As promised, the Jeep appeared pristine, obviously having been kept in a garage for the majority of its life. Harper didn’t spot any wear and tear on the removable top, either. “This is the proverbial car that was never driven and kept in the garage by an old lady.”
“We should just thank our lucky stars that it’s still here. Like it?”
Harper nodded. She did like it. Very much.
“Then let’s not dally. Paula is expecting us.”
Mrs. Randolph’s house was one of the many historic cottages on Sullivan’s Island. Most of the early houses were built by Charlestonians as summerhouses to escape the heat and humidity in the city. Smaller, filled with individuality and charm, these cottages held the two-hundred-year history of the island. Newer, grander houses now peppered the island, but to Harper’s mind, the cottages gave Sullivan’s Island its appeal. Harper especially admired Mrs. Randolph’s long, white porch and the line of white rockers and robust planters spilling over with annuals.
The front door swung open and Mrs. Randolph stepped out, crooning her hello to Mamaw with a friendly hug. She was a full-figured woman of Mamaw’s vintage. Her face was plump and coursed with lines but her eyes were bright with warmth and vitality.
“It’s such a beautiful day,” Paula exclaimed. “Why don’t you and I have a chat and sip our tea on the porch while Harper gives a look-see to the Jeep?” Paula handed Harper the keys. “Take your time, dear.”
Harper strolled across the scrubby island grass to the car. She didn’t know much about cars. She made a show of looking under it and climbing into the driver’s seat. Once inside, she felt the excitement of possibility. It was adorable. Fun. A perfect island car. And it looked almost new and had the bonus of having only twelve thousand miles on it. She thought of her bank account and knew she should be prudent. After all, she had to go back to New York, pay a security deposit on an apartment, rent, utilities. And she still had to find a job.
A half smile crossed her face. But she’d be getting a check from her trust fund soon. Enough to tide her over for a little while. Harper ran her hands over the steering wheel, feeling a desperate desire to own it. Maybe she was right about love at first sight. She giggled. Only for her it was a car.
She walked with an easy gait to the porch. Mamaw and Mrs. Randolph were sitting on rockers, their heads bent, deep in conversation. When she drew near, they turned their heads and stared back like two contented cats.
“I’ll take it!” Harper exclaimed.
“Wonderful.” Mrs. Randolph clapped her hands.
After the paperwork was signed, Harper took hold of the keys of the first car she’d owned since college.
“How do you feel?” Mamaw asked as they walked back to the Jeep.
Harper squeezed the keys in her hand. “As free as a bird able to take off and go anywhere at whim.”
“That kind of freedom doesn’t last long. Enjoy it.”
“You know, for the first few weeks at Sea Breeze I didn’t want to go anywhere. I was perfectly content to live a hermit’s life. I enjoyed the lack of pressure. Not having someone”—she looked meaningfully at Mamaw—“my mother . . . always calling my name. But”—Harper sighed—“now I want to get out and explore.”
“Like you did as a child.”
“Exactly! Only now I have wheels.”
“‘Oh, the places you’ll go!’” Mamaw said, quoting the title of a Dr. Seuss book she’d read to Harper as a child.
They laughed together, and Harper found it good to see her grandmother having a good time. She went around to help Mamaw climb up into the Jeep.
“Goodness,” Mamaw exclaimed, settling into the seat, “I can understand why Paula didn’t drive around in it herself. It’s a workout just getting in and out.”
“That’s what makes it fun. And I need a little fun in my life.”
She climbed into the driver’s seat, put the key in the ignition, reached for the clutch, and suddenly her excitement dropped like a lead balloon. “Oh, no.” Harper stared at the transmission, stunned.
“What’s the matter?”
“It’s manual transmission.”
“Yes, dear. So?”
“So . . . I don’t know how to drive stick.” Harper put her palm to her forehead.
“Didn’t you ever learn?” asked Mamaw, surprised.
“No. I had to learn the basics of how a clutch worked when I learned how to drive. But I always drove automatic. I mean, really. Who drives stick anymore?” Harper shook her head in dismay. “I didn’t even think to ask. I just assumed the car was automatic.” Harper unbuckled her belt and grabbed her purse. “I hope Mrs. Randolph won’t get upset. I have to return it.”
Mamaw grabbed Harper’s arm. “Now don’t get your knickers in a twist. The deed is done,” Mamaw admonished. She set her pocketbook on the car floor. “You won’t find another deal like this one, I promise you. Paula practically gave you the car. You’re a smart girl. You can learn how to drive a stick. In my day, all the cars were manual.”
“But who’s going to teach me? I don’t know anyone who drives manual transmission.”
“I do.”
“You?”
“Yes. I could teach you.”
Harper just stared back.
“Don’t look so surprised. I’m old but I’m not senile. I’ll have you know I’m a very good driver. Never had a ticket.”
Harper remembered her grandmother’s turtlelike driving. “I don’t think they give tickets for going too slow.”
“Maybe not, but I’ve gotten my quota of honks,” Mamaw quipped. “Now, buckle up, sweetie. We’re going for a ride.”
Mamaw turned out to be an excellent, if demanding, teacher. For the next half hour Harper jerked, stalled, and shifted gears along the side streets of Sullivan’s Island. Mamaw was patient but firm, not allowing Harper to quit until she could go from first to second to third gear and reverse without stalling. With few other cars and even fewer people walking, she could start and stop often without drawing someone’s ire.
By the time they returned to Sea Breeze, both the Blue Bomber and Dora’s silver Lexus were back in the driveway. Taylor was loading paint cans into the back of his truck. Harper slowly maneuvered the Jeep into the space beside his. When she put on the parking brake and pulled out her keys, her shoulders slumped in relief.