this creation. What they didn’t know was what it felt like to sit behind the wheel, to drive this vehicle, to know what it meant to hug the road and corner a turn as if the car was one with the pavement. Parker felt confined with the speed limit. He wanted to open the engine up, give it its due and let it go as fast as it could.
He thought of McKenna that night on the practice track. Her face glowed under the lamp lights as she emerged from this car. Parker had never been one for most of the things men liked in life, but he loved cars. The moment he saw it sitting on the track, he knew it was something he wanted to drive.
The day was clear, and the road was theirs. If he and McKenna never agreed on anything, this car was definitely a point where they could come together. Checking on her, he saw she was watching the road. For both of them, Route 66 was a new experience. The top was down on the car and Parker felt the breeze.
* * *
THE ROAD WASN’T as bad as McKenna expected it would be, but they weren’t far from Chicago yet. She’d studied maps and checked on the internet, but there was no telling if they were current. Weather from the past winter could have washed part of the blacktop away or completely broken it into shards of gravel. There was also snowplow damage and the destructive Midwestern wind.
The speed limit was lower than the highway speed, so if there was something in their way, they would likely see it in enough time to avoid it. At least she could. She didn’t know about Parker, but Marshall had told her he was a competent driver.
Maybe, she thought. She had yet to experience it. He sat silently next to her tapping keys on a small computer. The computer was a concession. He was editing a book that had a deadline. She’d agreed to him bringing it along, but not to use it to look up things about the trip. Adventure came in not knowing.
Still, she would rather talk to him than just drive. If she’d been alone, she’d play the radio, sing along to the popular songs and keep herself busy that way. With Parker, she felt as if she was being intolerant of his need to concentrate.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Excuse me?”
“There’s something on your mind. I can hear it.”
“Really? Then do I need to tell you what it is?”
His laugh was more a grunt. “I’m not that psychic.”
“I was wondering how your book was coming.”
“You were wondering if I planned to stare at my machine all the way to the Pacific Coast Highway.”
McKenna smiled and relaxed her shoulders. “I guess you are psychic.”
He closed the top of the machine and turned in his seat to face her. That action caused a small flutter in her stomach. She wanted to talk to him, but now that he was giving her his full attention, she was unsure of what to say.
“You’re just easy to read,” he said.
“I am?”
“When your mind is churning.”
“I know you have a deadline for your book, so I don’t want to keep you from getting it done.”
“But why look at a computer screen, when there is a world out there I’m missing?” He indicated the window on her side of the car.
McKenna nodded.
“There isn’t much out there. The trees and shrubs look pretty much the same as any along a highway, except these go by at a slower pace.
Wasn’t that just like him? He didn’t see the beauty of slowing down. McKenna contained her sigh. She may as well be alone for all the company Parker provided. For a while she thought they were going to be all right, friendly even, but he’d crawled back into the cubbyhole he’d built for himself and it wasn’t large enough for anyone other than him. Not that the right woman wouldn’t mind the tight squeeze.
McKenna stifled a laugh. She never thought of Parker being affectionate with a woman. He’d been divorced for years and never dated since, as far as she could remember. McKenna supposed he was set in his ways, like old people get. Lydia had said he wasn’t old, but so far she saw no indication of that.
* * *
THEY HAD BARELY crossed the Illinois border into Missouri when the sun started to set. It would be dark in an hour. McKenna knew they could be farther along if she hadn’t stopped to take so many pictures, but she felt no guilt over the delay. This was how she envisioned the trip, taking her time, recording what she wanted, going down paths that looked interesting.
Parker hadn’t complained since asking if they were going to drive during the night. He’d gone back to his computer screen, only offering an occasion comment on the landscape. McKenna felt he was letting her know he could both write and watch what was happening at the same time.
When McKenna turned into the town of Carthage, he snapped the lid of his laptop closed and looked up. McKenna could almost see the coils in his mind assessing where they were and all aspects of the area around them. She stopped the car at a gas station and looked across at Parker.
“Carthage,” she said, unnecessarily.
“Missouri?” Parker asked.
McKenna confirmed.
“If we stop now, we could get something to eat and find a place to stay for the night?” Parker suggested. “There’ll be enough light for us to walk around the town and see some of it.”
“Good idea,” McKenna said.
They both got out of the car and Parker had the pump in his hands when two guys approached them.
“Man, what I would give for one of these,” one of them said, obviously in awe. He was wearing a nondescript colored uniform that looked as if it was a combination of dark green and jet-black oil. Over the pocket the name Nick had been stitched into the fabric.
Parker turned to her and raised his eyebrows as if they had a secret. McKenna nodded with a smile. Parker returned it and for a long moment she held it.
“Where did you find such a treasure?” the man without Nick on his uniform asked. McKenna’s attention was pulled away from her traveling companion.
She watched the two men admiring the car. The second man was wearing the same color uniform as the first, only the name on his pocket said Willie. Willie moved around the car, perusing it as if it were a spaceship that might take off at any second, yet the fascination was too much to ignore.
“I didn’t find it,” Parker said. “The lady built it.” He turned to include McKenna as she came level with them.
“Is that the honest truth?” Both of them stared at her, clearly assessing whether to believe Parker or not. Then their eyes went back to the Corvette.
“She’s quite ingenious,” Parker said, still gesturing at McKenna. His gaze made her warm and she scanned the ground until Parker pulled the gas hose out of the car and replaced the cap.
“What kind of engine does it have?” Nick asked.
McKenna wasn’t sure if this was a test or not, but she decided to let them know she knew her stuff. Since both men had come through the door of the station and not one of the open bays, and they were both dressed alike, she was unsure if one or both were mechanics.
“It’s a 283-cubic-inch engine. It has the power of 230 horses. The original Wonderbar AM/FM radio is installed along with a cassette player. The car is a soft top with the original Roman Red paint and white coves, T-10 transmission, 3.55 rear, stainless exhaust, sun visors, windshield washers, courtesy light, heater, seat belts, hubcaps and wide white radials. And she drives like a dream.”
“Da-mn,” Nick said, stretching the word into two syllables. His voice was full of awe. McKenna knew he was imagining himself behind the wheel, speeding through the countryside, his foot to the floor as the mighty engine released its power on the straightaway.