Free Drives Like a Dream by Porter Shreve

sorry about Jess." He was whispering. "She was nearly in an accident on the way over. Her nerves are frayed."
    "Is she okay?"
    "She's fine."
    "What happened?"
    "I'll tell you later," he said.
    "Davy?" She could hear the panic in her voice, hoped he wouldn't notice.
    "I'm telling you she's fine, Mom. Has someone come to tow the car?"
    "I'm having a terrible time with that."
    "Why don't you not worry about the car for now. We'll be at the reception until six at the latest. Then we can come and get you."
    "I'll be okay," Lydia said. She was feeling better already. She hadn't meant to get upset with Jessica. It wasn't her fault that her father was remarrying.
    "No, we'll pick you up. I'm so sorry this happened." Davy's phone was breaking up. "You'll have to take a cab to a coffee shop or have a glass of wine at the Earle."
    Lydia knew that the last thing she wanted to do today was return to Arm Arbor. "I'll be at the car museum in Ypsi," she decided all of a sudden. It pleased her to think that she might actually be able to salvage this day.
    "If you go anywhere else, I'll leave the cell phone on buzz." And with that, Davy hung up.
    So her kids were going to pull through, after all. Cheered by this thought, Lydia retrieved her laptop, called a cab, and got the okay from the manager at Uncle Ed's to leave her car overnight. "We'll deal with it by the beginning of the week, I promise," she told him.
    "Don't forget Marty's standing offer," the manager reminded her. "Four hundred bucks—no fuss, no muss."
    Lydia remembered how, a few weeks after Cy had taken the job with Bobby Szoradi Ford more than fifteen years ago, Cy had surprised her with the Escort. "It's about time you switched from Chevy to Ford," he'd said. "I know it's not an LTD or a Lincoln, but I got a great deal and it's a fine little car."
    Lydia had never been sentimental about the Escort. It was a lousy old tin can, as her kids were quick to remind her. But perhaps, she thought now, holding on to the car had meant more to her than she'd realized.
    "Thanks for everything," Lydia said to the manager as the cab pulled up. "I'll think about that offer."
    It was in the cab, riding to Ypsilanti, that Lydia finally admitted it to herself: Cy was never coming back. Even if he wanted to return, she realized, there would no longer be a place for him. They had given what they could to each other. And now Lydia had to focus on getting back on track. Her children were coming to pick her up, and she had a few hours to work, to lose herself in something she knew well—her research, after all.
    Her history with Cy may have already been written. But she had another story—a hundred years of the car in America—that she knew she could study and, unlike the other, neatly revise.

6
    T HE CASUAL CACTUS was a Southwestern restaurant with dream catchers, Navajo blankets, and commercial art prints of desert monuments hanging on the walls. Jessica stood just inside the reception room, cross-examining her brother about his phone call. "You were talking to Mom, weren't you? I hope you didn't promise to drive out to get her. I wouldn't be surprised if she put peanut butter in the gas tank."
    "Don't be so harsh, Jess. How is she going to get home?"
    "I don't know. It's her problem. We've been telling her to junk that car for years." A waitress walked by, offering them a platter of grilled shrimp and red pepper skewers. Jessica helped herself to one. "You probably apologized for me, didn't you? What did you tell her? That I was having a terrible time at the wedding and not to take it personally? You always make up excuses so she feels better."
    "I said it didn't help your nerves that you've been driving with the Spiveys."
    Jessica pointed the skewer at her brother. "Don't blame the Spiveys. That last trip was a model in precision tandem driving. Mom is really going for it this time. She's probably wearing her wedding dress from 1965, expecting Dad to swoop into town, take her