Page 4 of Wish I Were Here
Luca swings the back door open and takes Mrs. Goodwin’s hand to help her climb in. For some reason, she’s decided to join us on our adventure. Maybe it’s better that we have a chaperone. Mrs. Goodwin’s presence will keep me from reaching over and wringing Luca’s neck for throwing off my schedule in the first place. I calculate that the odds of making it on time if I murder my driver hover somewhere around zero.
I open my own door on the front passenger side, but I can’t sit down because there are papers all over the seat and a box on the floor.
“Oops.” Luca gathers up the papers, stacks them on top of the box, and carries them around to put them in the trunkwhile I sit down. “Sorry,” he says when he slides into the seat next to me. “I would’ve cleaned up if I knew I’d be driving a lady around.”
“Excuseme, young man,” Mrs. Goodwin objects from the back seat. “What am I? Chopped liver?”
Luca grins as he flips on the turn signal and pulls the car onto Liberty Avenue. “You’re not a lady, Mrs. Goodwin. You have entirely too much fun to be a lady.”
“Ha,” she barks. “You’re probably right about that.”
For some reason, this bothers me more than it should. “Are you implying that I don’t have any fun?”
Luca’s dark eyes dart to mine before he focuses back on the road in front of us. “I don’t know you well enough to know if you have any fun.”
“So what are you saying?”
The traffic light in front of us turns from green to yellow, and Luca eases the car to a stop. He shifts his torso so he can turn to face me. “I’m saying you seem awfully concerned with following the rules.”
This again. “Maybeyoudon’t seem concerned enough,” I counter. “Rules are there for a reason. To maintain order. To keep things running smoothly and safely.”
“Okay. Sure. You’re probably right.” He nods, and I blink, surprised that he agreed with me so readily.
The light turns green, and Luca shifts his body forward, raising both hands to ten and two on the steering wheel. After a pause, he slowly lifts his foot from the brake and slides it to the gas pedal. But instead of accelerating through the intersection and down the road behind the car in front of us, the Lincoln slowly pokes along like anold man who’s feeling every bit of his age. We coast down one block and then another, matching the pace of a mother urging her toddler along on the sidewalk. I glance at the flickering green clock on the dashboard and then to Luca’s impassive face.
I thought this ride had bought me back a little of the time I lost thanks to the coffee incident, but we’re squandering it at this geriatric pace. Is there something broken in this old car? I’m pretty sure that the mom and baby have lapped us by now.
We putter down another block, and then Luca comes to a full stop at a stop sign. He looks left, right, forward, and then left again before he eases his foot back onto the gas pedal. I shift uncomfortably in my seat as anxiety begins to hum in my chest like a hive of bees. My gaze darts from the clock to Luca and back. He doesn’t seem to notice, though, because he’s staring straight ahead, his face scrunched in concentration. His shoulders rock gently back and forth, hands sliding on the steering wheel, as if he’s an actor in a play pretending to drive a car.
“Luca,” I yell, and he jumps.
“Yes?” he asks mildly.
“What are you doing?”
He gives an exaggerated wave at the road in front of us, like he’s presenting it to me in a game show. “I’m taking you to work.”
“Why are you driving like it’s Sunday afternoon and Miss Daisy is in the back seat?”
He blinks innocently, and suddenly it comes to me.
“Are we back to that lady thing again? You’re trying to make a point?”
“Certainly not. I’m simply following the traffic rules.” He cocks his head. “Rules are there for a reason. To maintain order. To keep things runningsmoothlyandsafely.” He punctuates the sentence with a series of taps on the dashboard like a preschool teacher reciting the ABCs.
I can’t believe he’s throwing my words back at me. I can’t believe I got into a car with this man. “You know what? I’m good. I can still use a rideshare.” I grip the door handle, but Luca has finally accelerated to a normal speed, and I can’t very well fling myself out of a moving vehicle. “Stop the car, please.”
“You don’t need to do that. I’ll get you there.” He flashes me a grin. “Say the word, and I’ll even speed.”
He’sstillmaking a joke of this.
I jiggle the door handle. “Stop. The. Car.”
He glances in my direction, his brow furrowed. “Wait. Are you really mad?”
“Of course I’m mad. You’re intentionally making me late.”
“You said your meeting was at nine o’clock. We left at eight twenty-five. It’s a seven-minute drive.” He waves a hand at the clock on the dashboard. “You’re still going to be at least twenty minutes early.”
