Maggie and Chip
She keeps her finger on the page and takes a breath.
She’s not sure he’s awake after the first few sentences, but then he nods at her to show her he’s listening.
“There were other things in the stocking, nuts and oranges and a toy engine, and chocolate almonds and a clockwork mouse, but the Rabbit was quite the best of all.” She pauses and looks at him, and he opens his eyes and smiles.
Their dad had to bring the car in for inspection, and their mom had to put in a few hours at the Daisy Cup factory. Maggie had been going to school off and on. The teachers seemed to understand.
“Keep going, Tiger.”
She reads about the other toys, and Chip sits up a bit when she reads about the Skin Horse and his speech to the Rabbit about how a toy becomes real.
She looks at her brother’s feet, at his thin arms and wrists, and she holds the book against her chest. “Wherever you went this summer, was it what you thought it would be?”
He looks at floating dust in the sunlight, and he reaches up and tries to catch a piece. He turns to her and she swears his eyes are a lighter brown than they used to be, almost golden. “I was where I was meant to be,” he says and points his finger at her, twisting it in the air.
She recognizes that gesture from when he taught her how to drive, giving her lessons in his Mustang.
It always meant go; it meant hit the gas; it meant don’t be afraid.
In 1972, when Chip was sixteen and about to get his driver’s license, the world felt so uncertain.
There was the photo of the napalm girl in Vietnam, Hurricane Agnes on the East Coast, and Watergate.
By the end of June, they all felt exhausted.
Then their dad took Chip to a car auction.
Maggie remembers Chip up at five a.m. making so much noise in his excitement.
They were hoping to get a good deal on something, and after taking an auto class at school, Chip thought he knew enough about cars to fix one up.
That day, she and her mother went to the flea market in Saylorsburg, and she got a fake parrot in a cage to hang in her room, and her mom bought a set of trays so they could eat dinner in the living room while watching TV.
They talked and laughed and got hot dogs from the stand down the road and chocolate milk that was ice cold.
Her mom kept saying, “I wonder what Daddy and Chip will end up with,” and Maggie knew Chip would be so disappointed if nothing panned out. She hoped she would be able to get a car next year.
“Listen, Chipper, it doesn’t have to be this auction,” their dad had said.
Chip had nodded absently, but Maggie could tell he had his heart set on it.
Her dad’s brother, Uncle Marvin, had picked them up that morning, and they knew if they saw Uncle Marvin’s pickup truck pull in at dinnertime that it wasn’t great news.
They heard tires on the gravel at around six, when the sun was still bright and expectant, and Maggie and her mom came out onto the porch of their small but cozy house. They both gasped as they saw what looked like a silver sports car, a Ford Mustang convertible, coming up the driveway.
“What in the world!” Maggie’s mom said, and her eyes twinkled. She squeezed Maggie’s hand. The two of them ran toward the car, and to their amazement, Chip was the one driving. Maggie squealed.
Their dad jumped out of the car shouting, “Ginny, do you believe this kid? Do you believe this good-luck charm?”
“This car? This is what you get?” She had tears in her eyes. “He’s a rabbit’s foot,” her mom said, and Chip was blushing, and Maggie was clapping. Her mom grabbed Chip’s arm as she always did when she gave someone a compliment as not to jinx them.
“I never saw a deal like this.” Her dad shook his head and looked at the car.
“Ten years old but in primo shape. My hands were shaking when I wrote out the check. Marvin was so pissed-off jealous, he barely said goodbye!” Maggie walked over and ran her hand across the smooth hood, and she stared at Chip and thought she would always remember his proud smile.
“An old guy bought it in May and had a heart attack, poor bastard. The family just wanted to get rid of it.”
“Goodness gracious.” Her mom crossed her arms and looked at it. “You let him drive without his license?” She slapped her dad’s shoulder, and her dad put his arm around her.
He grinned. “Only from the top of the driveway.” He stood back and looked at the car. “I was kind of hoping he’d hate driving it so we could take it.”
“No chance!” Chip said. “Should we go for a spin?”
The four of them climbed into the car, Maggie in the back behind Chip, her dad beside her with his knees pressed against the seat, their mom in the front as Chip took them up and down the driveway, his foot a bit jerky on the brake, but all of them together just the same.
“It doesn’t need anything,” her dad said. “Perfect shape.”
“How am I going to wait to drive it?” Chip said. “I need my license like yesterday.”
“You’re driving it now,” her dad said, and they all laughed.
The sky got dark because a storm was coming in, and Chip put the headlights on.
The wipers moved, and the car lit up the house, their cluster of maple trees ablaze on either side.
The family kept driving back and forth, Chip’s foot switching from gas to brake, gas to brake, his hands so determined on the wheel, as though he knew just where he was taking them.