Page 111 of When There Was You
“That’s my cue to leave,” Jerri says.
Laughter bubbles out of us both, forcing our mouths apart.
“Where’s Emmy?” I ask.
“Dad intercepted her outside. She’s probably shredding her tutu running on all cylinders. Did you have a nice time here?”
“Are you kidding?Purple. Tuxedo.”
He rolls his eyes.
“To answer your question, I did. Your parents are awesome.”
“Yup. Case in point, Emmy’s staying over tonight so we can go on a date.”
Alone time.As much as I’ve enjoyed all the family togetherness, Butch and I are rarely on our own here, and I crave it.
Butch entersthe cabin near sunset, swinging some keys around his finger. “Ready for an old-school date, gorgeous?”
More than. He’s been secretive all afternoon about the details, but when we go outside, I audibly gasp. I’m staring at one of the most stunning classic cars I’ve ever seen. “Wow.”
“It’s a 1958 Plymouth Fury.”
My eyes dart to his. “TheChristinecar?”
“One and the same.”
It even looks like the Fury from the movie with its cherry red paint, sleek lines, and cool fins. “I stayed up until three in the morning reading that damn Stephen King book and then I was too scared to fall asleep. For some moronic reason, I doubled down when the movie came out and saw it too. Color me terrified.” Moving slowly toward the vehicle, I outright ogle it.
Butch chuckles. “Maybe I should have gone with the Special Deluxe instead.”
“Are you kidding? This is perfect.” I continue soaking in the car’s beauty. The white top. The grille that looks beautifulandfrightening. The long swath of chrome across the sides into the fins.
Once I finish my circuit of the entire vehicle, Butch opens the passenger door like the gentleman he is, and I slide onto the bench seat. The interior is matching red, but the steering wheel is two-toned in cherry and white. Totally bitchin’. Scooting over, I check out the driver’s-side dash. The classic dashboards are jaw-droppingly cool, and this one doesn’t disappoint.
I’m ogling Butch now, at ease behind the wheel of this big sexy car, one that seems to comfortably fit his big sexy self.
The engine rumbles to life, a steady cranking in the idle. Butch takes off, and she rides so smoothly, it’s as if we’re gliding. The seat has a noticeable bounce to it, and I can’t help whooping.
My handsome driver flashes me a pleased smile. Then he rattles off some interesting history about the Fury. It’s a rare, low-production car. The nickname for the 350-cubic-inch high-performance engine is Golden Commando. The custom paint is a nod toChristine, as the originals were white and gold or beige. He relays some insider restoration gossip on how hard it was for director John Carpenter to wrangle enough Furys to make the movie, most of which were destroyed during filming.
Well, yeah…they were crashed, set on fire, crushed.Christinewas a murderess.
An old-style, drive-in burger joint comes into view and when Butch pulls in, I bounce in my seat. MaybeI’mfive. I’ve only seen these in movies, and I’m marveling that one exists, let alone that I’m here.
“Is someone going to roller-skate over and take our order?” I ask.
Butch chuckles. “No on the skates, yes on the order. The menu is printed right here.” He points to his left.
I slide closer and peer out his window, checking out the limited offering: burgers and dogs, fries and onion rings, sodas, shakes, and malts.
“We can’t spill anything, or my father will have both our hides.”
“Hell, I’m nervous about eating in ol’ Christy. Maybe she’ll eject or kill us before we leave the parking lot.”
Butch’s mouth lifts in one of his amused smiles.
A peppy teen with blond braids approaches. She’s wearing a checkered uniform shirt with the Flip’s Drive-In logo emblazoned on the front. After we order, my considerate date thanks her and rolls the window back up to keep in the heat.
