Breathing Lessons (1989 Pulitzer Prize) - Anne Tyler [58]
"No stops, no detours," Ira said. "If they take any break at all, it's for lunch in some classy old inn. Someplace they researched ahead of time, where they even made reservations." He was starving, come to think of it. He hadn't eaten a thing at Serena's.
"It was right about here," Maggie said, perking up. "I recognize those silos. It was just before those mesh-looking silos. There he is." Yes, there he was, not sitting in his car after all but walking around it in a wavery circle-a stoop-shouldered man the color of a rolltop desk, wearing one of those elderly suits that seem longer in front than in back. He was studying the tires of the Chevy, which might have been abandoned years ago; it had a settled, resigned appearance. Ira signaled and make a U-turn, arriving neatly behind so the two cars' bumpers almost touched. He opened the door and stepped out. "Can we help?" he called.
Maggie got out too but seemed willing for once to let Ira do the talking.
"It's my wheel," the old man said. "Lady back up the road a ways pointed out my wheel was falling off." "That was us," Ira told him. "Or my wife, at least. But you know, I believe she might have been wrong. That wheel seems fine to me." The old man looked at him directly now. He had a skull-like, deeply lined face, and the whites of his eyes were so yellow they were almost brown. "Oh, well, surely, seems fine," he said. "When the car is setting stark still like it is." "But I mean even before," Ira told him. "Back when you were still on the road." The old man appeared unconvinced. He prodded the tire with the toe of his shoe. "Anyhow," he said. "Mighty nice of you folks to stop." Maggie said, "Nice! It's the least we could do." She stepped forward. "I'm Maggie Moran," she said. "This is my husband, Ira." "My name's Mr. Daniel Otis," the old man said, touching the brim of his hat.
"Mr. Otis, see, I had this sort of, like, mirage as we were driving past your car," Maggie said. "I thought I noticed your wheel wobbling. But then the very next instant I said, 'No, I believe I imagined it.' Didn't I, Ira? Just ask Ira. 'I believe I made that driver stop for no good reason,' I told him." "They's all kindly explanations why you might have seen it wobble," Mr. Otis said.
"Why, certainly!" Maggie cried. "Heat waves, maybe, rippling above the pavement. Or maybe, I don't know-" "Might have been a sign, too," Mr. Otis said.
"Sign?" "Might have been the-Lord was trying to warn me." "Warn you about what?" "Warn me my left front wheel was fixing to drop off." Maggie said, "Well, but-" "Mr. Otis," Ira said. "I think it's more likely my wife just made a mistake." "Now, you can't know that." "An understandable mistake," Ira said, "but all the same, a mistake. So what we ought to do is, you get into your car and drive it just a^few yards down the shoulder. Maggie and I will watch. If your wheel's not loose, you're free and clear. If it is, we'll take you to a service station." "Oh, why, I appreciate that," Mr. Otis said. "Maybe Buford, if it ain't too much trouble." "Pardon?" "Buford Texaco. It's up ahead a piece; my nephew works there." "Sure, anywhere," Ira said, "but I'm willing to bet-" "In fact, if it ain't too much trouble you might just go on and carry me there right now," Mr. Otis said.
"Now?" "I don't relish driving a car with a wheel about to drop off." "Mr. Otis," Ira said. "We'll test the wheel. That's what IVe been telling you." "I'll test it," Maggie said.
"Yes, Maggie will test it. Maggie? Honey, maybe I should be the one." "Shoot, yes; it's way too risky for a lady," Mr. Otis told her.
Ira had been thinking of the risk to the Chevy, but he said, "Right. You and Mr. Otis watch; I'll drive." "No, sir, I can't allow you to do that," Mr. Otis said. "I appreciate it, but I can't allow it. Too much danger. You folks just carry me to the Texaco, please, and my nephew will come fetch the car