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“Okay.” She steps onto the running board and climbs into the driver’s seat.
I close the door and jog to the other side. Emily’s watching us from the bleachers now. I raise my hand, quickly waving, then climb into the passenger seat.
“All right.” I clap my hands together, the sound echoing in the confined cab. Libby jumps and sits ramrod straight, her hands hovering over the steering wheel.
“How’s the seat?” I ask.
“Um…” She stretches out her legs, showing me she can’t reach the pedals from the current position.
“All right, let’s adjust it.” I guide her through finding the right buttons and moving everything until she’s comfortable.
“This is good.” She curls her hands around the steering wheel and stares straight ahead.
“Now, let’s do your mirrors. We go through how to them until she can see everything. I give her a brief overview of the other controls. It’s a perfectly clear day, so no need to use the wipers, but I still point them out.
“There’s more to keep track of than I realized,” she mumbles.
“Be thankful things are simpler than when I learned. My mom taught me on a stick.” I smile at the memory, then it’s chased away with regret and bitterness. Teaching me to drive had been one of the last things we did together before she died.
Libby gives me a blank look.
Christ, I’m old.
“You had to engage the clutch, work the brake, and shift at the same time,” I explain.
“Oh, yeah, I think I’ve seen that in old movies.” Libby nods knowingly.
I chuckle.
“Your mom taught you to drive? Not your dad?” Libby asks.
“I didn’t know my dad, so yeah. She was great at everything.” I wince at the ache weighing down my voice. I want today to be fun, not bum Libby out with my sad history.
“That’s cool.” Libby’s eyes widen and she darts a nervous side-eye at me. “Is…is she still around?”
“No. I lost her when I was about your age.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” She hesitates, frowning slightly. “So, you’re an orphan too. Like we are.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” I lean forward, peering through the windshield at where my brothers are now standing around their vehicles. “Club’s my family.”
“Does that count?” she asks.
“Heck yeah. To some of us, it counts more than blood family. You don’t get to choose who’s related to you by blood. Luck of the draw—or not. But it takes true loyalty and commitment to be part of a chosen family.”
One corner of her mouth curls up. “That’s deep, Dex.”
“I’ll stitch it onto a pillow for you.” I slap my palm against the dashboard. “Are we doing this today?”
She twists the keys in her fingers and stares at the track ahead of us. “Are you sure? What if I crash us into a tree or something?”
“We’ll hit the fence before we hit any trees.” I point toward the grassy area surrounding the track and the chain-link fence surrounding it. Beyond that, there’s a stretch of overgrown weeds and then finally a line of trees.
“Oh, I feel sooo much better now.” She heaves out a dramatic sigh. “Thanks.”
“Do you know your right from your left?” I ask.
“Duh.” She waves her left hand at me. “I got lucky that I broke my left arm, since I’m right-handed, remember?”
“How could I forget, smart-ass.” I side-eye her and catch her silently laughing. “Brake on the left, gas on the right. Don’t mix them up.”
Her brow furrows again. “Caroline said her mom has an electric car with one-pedal drive so you don’t have to do any of that.”
“Well, good for her.” I tap the dashboard again. “You’re learning on a good, old-fashioned hunk of American-made gas-guzzler.”
“I feel so patriotic,” she sasses. “And you know electric cars are made here too.”
This kid. I bite my lip to stop myself from laughing. “Yes, I’m aware. My president’s wife has been looking at one.”
“Really?” She squints and tilts her head. “You know they make electric Harleys too, right?” The eagerness in her voice says she expects me to run out and buy one right now.
I groan at the thought of riding one of those blenders on wheels for more than a short commute. “So I hear.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. The technology is impressive, actually. But they’re not meant for long-distance riding.”
“You know,” she singsongs, “one day your beloved fossil-fuel-guzzling steel horse will probably end up in a museum.”
Harsh laughter bursts out of me. This kid has such a colorful way of viewing the world. “You’re probably right. You can mummify me and stick me right on top of it.”
Her nose scrunches. “Ewww.”
While I don’t mind the back and forth, she seems to be slowing down the lesson on purpose. “Why are you stalling, Libby?” I shouldn’t push her if she’s too nervous to drive today. In a gentler tone, I offer, “We can do this another time if you want. It doesn’t have to be today.”
