Page 94 of Until Landon
I check the glove compartment to make sure everything’s right. The paperwork under a small pack of Kleenex and the hard cherry candies they liked. Arranged in order, at the ready, like he used to have his car business. I can hear Mom saying it. ‘Put this new insurance card with your father’s car business.’ He is going to appreciate the detail. He’ll probably fucking cry.
Wimbledon White, decades old, still looks as good as it did in the photograph. The Galaxie was already fifteen years old when they bought it, but whoever owned it first, took care of it. It was pure luck Derek’s Detail was able to detail it this morning. The rush order worked because Dad had referred so much business to the guy. One hand washing the other.
The leather Lipstick Red seats are as sharp looking as last time I sat in them. When I had a feeling it was so big I had to hang on when Dad turned the corners. The car is coming home. Back to Smyrna and her old wooden garage.
Eddie dying before his time, and Mabel’s wanting to hold on to a piece of him, saved the car. Literally. Saved the paint and the engine. Saved the paperwork and history. Thank goodness she drove it now and then. When it was required. She was never a woman who liked to drive. Kind of like Kim. I would have known it even if no one told us. How else to explain the relatively low mileage? A nineteen-sixty-three car with under fifty thousand miles is remarkable.
Footsteps on gravel. Wes rounds the corner of the house. I open the wide door and get out.
“So what’s the plan? Tick tock.”
“What time is it?”
“Twelve thirty.”
“Okay.”
July makes her way round the house and joins us. She whistles her approval.
“Absolutely gorgeous! He is going to flip out.”
“Maybe we should look into buying a classic,” Wes says, catching his wife’s eye.
The expression she is listening to an idiot makes Wes laugh.
“That’s a no,” I chuckle.
“It was just a thought. Don’t get your panties twisted!”
She punches him in the arm and laughs.
“It’s a beautiful car, Landon. Does he have any idea you are planning a surprise?”
“No. God, I hope not. Everybody has been under strict shut your trap orders. If any hint of this comes out, I will personally beat the shit out of the person who blabs.”
“What about the party? Does he still think it’s for you?”
I chuckle. “Yeah. It’s supposed to be my goodbye and thank you send off. He would have vetoed a birthday party for himself.”
“Definitely.”
“He thinks it’s all about me. A handful of friends having a barbecue. We had to tell him something. The house had to be prepared, the tables, the food, and the seventies decorations put up.”
“Is Stacy cooking?”
“No. She’s with Dad. Kim’s leading the cooking charge. Along with the food other people are bringing. We couldn’t afford to have it catered.”
“Good. I like homemade,” Wes says.
“How did you get him out of the house? Where is he now?”
“Stacy came up with the plan. We had to have him properly dressed for the occasion. You know, he would be wearing a caftan if it was up to him. She guilted him into it.”
“It’s for a good cause.”
“He would want to be in the right wardrobe for driving this baby.” I pat the seat of the convertible. “He thinks we’ve taken the bikes out. You’re supposed to be keeping me away till one.”
“Oh, he thinks he’s in on the con.”
