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In the back seat, Fiona gave a small sigh.

"Look," Ira told Maggie. "You go stand beside the mailbox. Let me know when I come close. All I have to do is swing into the yard a few feet, take a sharp right back.onto the driveway-" "I'm not going to be responsible for that! You'll hit the mailbox and blame me." "Maybe we should just ask Mom to move the Maverick," Fiona suggested.

Maggie said, "Oh, well," and Ira said, "No, I'm sure we can make it." Neither one of them wanted Mrs. Stuckey marching out all put-upon.

"All right, then you get behind the wheel," Ira told Maggie, "and I'll direct you." "Then I'll be the one to hit the mailbox, and I'll still get blamed." ' 'Maggie. There's a good ten feet between the mailbox and the Maverick. So once you're past the Maverick you just nip back onto the driveway and you're free and clear. I'll tell you when." Maggie thought that over. She said, "Promise you~ won't yell if I hit the mailbox?" "You won't hit the mailbox." "Promise, Ira." "Lord above! Fine, I promise." "And you won't look up at the heavens, or make that hissing noise through your teeth-" "Maybe I should just go get Mom," Fiona said.

"No, no, this is a cinch," Ira told her. "Any imbecile could handle it; believe me." Maggie didn't like the sound of that.

Ira climbed out of the car and went to stand by the mailbox. Maggie slid over on the seat. She gripped the steering wheel with both hands and checked the rearview mirror. It was angled wrong, set for Ira's height instead of hers, and she reached up to adjust it. The top of Leroy's head flashed toward her, gleaming dully like the back of a watch case, followed by Ira's lean figure with his elbows cocked and his hands jammed into his rear pockets. The mailbox was a little Quonset hut beside him.

The driver's seat had been set for Ira also, way too far back, but Maggie figured it wouldn't matter for such a short distance. She shifted into reverse. Ira called, "Okay, bring her hard to your left ..." How come he always referred to difficult tasks as feminine? This car was not a she until it had to perform some complicated maneuver. It was the same for stubborn screws and tight jar lids, and for bulky pieces of furniture as they were being moved.

She swung onto the packed dirt yard and around the Maverick, proceeding perhaps a bit too fast but still in control. Then she reached with her foot for the brake. There wasn't one. Or there was, but it was positioned wrong, closer than she had expected considering that the seat was moved back. Her foot hit the shaft instead of the pedal and the car raced on unimpeded. Ira shouted, "What the-?" Maggie, with her gaze still fixed on the rearview mirror, saw the blur as she drove for cover. Whap\ the mailbox said when she hit it. Leroy said, "Golly," in an awed tone of voice.

Maggie shifted into Park and poked her head out the window. Ira was hauling himself up from the dirt. He dusted off his hands. He said, "You just had to prove you were right about that mailbox, Maggie, didn't you." "You promised, Ira!" "Left taillight is smashed all to hell," he said, bending to examine it. He prodded something. There was a clinking sound. Maggie pulled her head in and faced forward.

"He promised he wouldn't say a word," she told Fiona and Leroy. "Watch how he goes back on that." Fiona absently patted Leroy's bare knee.

"Smashed to smithereens," Ira called.

"You promised you wouldn't make a fuss!" He grunted; she saw that he was righting the mailbox. From here, it didn't even look dented. "I don't suppose we need to tell your mother about this," Maggie said to Fiona.

"She already knows," Leroy said. "She's watching from the house." It was true there was a suspicious slant to one of the Venetian blind slats. Maggie said, "Oh, this day has seemed just so ... I don't know ..." and she slid down in her seat till she was more or less sitting on her shoulder blades.

Then Ira appeared in the window. "Try your lights," he told her.

"Hmm?" "Your lights. I want to see if she works or not." There he went with that "she" again. Maggie reached