Frank looked at the blue car.
“I can do that.”
The final delivery should have taken only a few more minutes. In practice, first cars seemed to exist in a different relationship with time.
Emily wanted a photograph beside it, then decided the car was too close to another vehicle and asked Marcus if they could move it into the open delivery area. Marcus moved it. She took three photographs, disliked all three, and made Frank take six more. Then she insisted on one with him beside her, which required asking a passing service advisor to use her phone.
Frank stood awkwardly beside the hood.
“You look like you’re being booked into jail,” Emily said after checking the picture.
“I am smiling.”
“No, you’re showing your teeth.”
“There is a difference?”
“A huge difference.”
Marcus tried not to laugh.
Emily handed the phone back to the service advisor and directed Frank to stand closer. This time she hooked an arm through his and leaned against his shoulder. Frank stopped thinking about the camera, and the resulting photograph was the one she kept.
Later, that image would matter to her more than the photograph of the car alone. At the time, she simply checked it, smiled, and saved it to favorites.
Marcus went inside to print the final delivery receipt. Diane returned to her office. For the first time since the morning began, Frank and Emily were alone beside the blue sedan.
Emily rested one hand on the roof.
“It feels strange.”
“What does?”
“Owning it.”
Frank nodded.
“Five hours ago it was just one of three hundred cars in a lot.”
“And now?”
“Now if somebody scratches it, I’m going to cry.”
Frank laughed.
“That is how ownership begins.”
She walked around to the front and looked through the windshield.
“I keep thinking about Mom.”
“What about her?”
“She’s going to pretend this is irresponsible because it’s nicer than she expected.”
“That sounds like your mother.”
“She’ll say I should have bought something older and kept more savings.”
“That also sounds like your mother.”
“And then she’ll ask to drive it.”
“Absolutely.”
Emily smiled.
Laura Dalton, Frank’s only daughter, had inherited Helen’s caution with money and Frank’s suspicion of unnecessary debt. She had built her own career as a physical therapist and had never relied on family wealth beyond education support Frank and Helen had given all their children. When Emily began talking about a car, Laura had told her father privately not to “turn this into one of your grand gestures.”
Frank had promised not to.
He considered the cashier’s check support, based on years of saving and planning, to be a measured gesture rather than a grand one. Laura might disagree.
“Did Mom know what you were planning?” Emily asked, as though reading his thought.
“She knew I intended to help.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is an accurate statement.”
“Grandpa.”
“She did not know the exact amount.”
Emily groaned. “You’re both going to argue.”
“We will discuss.”
“You argue politely, which is worse.”
Frank considered that. “Maybe.”
Emily leaned against the fender.
“Why didn’t you just buy Mom cars when she was my age?”
“I offered.”
“And?”