This year would be different. Christina consulted her adviser again, not because she needed permission, but because Samuel had taught her that a generous act was not generous if it left someone else responsible for the bills. She asked what she could reasonably spend without placing her home, insurance, or long-term security at risk. The answer surprised her, and the possibility took shape with an excitement she had not felt since buying William his first bicycle.
She began collecting pictures of blue sports cars from magazines and dealership websites. Not every model appealed to her; some had fierce-looking headlights or interiors she described as feeling like an airport waiting room. Then she saw a pre-owned Porsche 911 Carrera GTS in a deep metallic blue, listed at Sterling Motor Gallery in Buckhead. Its silhouette reminded her of the drawing on the refrigerator, and the listing described a carefully maintained car with its history and inspection information available for review.
She printed the photograph at the public library because her home printer had jammed the last time she tried to replace its cartridge. She carried the page folded in a plain envelope, carefully away from her shopping list and the coupon for laundry detergent she intended to use later. The car's advertised price was one hundred sixty-four thousand nine hundred dollars before the usual taxes and fees. Christina did not pretend that was an ordinary amount of money, or that a sports car was something anyone needed to survive.
She simply believed that after a lifetime of giving William necessary things, she wanted, once, to give him something unnecessary and beautiful. The decision belonged to her, not to a salesperson who might approve of her clothes. That was why she selected her blue cardigan that morning, placed her financial documents in the inner pocket of her handbag, and drove north without telling William where she was going.
At eight twenty, she called him from the driveway. He answered on the third ring, breathless, with voices in the background. "Grandma, everything okay?"
"Everything's fine. I just wanted to hear your voice. Are you eating real meals or ordering food in boxes again?"
William laughed. "I had eggs. Actual eggs. With a plate and everything."
"Good. Your birthday is coming. Don't make too many plans for the Saturday after."
"Grandma, please don't spend money on me. I told you, I want dinner at your house. That's the whole birthday."
"I'll decide what I spend, young man," she said, and hung up before he could argue. For several seconds she remained behind the wheel smiling at the phone, imagining his face when he saw the blue car. Then she slipped the envelope into her purse and started toward Buckhead, unaware that by afternoon she would be struggling to remember the last time a stranger had spoken to her with such contempt.