Chapter 22

Tuesday, May 29

We had lunch at the Chili’s in the nearby shopping strip, the girls chattering endlessly about “their” new car. I looked at Mom and asked how long it would be before I was allowed to borrow her new vehicle because I was already being shoehorned out of mine.

“Just be patient with them,” she said. “If they insist on both riding with you, it’ll be in the SUV or the Buick. I guess we can trade on occasion if needed. At least I know how to drive a stick-shift.”

I don’t know why the image of Mom and Dad drag racing in convertibles flashed through my mind just then.

I asked Dad about finding a place for Kacie to practice — under proper supervision, of course — after she completed driver training.

“There’s an old airport a little ways north of us,” he said. “It’s still operational, but it doesn’t get a lot of traffic. I bet they’d let us drive up and down the runway during quiet times. I’d feel better about her testing for her license in the Buick, though. Have a little armor around her until she’s more comfortable behind the wheel.

“Going to let Morgan have a turn?”

“If her dad rides along,” I said. “I’ll let him have the first near-death experience. Maybe he’ll forbid her to drive it after that.

“I would like to practice some myself. I’m not real comfortable with the idea of taking something that small out into freeway traffic until I know how it handles. And I know Mrs. Ensberry doesn’t want me taking Morgan out into it.”

“Just be aware of your surroundings,” Dad said, “but be sure to pay attention to what’s in front of you. Those things are easy to run up under a truck if you’re not careful.”

We finished up and piled back into the minivan. I made sure I was positioned where I would not be trampled in the stampede of wild teenage girls once we reached the dealership.

I was prepared to wait. I’d heard Dad’s tales of how long it could take as the salesmen tried to hit you with the extended warranty and other add-ons that did little but increase their commissions, and it would be threefold with us. Surprisingly, all we had to do was sign the required documents and write the checks. It helped that Dave, the dealership’s general manager, oversaw the proceedings.

Mom’s X5, the only truly new car in the bunch, took the longest to process even with Dad writing a check for the full amount, which I later learned was a considerable discount after the trade-in and some arm-twisting negotiations on Dad’s part. It seemed we were doing them a favor in taking the 2-year-old E89 off their inventory. Unloading the E85 instead of going to the trouble of hunting down another E89 also saved the dealership a considerable amount. All that was required for two convertibles was TT&L and proof of insurance and we were done.

I tried to convince Morgan to ride with Mom, knowing from the start the effort was doomed to failure, but at least I could tell her parents I tried. I did get her to agree that we would take only surface streets back home. That would increase our travel time considerably, but it would keep me off the freeway.

I also persuaded her to let me take a spin around the block with Dad just to make sure I had a handle on things (we actually went about five miles, but don’t tell Morgan that). It had been nearly a year since I’d driven a standard, the last time being one of Grandpa Robinson’s pickups out at the farm. I was pretty sure the clutch on the Z4 would react a little differently than one on an old Ford pickup. Morgan would still be the first girl I gave a ride to.

Mom went on back to the club while we were doing all that, as eager to show off her new ride as she was to actually do any work.

Dad then spent 30 minutes going over all the gadgets on both Z4s. The top on his would take 20 seconds to raise or lower, but he was satisfied he knew how to work the mechanism after doing so a couple of times. The top on mine would raise or lower just as fast as my arm would work. I’d check with Jed to see which lifts I needed to focus on for the particular muscle groups involved.

Dad had me look under the hood, making sure I was aware of which fluids went where, and to compare the two vehicles just in case I ever had cause to service his. I was amazed they could fit a straight-six in such a small space. He also instructed me to look in the trunk to find the jack and donut spare, which was actually an aftermarket add-on with the Z4. I resolved to buy a full-size rim on which to mount a spare ASAP, even if it wouldn’t fit in the trunk. I’d keep it in my room if I had to.

The girls then checked the cupholders (another add-on; I never understood why a roadster would have more than two), made sure the radios were tuned to their liking and we were ready to go.

Just before we set off, Kacie noted that with a bronze paint scheme on Dad’s car and a silver one on mine that “We need a gold one.”

Go hit your own hole-in-one, Girly.

While Dad roared out of the parking lot with Kacie waving her arms in the air like it was some sort of thrill ride, I took a much more sedate approach. I didn’t let Morgan touch the stereo, instead ordering her to use the map app on her phone to navigate us home.

I did allow Morgan to talk me into two stops. She absolutely insisted that the first thing we do in the car was go to the nearest Sonic for a cherry limeade. The second stop was a nearby mall, where she dragged me to a little kiosk that sold sunglasses. She purchased a pair of aviator shades for me and designer shades for her. Since she’d started wearing contacts full time, she said, she needed new sunglasses.

I eventually delivered Morgan safely to her home. I’d barely pulled up to the curb before Mrs. Ensberry was out the door and down the walk. I came around to get the door for Morgan, scoring brownie points with her and her mother, and convinced Mrs. Ensberry to sit in the passenger seat.

“There’s a surprising amount of legroom,” she said.

“I’ll have to let Dr. Ensberry take you for a spin sometime,” I said.

“No you won’t. He can’t drive a stick.”

After some more chit-chat, I bade them good-bye and went to play with my new toy. I drove cautiously through the subdivision, pulled out onto the trunk road and crept through the afternoon traffic to the edge of town. Turning onto a two-lane country road, I finally relaxed.

I chose this road because of a long, flat, straight stretch of more than two miles and opened it up. I shifted through the gears, listening to the engine and feeling the vibrations, getting accustomed to the car’s personality. After a few passes back and forth, I let ‘er rip, hitting 80 mph in fifth gear without even getting close to redlining the tach. I resisted the urge to max it out, satisfied it would get me where I wanted to go fast enough.