Viv laughed. She was sick of being the sick one, she realized.
“You know, as a taste maker, perhaps you can do me a favor?”
“How’s that?”
“I just bought a new place up the road, and I’d love to get a woman’s perspective on what needs to be fixed up. Especially a fashionable woman.”
“I don’t know. I’m supposed to be doing this sketch and—”
“—And resting, yes, you’re supposed to be resting. I wonder if you might transfer your old self to a rocker right over there. We could get you a blanket over your knees. Put a record on an old Victrola for you.”
“You’re pretty bold for someone who’s looking like he couldn’t outrun a recent cancer patient who’s lost her will to live.”
Viv didn’t know what had come over her. Tag was teasing her, pushing her even, and she’d blurted out something that would have caused an uproar among her friends and family. They’d have called the support group and circled wagons. They’d have bent over backward to reassure her. They wanted to fix her. Understandable. But impossible.
The comment hung in the air. Maybe it was also a bridge too far for this smart-mouthed near stranger.
“Well, if you’re going out, you’re going out swinging.”
Viv couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across her face. “I think you might be a bad influence.”
“Think it? I know it. Now, what do you say? I’m a professional driver. You’ll be safe as can be.”
“Says the man who just busted up his car and face at what, 100 miles per hour?”
“Details.”
She decided to do it. Why not? Viv wasn’t getting any work done with her sketch, and at least Larson Taggert got her dark sense of humor. “Alright, I’ll take a look with my artistic eye to see if you got hosed on a white elephant property.”
“Much obliged. I’ll figure out a way to pay you back. Model something for free.”
She laughed at the suggestion.
The two of them made their way to Tag’s car, and as she’d expected, it was a convertible. Why did she know this was going to be the case?
Well, her hair couldn’t be any jankier after the last few months. She may as well drive with the top down.
“What is this?”
“This is a vintage 1966 Ford Mustang Convertible. It’s like my child. So, if you don’t think she’s pretty, do not say so where I can hear, ha, made a joke.” He pointed to his scratched-up face and ear.
Viv was getting the idea that the injury to his leg and face wasn’t all he’d suffered.
“Oh, she’s pretty alright.”
“I heard that at least!”
Rolling through the countryside wasn’t going to make her hair any worse. What she did not expect was the peeling out of the fast turns and the hooting and hollering accompanying this little country drive.
“Where did you say this property was?”
“Other side of the lake, I just needed to drive a little bit.” He had circled Manitou Lake twice before taking the smaller inlet roads to the lake front property.
When they arrived at the property, the house, the yard, something about it felt familiar to her. But then again, she had traveled a lot of these paths back in the day on her bike. She probably would start to recognize a lot if she got out of the hotel a bit.
The place was shabby and overgrown, and it was clear that it had seen better days.
“This is it? You must be kind of a sucky race car driver?”
