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in turn occupies a street-level corner of the long-defunct Vigland Hotel. Larry got his suitcase out of the trunk, where Jerry had stashed it, and I went inside with him. The clerk checked over his ticket and said the bus should be coming within five minutes, right on schedule. He also warned that it only stopped for about two minutes.
    â€œIt’s been nice meeting you, Larry,” I said as we went out-side. I felt a little awkward. I had a limousine, and Larry had seven electric toothbrushes, two of which were used. “I appreciate your bringing the limousine all the way up here.”
    â€œSure. Actually, it was kind of a fun trip. In little towns you get lots of stares, and girls wave at you. If you ever get down to Texas, look us up. Mom said she’s never met you. She still lives out at Dry Wells, though I’ve been in Dallas since I went to work for Uncle Ned.”
    I couldn’t see me ever getting down to Texas, but I said, “I’ll keep that in mind.”
    The bus pulled up to the curb, and Larry picked up his suitcase. The door whooshed open. The last thing Larry said before he stepped inside was, “Oh, by the way, the windows in the limo are bulletproof. You can’t open them. Uncle Ned had it custom-built. So if you ever decide to rob a bank with it, you’ll be safe.”
    â€œBulletproof! Why would Uncle Ned need bulletproof windows?”
    â€œHe probably didn’t. He was paranoid as well as eccentric.” Larry paused, a thoughtful expression on his freckled face. “But then, Uncle Ned had made some enemies over the years. A lot of people thought he was an old shyster, and some of his business dealings were questionable. So who knows? He also had it customized with an oversized tank so he wouldn’t have to stop for gas very often. He hated gas stations.”
    Larry took a seat halfway back in the bus. Only one other person, an older woman, got on. I waved as the bus pulled away. I realized I’d have rather liked to get to know Larry better.
    Jerry already had the engine running when I returned to the Trans Am, and I knew he was eager to get back to the limo. I opened the door but didn’t get in.
    â€œI’m going to walk back to the house.” It was almost three miles, but I didn’t want any favors from Jerry. “I hope everything works out great for you in San Diego.”
    I’d try very hard, I promised myself, not to hope that his parachute failed on his first skydive.
    â€œOh, come on, get in. We’re friends, aren’t we? You can’t walk all the way home in those.” He nodded toward my feet.
    Flip-flops. The cheap plastic kind. He was right. I’d have blisters to my knees if I walked three miles in them. Reluctantly I slid inside.
    Back home, I thanked him for the ride. By then he’d apparently figured out he hadn’t a worm’s chance at a robins’ convention of driving my limousine. He tried another tack as he pulled around the limo and parked in my driveway. “C’mon, Andi, one little spin in it, okay? For old times’ sake.”
    Old times? We’d never had any times in a limousine together. “I don’t think so.”
    I slid briskly out of the car. Jerry came around and draped his arm around my shoulders, and we looked at the limo together. I was momentarily too entranced even to object to the arm. The sun had slipped over the forested hillsides to the west, but the long metal hood gleamed as if lit with an inner fire, the tinted windows a dark contrast of mystery.
    I won’t drive it. There’s no point in driving it. It would be like taking one nibble of a Godiva chocolate, knowing you can’t have the whole box.
    â€œBasically, it’s just an overlength car, isn’t it?” Jerry said, his head tilted and his tone uncharacteristically philosophical. “But there’s something . . . captivating about that extra length.”
    Yes, there