The girl was still standing in the doorway glaring at him, phone held out in one hand, like she was debating calling the police. I unlocked the car, and Toby and I got in just a second before my dad did. He handed me the pint of ice cream, I handed him the keys, and he started the car and roared out of the parking lot. “You stole the sample spoon?”
“Well, she didn’t want to give it to me,” my dad said, glancing into the rearview mirror once, like he was making sure the Paradise security team wasn’t giving chase. “I offered to pay her for it,” he said, slowing down a little now as he must have realized that he wasn’t actually involved in a high-speed pursuit. “Here,” he said, pulling a spoon out from his shirt pocket, then glanced behind him at Toby. “Did we get the pizza?”
She nodded. “And a slogan with a pun in it,” she said. “So I think we’re in pretty good shape.” She leaned forward, motioning for me to give her my phone. “How are we on time?”
“We have thirty-five minutes left,” I said. I looked at the list. “We need a place where we can get a lot of little stuff, because some of them have big points value, for some reason.”
“I know where to go,” Toby said, leaning forward between the front seats. “Mr. Walker?”
“Talk to me, Toby,” he said, and she grinned.
“Take the right up there,” she said. “And step on it.”
Six pretty harrowing minutes later, my dad screeched up at the entrance to the gas station/mini-mart and swung into an open parking space with a spin of the wheel. I had a feeling it was going to be hard for him to return to regular driving after this, and not driving while pretending to be James Bond.
“Are you sure you don’t want help?” I asked, turning to look at Toby.
“No,” Toby said, hand already on the car door handle. “This one is all me.”
I nodded, even as I snuck a glance at the clock. We only had half an hour left, and we still had to make it back to the Winthrop statue, but Toby felt she had something to prove and was insisting on doing this alone.
“How long did she say she needed for this?” my dad asked a minute later, looking straight ahead through the glass doors, where we could see Toby dashing up one aisle and down another, then doubling back to the first one. While there were a few people pumping gas, there was nobody in the mini-mart except the guy behind the counter, which, judging from how crazy Toby was looking from out here, was probably a good thing.
I glanced down at the time I’d set on my phone. “She said she only needs seven minutes.” I wasn’t sure she was going to make it, since she was still running around the store and she had only three minutes left.
“I’ll take that action,” my dad said, raising his eyebrows at me.
“You think she can’t do it?” I asked, as we both watched Toby come to a standstill, apparently distracted by the magazine display.
“If she can’t, I get to pick what we watch on Sunday,” my dad said. “If she can, it’s your pick.” I looked at Toby, who was back in motion, and nodded.
“Deal.” We shook on it, and I looked back at the mini-mart, willing Toby to move faster. My dad and I had fallen into the habit of having lazy, stay-around-the-house Sundays. We usually seemed to both wind up in my dad’s study, where I’d pretend to read my textbooks and he’d pretend to read his latest historical biography while we basically just watched TV all day. Last week my dad had decided to be proactive about it, and had DVR’d a John Wayne marathon. I’d rolled my eyes, but it actually hadn’t been that bad, though I was looking forward to getting him back with a marathon of my own.
I glanced down at the countdown clock on my phone, then turned it over, knowing if I didn’t I’d just stare at it the whole time. I leaned back in my seat and looked around, suddenly realizing where we were—at the mini-mart almost on the Hartfield border. I glanced over at my dad, wondering for a second if he knew. My mom had always said it was our secret, but I was a kid then, so I’d never actually been sure.
I took a breath, then said, “Did Mom ever tell you we used to come here?”
My dad just looked at me. “Where?” he asked, sounding confused. “The gas station?”
“Not really,” I said, closing my eyes for just a second and remembering. My mom gently shaking me awake, the smile on her face as I struggled to bring her into focus. “Andie,” she’d whisper. “Want to go have an adventure?”
“It was when you were working in D.C.,” I said, the words coming slowly. I’d never talked about this to anyone before. It had been something just between my mother and me, all those magical nights where time seemed to stop, and for a little while it was like we were the only people awake in the world, like the stars were shining for us alone. “I never knew when it was going to happen. She said it was when life was getting too ordinary.”
“That sounds like her,” my dad said, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth, his voice quiet.
“She’d wake me up,” I said, smiling just remembering it, how it somehow felt exciting just to be out and driving around in a car in my cupcake pajamas. “We’d drive all over in the Mustang with the top down. And we’d always end up here.”
We both sat quietly for a moment, looking into the window of the store, as Toby wandered down an aisle, stopped, consulted the list, then started moving again.
“We used to get candy and hot chocolate,” I said, remembering what it had been like to drive home, the wind whipping though my hair and my hands around the warm paper cup. “She always said that it was something you didn’t necessarily need to know about.”
“I’m glad you told me,” my dad said, his voice still quiet, a tiny hitch in the back of it somewhere. We weren’t looking at each other now; we were both looking straight ahead, and I knew that was making it easier. “She really could make anything magical, couldn’t she?”
I nodded. It was one of the things I’d taken for granted when it was just my life, but now that it was gone I could see how amazing and rare it had been. “She could,” I said, still looking ahead, feeling my throat get tight. “It’s like anything could be an adventure, even just driving around in pajamas.”
“You know how much she loved you, right?” my dad asked, and two tears fell down, one from each of my eyes, without me even realizing they were going to. “She thought you hung the moon. She’d be so proud of you.”
I brushed the back of my hand over my face and took a shaky breath. “Yeah?” I asked, thinking that she probably would have been—with my grades, and my goals, and my other summers full of productive things.
“Absolutely,” my dad said, his voice still cracking a little. “This thing with the dogs? She would have loved that. She would have done a series of oil paintings of them all by now.”
I gave a laugh at that with half a sob mixed in, because I could see in that moment just how true it was. My mother would have loved that I was outside all day, that I was having fun. I would have come home every day and told her about the canine misadventures, and she would have done different voices for every dog. “What happened to the Mustang?” I asked after we’d sat in silence for a moment, even though it didn’t feel like bad silence—it just felt filled up.
“I’m not sure,” my dad said, looking down at the steering wheel. “I could find out if you want.”
I nodded. “Yeah,” I said. “That’d be good.”
“Here!” The backseat door was flung open and Toby tumbled inside, carrying two overstuffed plastic bags. The inside lights flared on and it suddenly seemed very bright. I leaned forward, brushing my hand over my face again, hoping it wasn’t totally obvious that I’d been crying. “I’m here. Did I make it?”
“Oh,” I said, turning over my phone to look at the timer. I had totally forgotten about it. I’d forgotten, frankly, about the scavenger hunt. “Um, no. Missed it by a minute and a half.” I looked at my dad, who was starting the car with a grin. Now that I was getting pulled out of this moment I’d had with my dad, it was all coming back to me—the s
ide bet we’d placed on Toby, which meant he got to choose our next movie. “Just no more John Wayne?”
“I make no promises,” he said. He turned and looked at me, gave me a small smile, and I gave him one back, and even though we weren’t technically speaking, it felt like we were saying the same thing. Then he put the car in gear and pulled away from the mini-mart.
Sixteen minutes later he screeched to a stop, pulling to the side of the street in front of the Winthrop statue. “We made it,” he said, exhaling and shooting me a smile across the car.
“Let’s move, people,” Toby said, clapping her hands and then scrambling to pick up the items that were scattered all over the backseat. “Andie, can you see anyone? Did everyone else beat us here?”
“I see the guys,” I said, unbuckling my seat belt and leaning forward to look. While we’d been gone, Palmer had clearly been busy—the picnic table was now divided into three sections, and she’d put signs up, marking which team each section belonged to. Clark and Tom were setting up a truly impressive pile of stuff, and I felt a twinge of alarm. From a distance, at least, it looked like we would be pretty evenly matched, if not behind them. “But I don’t see Bri or Wyatt anywhere.”
Toby stepped backward out of the car, hoisting an overstuffed canvas bag on each shoulder, and slammed the door closed with her foot. “I’ll get us started,” she said, already running toward the table. “Hurry!”
I grabbed my stuff and hustled out, shutting the door behind me. I started to follow Toby toward the picnic table, but then stopped and turned back to the car, where my dad was watching the proceedings through my open passenger-seat window. “Um,” I said, not really sure what to say. I suddenly wished this weren’t ending in just a few minutes. For a while there, it was like we’d been part of the same team. “Thanks,” I finally said, and my dad gave me a smile.
“Good luck,” he said, shifting the car into drive. “Just don’t stay out too late celebrating our victory.”
“Knock on wood!” I called as I started to run toward the table, and his car pulled out, now moving at a much more normal speed as it headed in the direction of the house.
“Two minutes,” Palmer called out as I stumble-ran up to the table.
“Okay,” I muttered. I dropped my bags and started hauling stuff out of them. Tom and Clark were at the opposite end of the table; the middle was Bri and Wyatt’s, and it was still totally empty. “Have they not shown up yet?” I asked. Palmer shook her head.
“We don’t have time for this!” Toby yelled, much louder than she actually needed to. “Who cares where they are? If they’re not here, it’s one less team we have to beat.”
“Oh, you think you’re going to beat us?” Tom asked, from where he and Clark were organizing the items on their end of the table.
“That’s why I said it,” Toby shot back.
“Easy there, you two,” Clark said, looking over at me. “How’d you guys do?”
I took a breath to answer, and Toby snapped her fingers in my face. “No fraternizing!” she yelled, her face turning alarmingly red again. “We have to see where we stand.”
“One minute,” Palmer said, and I pulled out the list.
“Okay, we have pizza,” I said, giving it a check mark. “A menu. Something with a boat on it. A square you eat,” I said, looking at the Rice Krispies Treat Toby had picked up in the mini-mart. “Something Hot, Something Cold. Items of Formal Wear. A Coin from 1972 . . .”
“Ugh,” Toby said as she nudged it to the center of the table, touching it with one finger. “Think how many decades of germs are probably on it.”
“Soda, napkins, the pun, cotton balls . . .”
“The bell, book, and candle,” Toby said, pointing, “The sample spoon . . . and I kind of know the Thriller dance . . .”
“How many points is that?” I asked, biting my lip as Palmer started the ten-second countdown.
“I’m adding,” she said, looking at me, and I could see she looked as worried as I felt. “How many do you guys have?” she asked, just as Palmer yelled, “Time!”
I let out a long breath, and Toby held up her hand for a high five. “Go team,” she said.
“Hey,” Clark said, reaching out his hand for mine. “Don’t be mad about the diner. It was all Tom’s idea.”
“It was,” Tom said as he circled the table, clearly trying to see how our pile stacked up to theirs.
“And my keys?” I asked, trying to stay mad but sensing that it was a losing battle.
“Oh, that was all me,” Clark said as I relented and took his hand, and he raised mine to his lips and gave it a quick kiss.
“Okay,” Palmer said, clapping her hands together and grinning at us. “How’d you guys do?” She looked around. “And where are Bri and Wyatt? They’re totally disqualified by now.”
“Who cares about them?” Tom asked. He straightened up from where he’d been counting our items. “Who won?”
“Just give me a second to tally,” Palmer said, pulling out her own copy of the list.
“You guys caught a firefly?” Toby asked, from where she was staring at the guys’ pile. “Seriously?”
“And that counts for three extra,” Tom said, walking over to his side of the table. “Something Alive, Something in a Jar, and Something that Lights Up.” I felt my heart sink as I looked over at Toby. It was looking more and more likely that the guys had won this.
“And . . . it’s a tie,” Palmer said, setting down her sheet of paper, eyebrows shooting up. “You both have eighty-four points. I’m not sure this has ever happened before.”
“Wait, what?” Tom asked, frowning down at Palmer’s paper. “How is that possible? I spent like ten dollars getting all the blue gum balls!”
“Well, we did waste a lot of time catching that firefly,” Clark pointed out, sliding his arm over my shoulder and pulling me in close to him.
“Rookie mistake,” Palmer said, shaking her head.
“Also, Carly thinks your name is Phil!” Toby said gleefully, apparently a believer in kicking someone while they were down.
“Congratulations to both teams,” Palmer said as she opened up the pizza boxes. “Who’s hungry?”
“But nobody won,” Toby said, frowning at the guys’ items, clearly counting them again silently.
“But Bri and Wyatt definitely lost,” Clark pointed out. “So there’s that.”
“Oh, right,” Toby said, brightening, as she grabbed a piece of pizza and a napkin.
“Honestly,” I said to Palmer, taking a cheese slice after checking that no other toppings had migrated onto it. “Was the pizza your way of getting us to bring dinner?”
Palmer shrugged. “I just know how hungry these things can make you,” she said, giving me a tiny wink.
We ended up pushing the items to the side and sitting around the picnic table, mostly hearing about Tom’s failed attempt to convince a notary to work after-hours. I was recounting the story of my dad suddenly going rogue and stealing spoons when headlights cut across the grass and a moment later I recognized Wyatt’s truck.
“Finally!” Palmer said, setting down her crust. She looked at her watch. “Do you think they thought they had three hours, not two? Are they really going to play that card?”
“I bet you they got them all, though,” Tom said despondently as he rolled the empty jar between his palms. “Just someone tell them that we really did have a firefly. Clark, we never should have set it free.”
Bri and Wyatt climbed out of the truck and I watched, expecting them to go around to the back and start unloading the bags of their stuff, come running up to the picnic table full-speed. But they just continued on toward us, walking a few feet apart, both of them empty-handed.
“Hey,” Toby called as they got closer. “Where have you guys been? And where’s all your stuff?”
“Car broke down when we were on the way to the diner,” Wyatt said, pushing his hair back with one hand. “I had to call Triple A and get a jump.”
“Yeah,” Bri said, shaking her head. “They took forever to get there too.”
“Are you okay?” Toby asked Bri, eyes wide. “Were you, like, stranded on the side of the highway? That’s how almost every serial killer movie starts.”
“We’re fine,” Wyatt said with a laugh. “Totally un-murdered.”
“So you weren’t able to get anything?” Palmer said, putting her hands in her back pockets and then taking them out again, a slight hurt tone to her voice that I almost never heard.
“We really wanted to,” Bri said quickly, looking at Palmer and then away again. “But . . .”
Palmer nodded and started cleaning up, putting empty plates and crusts into the pizza box, spending time making sure she got the lid on just right. “So who won?” Bri asked, her voice a little more cheerful than usual, and I wondered if she was picking up on the same thing I was—that Palmer was disappointed, that the fact they hadn’t participated at all was draining some of the joy from the whole thing.
“Tie,” Toby and Tom said in unison.
“Really?” Wyatt asked, as he loped over to the table and started looking at what was there. “Wow, they just gave you these diner menus?”
“Please tell me there’s some pizza left,” Bri said.
“Only if you want weird toppings,” I said, opening up the box that was in front of me, the one that still had a few passed-over slices in it. Wyatt, no doubt drawn by the prospect of food, came to stand next to Bri as I tried to figure out what three toppings Clark and Tom had gone with. “So I think this is . . . pepperoni, jalapeño, and . . . pineapple?” I asked, staring at the slice and feeling myself recoil. “Ugh, why would you guys do that to yourselves?”
I glanced up and saw Wyatt nudging Bri as she tried to take a bite of the terrible-sounding pizza and Bri turning away, taking her pizza, and going to sit next to Toby.
“So,” Wyatt said, sitting down on the bench and taking a slice of his own. “What did we miss? We need details.”