She’d been a volunteer at the zoo for four years running. She’d even kept a pet alive, going on two years now. Yes, Mary, Queen of Scots, was perhaps the most independent feline ever to roam the earth, but she still counted. All of the above showed commitment and responsibility, did it not?
Maybe she wasn’t married with three kids and a mortgage, but she was a capable adult. She simply needed to prove it to her parents once and for all—and this was just the opportunity she’d been looking for.
“Mom . . .” Allie cut into the ongoing whisperfest. “I can do this. I’ll take excellent care of Gramps’s car, I promise. You don’t want him having a heatstroke before his fiftieth anniversary, do you? Gram would never forgive us after she bought all those balloons.” Her grandmother had recently rambled for ten minutes about the perils of wrangling three dozen Mylar balloons into a Subaru.
“She says she can do it.” Her mom’s muffled whisper sounded over the phone.
“Well, your dad is raring to go on that deck.” Allie picked a long blonde hair from the flower arrangement as she strained to hear her dad’s voice. Blah, blah, blah, something about Sherwin-Williams. “. . . in the nineties tomorrow.”
That wasn’t a no. “Mom, let me do this. For Gram and Gramps, okay? I’ll pick up the car as soon as it’s finished, and I’ll take my time coming. I’ll be pulling the car safely into their driveway before you know it.”
Allie envisioned the moment. The older couple would spill out onto the porch, eyes wide, mouths gaping at the sight of their beloved old car, their precious granddaughter in the driver’s seat.
“My old girl!” Gramps would say. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
“Just look at her!” Gram would beam. “And Allie, you drove it all this way. Aren’t you something! You’ve always been our favorite—don’t tell Olivia.”
The image faded at her mom’s sounds of distress, a sort of wheezing noise. Allie had first heard it at the age of seven when she’d made a beautiful mural on the living room wall with permanent markers.
Her mother was coming around though. “I’ve got it all under control, Mom. Trust me.”
Allie could do this. She could deliver the car safely from Georgia to Pennsylvania, and then her parents would know they could trust her. No more reminder calls. No more pathetic assignment (napkins) when she offered to bring something to holiday meals. No more being rejected as a child care option for her beloved nieces and nephew, even when it meant canceling a second honeymoon. No more Olivia this, Olivia that. Allie would prove once and for all that she was a responsible adult, worthy of their time and trust.
“Well . . .” Her mother wheezed once more. “I suppose it . . . might be okay . . . ?”
“Wonderful!” Allie blurted before Mom could change her mind. “I’ll cancel my flights and pick up the Chevy tomorrow morning. You two had best get on the road before Gramps ruins his new knee.”
Chapter 2
There she was. The grand old ’57 Chevy sat outside the big red barn of Collins Auto Repair and Restoration in Copper Creek. Allie was used to seeing the car dilapidated, overgrown by weeds and grass, and surrounded by piles of cement blocks no one ever got around to using.
But this . . . The antique car gleamed in the early afternoon sunlight. It sported a fresh coat of cherry-red paint on the body, and the top was crisp white, as were the wingy things on the back.
At the sight of the pristine vehicle, beads of sweat formed on the back of Allie’s neck. Maybe it was just her long, thick hair and the hot summer sun. She wiped her damp palms down the sides of her shorts. No, definitely nerves. She had to drive that car through the mountains and deliver it safely 650 miles away.
She could do this. She’d had a driver’s license for nine years, and she’d only had one accident. Two if you counted the fender bender at the Piggly Wiggly. And, okay, three if you counted the time she’d run over a parking bumper. (Note to self: Avoid parking lots.)
“Hey, Allie.” Brady Collins emerged from the barn’s shadow, wiping his hands on a dirty rag, a ball cap shading his face. Though they’d both attended the same high school, he’d graduated by the time she’d entered her freshman year. Several years back he’d married Hope Daniels, and together they were raising the boy from his first marriage.
“Hi, Brady.” She exited her Fiat. “Wow, she looks amazing. My grandparents will be so happy.”
“Can’t take credit for the exterior, but the interior’s a thing of beauty. I think your parents will be happy with the upgrades. I used a small-block V-8 265 and two 283s, a 2-barrel and a 4-barrel carburetor. I also upgraded to a 4-speed as your dad asked.”
“Um . . . I have no idea what you just said.”
Brady chuckled. “It’s all on the receipt. She’ll be running even better than she did originally.”
Allie looked over the receipt (basically a foreign language), then signed it and handed it back with the check she’d picked up from her parents’ house.
“Thanks. She’s all yours.” Brady handed her the keys. “I’m heading in the house for lunch if you want to join us. Hope made her chicken Waldorf salad—it’s not to be missed.”
“That’s tempting, but I’m getting a late start, and I need to get on the road. My parents expect me to crawl at approximately eighteen miles per hour; I might arrive by next Wednesday.”
Brady flashed a grin. “Enjoy yourself. And it wouldn’t hurt to take it easy on those corners. They’re summer tires, not a lot of grip.”
“Will do. Thanks for the warning. And you’re sure it’s okay to leave my car here for a few days?”
“What’s one more?”
He waved goodbye and headed into the house while Allie transferred her suitcase, pillow, anniversary gift, and contribution to the party—napkins, of course—into the Chevy’s white leather back seat. She hadn’t lied about the late start. At this point she’d be lucky to get there before eleven tonight.
The driver’s door opened with nary a squeak, and Allie fairly glided onto the polished seat. The car smelled of new leather and carpet. Her grandparents would be so surprised. This was the car in which Gramps had picked up Gram for their first date. They’d shared their first kiss on this very seat. She couldn’t wait to pull into their drive and see the looks on their faces—if only they could stay awake long enough to see it.
Allie dropped her purse onto the passenger seat and set her latte in the center cup holder. That’s when she saw it—the chrome stick-thingy poking up in the middle.
What?
Her gaze flew to the floor, looking for the brake and gas pedal—both present and accounted for. Along with another pedal—a clutch.
Allie’s breath caught in her lungs. A stick shift?
Of course it was a stick shift. She pressed a palm to her forehead. Her father had taught Olivia to drive a manual, but by the time Allie turned sixteen, he was working long hours and didn’t have time. Mom taught her to drive in the Odyssey.
Her phone conversation with her mom came back to her. That’s what she’d meant when she questioned Allie’s ability to drive the car.