Anna admired the distinction. She gave Christina the mechanic's business number and advised her to confirm the shop's experience with that model before scheduling anything. Christina called, asked detailed questions about inspection scope and costs, and surprised the man on the other end by insisting he email a written estimate before she agreed to a date.
"I used to mend wedding dresses," she explained. "I've seen what happens when somebody tells a customer that a delicate job will be fine and then discovers it needed more attention. I'm buying a machine, not a promise."
The mechanic laughed warmly and sent the estimate. The process comforted her. Numbers, measurements, written terms, and independent judgment were things she understood, even when the machine in question was faster and more complicated than anything Samuel had ever kept in their driveway.
That afternoon she visited Samuel's grave at a cemetery south of the city. She had brought a small bunch of flowers from the grocery store, and she placed them beside the marker before lowering herself carefully onto the bench. She had not come to ask a dead man whether she could buy a car. She had come because there were still moments when she wanted to tell him something absurd and wait for his slow, sideways smile.
"Our boy is doing all right," she said. "You wouldn't believe what he's built. Though if you heard what he paid for some of his shoes, you'd probably come back just to complain."
She looked across the rows of markers at the trees beyond. "I found the blue car, Sam. The one he drew after Danielle died. I was going to surprise him, and a man at the showroom made me feel foolish for even thinking I belonged there. William put a stop to it, but I don't want that man to be the reason I give up something I'd been happy about."
The cemetery was quiet. A mower moved in the distance, and wind stirred the flowers she had just placed. Christina thought about Samuel's careful saving, his insistence that money gave a person options, and the delight he had taken in buying small unnecessary presents when he found the right excuse.
Once, after years of insisting that a perfectly functional wedding band did not need replacing, Samuel had bought her a narrow gold ring with a tiny blue stone. She had scolded him for spending money and worn it every day afterward. When she asked why he did it, he told her that practical decisions were good servants but terrible masters.
"Well," she said softly to the grave, "I think I might take your advice for once."
On Monday Christina telephoned Martin Sterling's office and asked for an appointment to inspect the blue Porsche. She made two conditions. The appointment would be handled by a regular sales employee, with no special attention because of William's ownership, and the gallery would allow the independent mechanical inspection the listing had promised.