“Yeah, Paul,” I said. “Show some respect. I became a man in that truck.”
Paul laughed. “All right, Bonnie and Clyde. Get out. I’m doing one loop. If you’re not gone when I get back, I’m leaving you to your fate.”
We got out cautiously, Michelle needing a little extra help from me. Paul didn’t wait for a reply or even look back. He just shifted into drive and drove off.
“He loves us,” Michelle said, linking her arm through mine.
“Who doesn’t? We’re awesome.”
We followed the thin trail of oil, trying to look casual, like we were here for a leisurely round of golf. Though that might be hard to sell when I was wearing boardshorts and flip-flops, and Michelle looked like a pressure cooker with legs.
The Shaggin’ Wagon appeared even more tragic up close. Afine layer of dust coated the hood, and a bird had left something that could be displayed in a modern art museum across the windshield. Tom had even slapped on a bumper sticker: I’D RATHER BE GOLFING. I made a mental note to scrape that off with a razor blade the second we got home.
“Hello again, beautiful,” I said, running a hand over the dented driver’s side door. “Michelle, say something nice.”
“Scott, I’m eight months pregnant and have to pee. The nicest thing I can say is that it’s not currently on fire.”
“For god’s sake, Michelle, have some sympathy,” I said, grinning as I slid the key into the lock. It stuck. My heart hammered against my ribs. I jiggled it, pushing harder.
Nothing.
“Scott?” Michelle’s voice tightened as her gaze swept the parking lot, already searching for Paul.
“It’s not working.” I pulled it back out and examined it. “Are you sure this is the right key?”
“It’s your truck. Don’t you know?”
Only then did it hit me how stupid this was. Our whole insane plan hinged on this one spare key from the disco era.
“Can’t you just hotwire it?” she asked, so full of undeserved faith in me.
“Do I look like the type of guy who can hotwire a car?”
“But your dad’s…”
“I was lying, Michelle. I had the other key.”
“Oh, my god.” She swiped it from my hand. “Let me try.”
“I’m telling you, Michelle, it doesn’t fit.”
“You’re using brute force. It needs a woman’s touch.” She slid it into the lock with a sweet little compliment. “Look at you, glamour girl—refusing to act your age.”
A delicate twist of her wrist…
Clunk.
The loud metallic sound echoed across the silent lot.
I stared at her, then at the door. “How did you…?”
“I have my ways,” she said with a wink, and then pulled the door open as the metal groaned in protest. “Now let’s steal this bitch.”
“Hold on,” I said, hopping in and sliding over the bench to unlock her side. Then I popped back out and slid an arm around her waist, walking her to the other side and opening the passenger door with a flourish. “After you.”
I helped her into the seat and handed her the seatbelt, waiting while she stretched it over her belly and clicked it in place.
“You all good?” I asked, like we had all the time in the world.
