“Because he’s ridiculous,” Betty said. “And because he wanted to feel like James Bond again, I guess. Just call him Goldfinger.”
Maggie glared at him. “Good grief, Frank. You’re eighty-five. Doesn’t the statute of limitations on sex run out at seventy-nine?”
“Apparently not,” Jo muttered.
“I’m just stunned,” Maggie said. “All this time we were worried sick about you.”
“Well, Iwassick,” Betty said. “Just not, you know,thatsick.”
There was a long beat of silence.
Then Maggie felt a smile pull, her gaze moving from the crazy couple to the car. That car. That beautiful, liberating, fear-killing car.
“Well, I don’t care,” she said. “It was fun.”
Betty blinked. “Driving this roller-skate with a motor was fun? I barely fit, and Frank has absolutely no idea how to get into second gear.”
“I’ll teach you,” Maggie said, turning to Frank. “You gotta move the gas, clutch, and shift like a choreographed dance.”
“Who taught you that?” Frank asked.
“Oscar,” Maggie answered, making Jo Ellen snort.
“No, no,” Frank said quickly. “I’m getting rid of it. Whole thing was a bad idea.”
“Getting rid of it?” Maggie’s voice pitched higher. “You can’t do that! It’s the best car in the world!”
“It was…folly,” he admitted.
“Folly?” She laid her hand reverently on the hood. “This car transformed me. I changed lanes without white knuckles. I learned how to shift gears and let go of fear. I stood up for myself, I got arrested, I danced with a biker named Brick?—”
Betty gasped. “Youwhat?”
“It’s a long story,” Jo Ellen said, grinning.
Maggie looked at them again, her heart full. “This car reminded me I’m not done yet. That there are still adventures to be had. It’s more than a car—it’s a second chance.”
Frank and Betty exchanged a long look, one of those wordless, weary-but-loving glances only decades of marriage could perfect. Betty finally gave a small, reluctant nod.
Frank reached into his pocket and pulled out the keys.
“After what Roger and Artie did for us—protecting me, making sure I didn’t end up in prison for running the books—I owe you both. This is the least we can do.” He dangled the keys that Maggie knew like they were her own. “The car is yours, ladies. Take good care of her.”
Jo Ellen sucked in a breath. Maggie froze.
Was Frank really offering her the very thing she knew was missing in her life? And could she just accept it and the change it meant? Could she be the woman that Brick saw when he grinned at her? The woman who flew down the interstate, unburdened by fear?
Yes, she realized with a jolt. She already was that woman. And this car might not be Betty’s dream, but it turned out to be Maggie’s.
“Well?” Frank asked, shaking the keys.
Maggie snatched them from his hands as she and Jo squealed like teenagers and lunged to hug Frank and Betty at the same time, arms colliding in a tangled, emotional mess of laughter and joy.
“Thank you,” Maggie whispered, pulling Betty into a tight embrace. “We’ll take you for a joyride.”
Betty touched her face, unexpected tears in her eyes. “You look like you’ve already been on one,” she said. “I’m happy for you, Mags.”
“Well, we’re not just driving this thing around town,” Jo Ellen announced. “We’ve got plans. Road trips. Adventures. Maybe a few parking lot donuts. Well, as soon as you get your license renewed.”
