Driving Lessons: A Novel (5 page)

6

If a person has had more than one drink an hour, one hour of “sobering up” time should be allowed for each extra drink consumed before driving.

I
eyed the clock. The lumberjack driving instructor’s name was Ray, and he would be idling in my driveway momentarily. Already I was terrified. On cue, I heard a car and nervously peeked between the blind slats. The Mouse Mobile was here.

As Ray emerged, I released the blinds and hugged the wall with my back. “What are you doing, idiot?” I asked myself aloud. “Get ahold of yourself.” Spending most of my days alone had me talking to myself quite a bit—a habit that did not alarm me like it probably should have. The doorbell rang and I opened the door.

“Ray?”

“That’s me.”

“I’m Sarah.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

“Sorry, I’m a little nervous.”

“No worries, I get it.”

“I’m from New York,” I declared.
What? Why did I say that?
Ray looked at me blankly.

“Sorry, I don’t even know why that matters. It’s driving. Just the thought of it gives me Tourette’s.”

“Well, Sarah, hopefully I can help ease some of your stress. And my cousin has Tourette’s, by the way, so please don’t joke about it.”

“Oh God, she does? Or he does? I’m an asshole. Please forgive me.”

“Naw, I’m just playin’.” He smiled wryly at me. “Just wanted to freak you out a little bit.”

“Mission accomplished.”

“You ready to go?” he asked.

“Really? Right now?”

“Yeah. Unless you made me lunch. Did you?”

“Oh no, sorry, I didn’t. But I have some cold cuts in the fridge if you’d like tha—”

“Sarah, I’m playing! You’re gullible, huh?”

“Oh God, sorry. I’m normally a very funny person, I promise.”

“Sorry to prey on your anxiety. That’s the last bad joke you’ll hear from me. Scout’s honor. Now, you ready?” I nodded, locked up, and followed him to the car.

“Minnie’s not much for subtlety, huh?” I asked as we stood in front of it.

“You’re lookin’ at Minnie.”

“What?”

“Me. I’m Minnie.” He smiled broadly. “Clever idea, huh?”

“Oh, so who’s the lady I spoke to on the phone?”

“That’s just my wife, Vanessa. She handles the appointments. You thought there was a real Minnie?”

“Yeah, I guess I did.”

“That’s funny. But I guess, why wouldn’t you? Anyway, I just started this business about a year ago, so I’m still on a learning curve of sorts. Never had an accident, though. Don’t worry.”

“God, I hope I’m not your first.”

“You won’t be,” he replied assuredly. “So, you like the concept? The Mouse Mobile? Pretty dope, right? My oldest son and I came up with it.”

“Very dope,” I answered, because saying otherwise would have been impossibly cruel. The lumberjack was a teddy bear.

“Cool. Thanks. Now go on, get in the driver’s seat. I’ll hop in beside you.” Minutes later, we were creeping along the road—mirrors adjusted and seat belts strapped.

“We’re just going to cruise around the neighborhood for a bit,” said Ray. “See how you handle the basics.”

I nodded in reply. My nerves were such that speaking without bursting into tears was not an option. My anxiety astounded me. Never had I been this riled up about anything.

“So what brings you to Farmwood?” asked Ray.

“Husband got a job,” I replied through chattering teeth.

“Hey, you all right? Pull over. Right here, that’s it. Now put the car in park.” I did as he instructed, suddenly freezing in the air-conditioning and longing for a sweater.

“Sorry, Ray, I haven’t been behind the wheel in almost twenty years.”

“Hey, hey—don’t apologize. I understand. It’s a big deal to be drivin’ again. It would be crazy if you weren’t nervous.”

“Yeah, you’re right, it would.” I exhaled. “Okay, I feel less like a lunatic. Let’s try this again.” I put the car in drive and started back up.

“You know, you’re not even a bad driver,” said Ray. “This woman I took out yesterday—she wouldn’t stay in her lane.”

“No way.”

“Yeah, she just couldn’t get it. Two of the longest hours of my life. Hey, make a right here. Nice. Very good.” A wave of pride washed over me, followed by immediate embarrassment that a completed right-hand turn was the highlight of my day.

“Hey, Sarah, you have to make a complete stop at the stop signs. Don’t get cocky on me, now.”

“Oh, of course. Sorry. I can’t even imagine how stressful this gig must be. You must have the patience of Mother Teresa.”

“Yeah, it is what it is. Just happy to have some money coming in, you know? I got three kids to feed.”

“You do? How old?”

“Eleven, seven, and three. All boys.” He smiled triumphantly. “You think you know shit about life, have yourself some kids. They’ll change the game.”

I nodded absently.

“You got kids?”

“Not yet.”

“You want ’em?”

“I’m not sure.”

I had never said that aloud to anyone. Not even Mona. Where the hell was Mona, anyway? Had I done something to annoy her or was it merely an “out of sight, out of mind” scenario? It was hard to believe that that was the case. Our fourteen years of friendship was bigger than that. Or so I thought.

“Make a right here, onto the main road,” said Ray, interrupting my inner monologue.

“The main road?” I asked, alarmed. I stopped the car. “Already?”

“You’re doin’ great, Sarah. We’ll just get on it for a little bit. We can get right off if you need to.” I gulped. “Okay?”

“Okay.” I put my foot on the gas. “Wait, wait! Just one more time around the neighborhood. Then I’ll be ready.”

“You sure?”

I nodded.

S
o the driving lesson went well?” asked Josh as I applied my mascara dutifully in front of a mirror that magnified my face to obscene proportions. I was practicing for my first day of work tomorrow.

“Yeah. Ray is cool. I feel a little bit better about things.” I smoothed out a sticky black blob with my thumb and forefinger.

“Good. I’m proud of you.” He kissed the back of my neck. “How do you stand this thing?” He stared horrifyingly at his reflection. “No wonder you’re so neurotic. I can see straight through to my cartilage, practically.” I switched off its accompanying fluorescent light.

“So don’t look. This is not a toy for the faint of heart.”

“You look beautiful, Sar.” He surveyed me appraisingly. I wasn’t sure if I would ever get over the fact that he truly seemed to mean it when he told me I was beautiful—no irony, no sense of begrudged obligation. I blushed.

“Thanks, you too.”

Josh had the uncanny ability to look cool without appearing to have tried too hard to do so. His jeans hung just so; his plaid button-down was just the right amount of crumpled; his shoes were perfectly scuffed and his hair ideally rumpled. An island of scalp was just beginning to make itself known at the back of his head, but somehow even that was okay.

I assumed that this talent had something to do with his mathematically inclined brain—statistically, if each piece of his wardrobe was the slightest bit off, it would inevitably add up to perfection. That said, he was also a bit of a metrosexual—there were more than a few facial and hair products in his bathroom drawer—but that was not his fault. A man couldn’t live in New York for fifteen years and emerge without a compulsion to moisturize and deep-condition.

“Thanks. You ready to go?”

“Yeah, I think so.” I grabbed my bag and followed him down the hallway, switching lights off as I went. “What sort of bar is this again?”

We were headed to a faculty drinks night at a bar near campus. As far as ambience went, I did not have high expectations, but I was looking forward to some human interaction. I needed some friends to add to my paltry collection, which currently began and ended with Ray, whom I technically employed. I checked my phone. Still no Mona.

“Oh, you know, just a divey place. Think football and beer.”

“Great.”

“Sarah, don’t be a snob. I heard they have a good jukebox. And wings!”

I wrinkled my nose. “Josh, you know how I feel about food that stains your fingernails.”

“Hey, you want to drive?” He tossed me the keys with a smirk.

“No, jerk. Not yet.” I tossed them back.

“Why am I a jerk?”

“I’ll let you know when I’m ready, okay? There’s no need to put the pressure on.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Fine, sorry.”

“Are Iris and Mac going to be there tonight?” I asked once we were on the road.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

I bristled, despite myself. Iris made me feel like a catty cliché. I wanted to start over—to erase my initial perception and behavior. Women who resented other women for being good-looking and able to wear white jeans were lame on principle.

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe we can be friends.”

“Definitely,” said Josh. “They could show us the ropes around here.”

We pulled into the dirt parking lot of what appeared to be a large wooden outhouse. The front porch sagged under the weight of the beams holding up the roof, and Christmas lights were strung haphazardly around its perimeter. A few people, cloaked in a gray fog of nicotine, smoked outside.

“This is it?” I asked.

“Sarah,” pleaded Josh.

“How is it staying upright? Chewing gum and staples?”

“Very funny. This place has been here forever, apparently. We’re safe. And since when did you become Bob Vila?”

“Fine, I’ll stop. Just point me toward the alcohol.” I took Josh’s hand and we made our way inside.

“Professor Simon?” At the entrance, a cherub-faced boy-man extinguished his cigarette quickly before removing his baseball cap. His plaid button-down strained slightly at its seams. “It’s me, Randy, from your calculus class.”

“Oh yes, of course, hi. How ya doing?” Josh gave him his best teacher salute and we continued inside.

“Did you have any idea who he was?”

“Not the slightest. But cut me a break. There are sixty people in that class and it’s only the second week of school.”

“Is it weird that we’re drinking among your students?”

Josh led the way through the crowd, which congregated along the bar like honeybees. “No, not really. Hey, Bob!” Josh dropped my hand to wave at an older, round man whose bald head gleamed like a lightbulb.

“Hi there, Josh.” The man lifted his glass of what appeared to be bourbon. “Cheers!”

“This is my wife, Sarah.”

Josh nudged me forward slightly, a habit of his that I found incredibly irritating. Josh behaved like a pageant mom at his faculty events, watching my interactions with focused intensity. I was always surprised that he managed to refrain from mouthing the words he wanted me to utter.

“Hi, Bob, nice to meet you.” We shook hands.

“I’m gonna get a drink at the bar,” Josh said. “Sarah, the usual?”

“Actually no, I think I’ll take a whiskey tonight.” Josh raised his eyebrows in surprise but knew better than to challenge my beverage selection in front of Bob, who was sipping his own tawny liquid with a bemused expression on his face.

“Okay. Be right back.”

“These things are a drag, huh?” he asked.

“Oh no, not at all, I just, well—being ‘the wife of’ instead of Sarah usually requires something stronger than white wine.”

“Touché.” He raised his eyebrows. “Notice my own wife is not here. Or still married to me, for that matter. I’m sure you two would have a lot to commiserate about.” He took another sip as I fidgeted awkwardly. “What do you do, Sarah?”

“I’m sort of in the middle of a transition at the moment. I was in the marketing game in New York.” I wasn’t ready to admit to my Bauble Head–employee status yet. Not here, anyway. Bob nodded, looking bored.

Josh returned with my drink, and I took a giant slug before being whisked away. I spent the rest of the evening being passed like a platter of hors d’oeuvres at a wedding cocktail hour—from this professor to that one, nodding politely and trying my best to not appear too drunk, which I was one drink away from becoming. Only when Patrick Fitzpatrick, the chair of the sociology department, appeared to have two heads did I switch to water. Or rather, a water was seamlessly slipped into my hand by a wary Josh.

“Is it obvious?” I tried to whisper.

“You’re swaying. Here, sit on this stool.”

“Josh, if you squint, the whole room lights up like a Christmas tree,” I informed him.

“Sar, you’re wasted.”

“I’m not, I’m really not. Okay, I am. Sorry.” He lowered his forehead to mine and pressed up against it gently, his eyes just millimeters away from my own. “Can we go back to New York?” I asked.

“What?” He stood up abruptly.

“I don’t want to sell rhinestone jewelry at a strip mall.” All evening, as I was passed from Josh colleague to Josh colleague, my discontent had been simmering. I missed cool bars. I missed having friends. I missed me! Who was I here other than Josh’s wife? The idea of the efforts I had forced myself to make—the job and the driving lessons—exhausted me suddenly. Why had I come here again? Just as I was about to say all this, a wine-colored fingernail suddenly tapped his right shoulder. He swiveled to respond.