“Exactly. You'll have something in common.”
I laughed despite myself.
“Who is she?”
“A friend of Priya's. They know each other through a nonprofit board.”
That was all she told me.
No photograph.
No last name.
No occupation.
Danielle insisted we'd have a better chance if neither of us arrived armed with a hundred assumptions.
I agreed mostly because she promised to stop asking if I went.
Our reservation was at seven-thirty.
At an expensive restaurant overlooking Lake Washington.
A restaurant where the price of an appetizer could probably cover Maya's school lunches for a week.
I planned to wear my only decent gray jacket, eat something modest, be polite, and return home.
Then I found the Firebird.
The black Pontiac sat near the guardrail, its hood raised toward the clearing sky. It was a late-1970s model, lovingly maintained despite its age, with polished chrome, broad tires, and gold detailing along the body.
It didn't fit the woman standing beside it.
Or perhaps it fit her better than I understood.
She turned when I approached.
Her dark-chestnut hair fell in thick waves over her shoulders, framing a beautiful face with brown-hazel eyes and full lips.
The leopard-print gown hugged her elegant figure before falling toward the wet pavement. Gold earrings caught the sunlight, and her cream-colored handbag looked expensive enough that I instinctively worried about setting my greasy tools anywhere near it.
“Need a hand?” I asked.
She looked at my jacket.
Then my truck.
“I already called roadside assistance.”
I glanced at the mountains.
“Good. They close?”
She frowned.
“Almost two hours away.”
I nodded toward the engine.
“Mind if I look?”
She hesitated.
Then folded her arms.
“Are you a mechanic?”
I smiled.
“On most weekdays.”
She didn't laugh.
“This car means a great deal to me.”
I looked toward the Firebird.
“I can see that.”
Her expression softened slightly.
Then she pointed toward the hood.
“Fine. But please be careful.”
I approached.
The engine was an older design, the kind I had learned to work on alongside my father.
I checked the basic ignition components and soon found moisture inside the distributor cap, along with a deteriorated contact that was making the problem worse.
The recent rain had finished what years of age and neglect had begun.
Nothing particularly mysterious.
But enough to stop the engine.
I took a dry cloth and the necessary tools from my truck.