Alice Bliss - Laura Harrington [42]
“Can we go a little faster?”
“Don’t get cocky. You’ve been driving for five minutes.”
“I’m a natural. I take after you.”
“Next time. Maybe.”
“I think I’m getting dizzy.”
“So stop in the middle and start going the other way.”
She finds the precise middle of the parking lot, comes to a full stop, puts on her blinker for good measure, and turns right.
“Who taught you to drive, Uncle Eddie?”
“Your mom.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I made my old man crazy in a car. He swore he would never go anywhere with me behind the wheel.”
“How come?”
“He thought I was a hothead.”
“Were you?”
“Sometimes.”
“A lot of times?”
“According to my old man. But as you can see, I’ve mellowed with the years.”
“What kind of a teacher was Mom?”
“Awful. Her knuckles would be white, she’d be holding her breath and grabbing at the dashboard or the door handle for support every other minute.”
“How’d you get her to keep getting into the car with you?”
“I paid her.”
“You did not!”
“I was desperate. She would even gasp and moan whenever I did something stupid.”
“But if she hated it so much—”
“She needed the money.”
“For what?”
“College.”
“So if she was such a scaredy-cat how’d you get to be such a good driver?”
“I love it. Have you noticed? People tend to be good at the things they love.”
“She’s not happy about this.”
“She’s not thinking it through.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s just the two of you taking care of things while your dad’s away. There could be an emergency where you’d need to be able to drive.”
“Like what?”
“To get help.”
“For who?”
“Say your mom gets food poisoning or appendicitis.”
“Wouldn’t I just call an ambulance?”
“Or Ellie falls.”
“Ditto.”
“Or Gram.”
“Same.”
“Or something unexpected.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know! In my book it’s just a good idea to be prepared. In case.”
“In case.”
“Plus, it’s fun.”
“Yeah.”
“And you’ll be the first one—of all your friends.”
“Except for Ashley Cooper who lives on a farm and has been driving a tractor since she was twelve.”
At which point Alice realizes that she is just cruising around the parking lot. Slower than slow, but making the turns effortlessly, like a real driver. She cranks down her window and sticks her elbow out.
“Both hands on the wheel!”
“Okay, okay.”
“Confident is good. Overconfident is not good.”
“Got it.”
Both hands on the wheel, the cool spring air coming in the window, the nose of the car moving slowly past empty fields, the utility garage, the Dumpster, the crowns of the distant weeping willows gilded by the setting sun.
“There you go, kiddo. There you go.”
Alice risks a glance at Uncle Eddie.
“Who was your first girlfriend?”
“Why?”
“Just curious.”
“Melissa Pardee. Fourth grade. I followed her around like a puppy.”
“First kiss?”
“What is this? Twenty questions?”
“First kiss?”
“Why the sudden interest in kissing?”
“Quit stalling.”
“Jessie Simons. Sixth grade. On the bus coming back from a field trip.”
Alice tries to picture eleven-year-old Uncle Eddie making his move with little Jessie Simons.
“Did she kiss you back?”
“Who knows? Probably. That was a long time ago. So what about your first kiss?”
“Are you kidding me?”
“’Fess up, Alice.”
She laughs and shakes her head.
“I guess I’m one of those late bloomers.”
“Sure you are.”
“Were you ever in love?” she asks.
“Alice, c’mon—”
“Were you?”
“Lots of times.”
“No, I mean, really in love.”
Eddie looks out the window.
“Once.”
“What happened?”
“That’s a long story.”
“How come you never got married?”
“What’s with all the questions?”
“Well . . . ?”
“I let her get away.”
“Why?”
“Couldn’t commit I guess.”
“Where is she now?”
“Married with four kids, teaching second grade about one hundred miles from here.”
“Do you ever see her?”
“No.”
“Do you ever get lonely?”
“Geez, Alice, let’s move on to brighter things. You’re driving, did you notice?”
She completes one last circuit before pulling up in the center of the parking lot. She remembers to put the car in park, engages the emergency brake, and relinquishes the wheel