Distefano.”
“Then I’ll get you next time,” I countered.
Connor merged onto the 169, but we were only in the car for five minutes before I got a phone call from Matty.
“Man, I don’t even want to answer it,” I said with a sigh.
“Why, who is it?” Connor asked.
“One of my brothers, so I’m sure he’s calling to give me shit about something or annoy me in a general sense.”
“Sounds like my sister,” Connor said with a laugh. He glanced at me. “Totally fine if you do take it, though.”
I hit the green button. “I’m kind of in the middle of something right now, Matt—”
“Where are you?” he asked. “Have you left for Oktoberfest yet?”
“Yeah, we’re in the car. What’s up? I’m not bringing back any beer for you, by the way, because you still owe me for—”
“It’s Dad,” Matty interrupted.
“What?” I asked, terrified in an instant. “What about Dad?”
“He was having trouble breathing at work so they called an ambulance,” he said. “I’m on my way to meet them at the hospital.”
“Oh my God,” I said, my stomach plunging as I pictured my dad struggling for air. “Did they give him his inhaler or a breathing treatment? Did they call the pulmonologist? Have you talked to him?”
“Are you going to let me answer any of those questions?” he snapped.
“Matty—”
“He took his inhaler but he was still struggling. Yes, I talkedto him and he told me he was okay, but I could hear his labored breathing. And yes, I called the pulmonologist and he’s on his way to the hospital.”
“Which hospital?” Connor asked me, already taking an exit that would lead us back into the city.
“Which hospital, Matty?”
“United,” he said.
“We’re on our way,” Connor said, loud enough for Matty to hear. “We’ll be there in ten minutes.”
23
Connor