Riley dives for the passenger seat, but I catch her arm gently. “Actually, you’re driving.”
Silence. Beautiful, shocked silence.
“I’m sorry, what?” Izzy’s voice goes up an octave.
“She needs practice for her driver’s test, right?” I toss Riley the keys. She fumbles, nearly drops them, catches them again, and stares at me like I just handed her the keys to a spaceship. My beloved, very expensive G-Wagon is basically the same thing. “Can’t practice in a car that looks like a bonfire.”
“Jack.” There’s a black smudge on her cheek, and I have to fight the urge to reach out and wipe it away. “This is a—you can’t just—she almost killed us in Mildred.”
“Mildred?” I can’t help it. I grin. “You named your car Mildred?”
Her nose scrunches in the most adorable way when she’s mad. “We can’t just leave the car here.”
“Mine’s not billowing smoke.” I open the driver’s side door and gesture for Riley to climb in. “You got this, Riley. I’m calling a tow. It’ll be fine.”
I have no idea if she has this. But if showing up for her sister buys me any goodwill with Izzy right now, it’s worth the risk.
Riley looks at her sister, hesitant. “Is he serious?”
“Who knows? He was knocked unconscious almost a week ago. He could be hallucinating.”
I peek at her over the rim of my sunglasses. “I trust your sister, or I wouldn’t have offered.”
Izzy doesn’t say anything, just slides into the back seat.
Riley adjusts the seat, her hands shaking slightly on the wheel.
“Okay,” I say calmly, settling into the passenger seat. “Check your blind spots first, then ease on the gas, and pull out to merge when you’re ready.”
“Riley, your left mirror. Driver’s side!”
I peek at Izzy in the rearview mirror. Her eyes are locked on the road, braced for impact.
“She’s doingfine,” I say.
“She was two inches from almost getting clipped.”
“Almost doesn’t count.”
“How are you this calm right now?”
Riley giggles nervously, and I catch her eye. “You’re doing great. Ignore your sister.”
“Is she always like this?” Riley asks.
“Apparently,” I say.
“I’m being helpful!” Izzy protests from the back seat.
“You’re a distraction,” I correct. “Riley, remember to check your blind spot before you merge.”
“Blind spot, Riley! The blind spot!”
“I’ve got it, Iz.” Riley checks, signals, and merges smoothly onto Route 1.
I look over my shoulder. “See? Told you.”
She slumps back against the seat, muttering something that sounds like “This is how I die.”
