Page 33 of Worst in Show

AlCaponesGhost25: Cool job, though. Do you get to travel a lot? Meet tons of interesting people?

I swallow hard and then look around at where I am, at the sleeping dogs in the corner. Tomorrow, I’ll open the store, work to up our sales, and find new ways to get the better of Leo so I can make Pop proud. Tomorrow and the next day and every day after that, too.

I push the thought away.

SingerQueen: All the time.

AlCaponesGhost25: Nice.

I nod to myself. Yes, I imagine it would be.

I spend the next couple of days getting my bearings with the back-end intricacies of the store, making sure Harvey is settled into the rehabilitation home, and calling agility centers. I find only one that has an affordable class with openings. While I am dedicated to this venture, there are limits to my commitment, and paying annual membership fees is a hard no.

On the flip side, I’ve started playing around with designing a website, and I’ve also set up a table in the storage room for my sewing machine, so at times when the store isn’t busy, I’m working on filling commissioned orders. In addition to the Cleopatra getup, I’m in the process of making two haunted mansion costumes for a couple who runs the pumpkin patch two towns over. They’ve given me free rein, so it’s proving to be a nice distraction.

That’s where I am Thursday evening when my cell lights up with Mom’s picture.

“I don’t have long,” she says in greeting. “Your father is waiting.”

“Okay… What’s going on?”

“I just talked to Dad. He’d like his green robe and a bag of those blue corn chips he loves, so if you could bring that to him tomorrow, that would be great.”

I had this conversation with Harvey already. He knows I’ll only be able to get out to Dalebrook when I can borrow Micki’s car, and I tell Mom as much.

“Isn’t Dad’s car right there? Or did it break down again?”

“No, he had it fixed. But you know I don’t drive stick.”

“Pfft. Your grandpa needs you, Coralynn. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” She says something to my dad on the other end before she comes back. “Your dad says it’s easy. Break, clutch, shift, let up gently.”

I’m pretty sure there’s more to it. Harvey tried to teach me when I was in high school, and for a while I almost got it, but when I moved away for college, my brain had to make room for other information and promptly dumped everything I knew about manual transmissions.

“You can do it,” Mom insists. “I’ve got to run. We’re doing a guided tour at Yellowstone today. I’ll send you pictures. Your dad spent a fortune on new hiking boots, so we’d better put them to use!”

At this reminder of my parents’ decently flush bank accounts, I almost ask Mom for help. A small investment in the store, a loan even, to pull us out of the red. Except I know she’ll say no. My parents are all about individual responsibility, and she’s made clear more than once how she feels about Pop still working at his age.

“Okay, have fun,” I say instead.

“And you’ll bring Dad his things?” Mom asks.

“If I can get the car running.”

We hang up, and with rising apprehension, I add to my list: learn to drive stick.

I get up early to give Harvey’s car a try. It’s an old, gray Ford Mustang that he’s had as long as I can remember. It smells of pine air freshener and wet dog, but he’s kept it meticulously clean throughout the years, and the seat hugs me like it wants me to be there.

“Okay, Pop,” I mutter, inserting the key into the ignition. “Show me your ways.”

I turn the key, and the car immediately rocks forward and dies. I grip the steering wheel tightly, my foot pressing down hard on the brake pedal. This feels familiar in all the wrong ways.

After two more unsuccessful attempts, I pull out my phone and search for a stick shift primer for dummies. “Make sure the car is in neutral,” I read. It’s not. Harvey has left it in first gear. “Press down on the clutch and keep it down while you start the car.” Okay, here goes…

The engine thrums to life without issue. “Haha! Gotcha.” I read on. “Move the gear shift into first gear. Gradually let up the clutch as you start driving.” It’s starting to come back to me, but that doesn’t make me sweat any less. Here goes.

This time, I manage to get out of the parking space before the engine stalls again, and after two more tries, I realize there’s such a thing as going too slowly. I’m going to have to be more deliberate with the gas pedal, no matter how much I don’t want to die. I’m in charge now. I need to be able to drive myself places.

I do a few starts and stops around the parking lot, thanking all the gods no one else is out and about, and when I’ve managed this small feat, the next logical step is to venture around the block. The first turn is fine. I stop at the stop sign without incident, the engine still purring, but when I make a left onto the street that runs in front of the store, there’s a truck parked in my lane and oncoming traffic in the other. Instantly, I forget the clutch, and the car stops in the middle of the street. Damn it! What order was it again? Brake, clutch, gas, shift? Clutch, shift, brake? Somewhere near me, a car honks, and that doesn’t help my frazzled state.

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