Page 138 of Promising You
“Really nice, but slow down a little.”
“I’m showing you what it can do.” He speeds up again once we’re past the gate.
“It goes fast. I get it. Now slow down or you’re going to get a ticket.”
“I get tickets all the time around here. The cops probably keep a stash of them already made out with my information. The speed limits in this town are way too slow.”
“Well, there’s another thing I didn’t know about you. You get too many speeding tickets.”
He swerves fast around a corner. “I like to think of it as supporting the city services.”
“Where are you taking us?”
“I’m going to that park where we went sledding. I’m guessing nobody’s there right now so we’ll have the entire parking lot to ourselves. You can test out the car without killing someone.”
“I’m not going to pass out while driving.”
“That’s not what the head trauma caregiver sheet said.”
The parking lot at Bryant Park is empty, just as he predicted. He gets out of the car and I climb over to the other side, not bothering to walk around the outside.
“Someone’s anxious to drive,” Garret says as he gets into the passenger side. “You shouldn’t climb over the middle like that. You could’ve hurt your knee.”
“My knee is fine.” Actually it does kind of hurt after bumping it on the steering wheel just now, but I’m not telling Garret that. It’s my left leg so at least I can still drive. I pull the seatbelt over me and adjust the seat. “I feel like I’m 16 again learning to drive in a parking lot.”
“Who taught you to drive?”
“Ryan did, in that old car of his. It’s so huge I felt like I was driving a bus.” I look over at Garret. “Hurry up. Put your seatbelt on.”
“I don’t need one to drive around a parking lot.”
“Yes you do. I might pass out.”
“Oh, now you believe me?” He reaches back for his seatbelt and clicks it in place.
I press on the gas and the car takes off so fast I have to hit the brakes before we run into the curb.
“And you thoughtIwas a fast driver?” Garret’s hands are against the dashboard like he was bracing for a crash.
“I didn’t mean to do that. This gas pedal is really sensitive. You barely have to press down on it. Same with the brakes. With Ryan’s car, you had to press really hard.” I drive down the parking lot and turn around. “This steering wheel is so easy to move.”
“Yeah. Power steering.” Garret’s laughing at me. “It’s been a common feature in cars for the past 20 or 30 years.”
“Well, Ryan’s car doesn’t have it. And that’s the only car I’ve driven other than yours that one time.” I continue to go up and down the parking lot. “When Ryan taught me to drive, he was so worried I’d crash his car. He’s sick of that car now, but back then he loved it. It was his baby.”
“Then I’m surprised he let you drive it.”
“It was right after my mom died. He took me out every night and let me drive. Even after I was already pretty good at driving he still made me practice. I think he just wanted to find something to get my mind off what happened. He didn’t want me sitting in my room thinking about . . . you know, finding her that way.”
Garret puts his hand over mine on the steering wheel. “Why don’t we take a break and go sit on the picnic tables over there?”
I laugh. “Are you getting tired of going around the parking lot? I guess it is kind of boring, especially when you’re not the one driving.” I pull into a space next to the tennis courts.
We go sit on a picnic table by the swings. It’s sunny out, but the wind is chilly.
“So you know how you said earlier that you don’t know me as well as you should?” Garret asks.
“Yeah.” I pick up his hand, which is toasty warm, and place it around my cold fingers.
