Chapter 27 Luisa #2
“Find a place that you can claim for yourself,” I say, resting the back of my forearms on the table. “A cafe table or a park bench. Somewhere you can go and dream.”
“Is that what you did?” Eli asks, pouring more water into my glass.
“I’d walk to this used bookstore down the street,” I recall.
The store was part bookstore, part hoarding project.
But the memory of the dusty shelves, cluttered aisles, and chaotic classifications only brings a smile to my face.
“I’d spend hours in that place, sitting in front of the shelves, pulling down whatever called to me, reading the first page. ”
“Just the first page?” Pearl asks, her face open with curiosity.
“First pages are full of promise,” I say, remembering the girl I used to be. “And my world felt pretty small back then.”
Eli reaches for me under the table, gently pressing the top of my thigh with his thumb. His touch puts me at ease, connecting me to the present moment.
Over dinner and cake, I learn about their grandmother Mamaw Tillie, the strong Southern woman who practically raised them, and the house they inherited from her, and which they have turned into a refuge.
Pearl delights in sharing Eli’s most excruciating guardianship moments—that time he baked cookies for the PTA’s Spring Fling and forgot to add sugar; or the meeting with a young teacher, who repeatedly hit on him.
Through the laughter, and the memories, one thing is abundantly clear: Eli has stepped in to give Pearl the kind of stable home he didn’t have growing up.
I’m angry at myself for not seeing him for the man he is, from the very beginning.
For failing to recognize the good, devoted, loving man sitting beside me.
I watch him tease Pearl, making her laugh, knowing that he’s done everything in his power to secure her future.
My feelings for him, for the man that he’s proven to be, are more than my heart can contain. They fill me with warmth and longing.
And also fear.
What will happen if our plan goes south? If Eli gets caught and—heaven forbid—thrown in jail? What will become of Pearl without her brother to take care of her? I add up the repercussions in my head, a mixture of guilt and regret churning in my stomach.
It won’t come to that, I assure myself. We are three nimble, think-on-your-feet people—that’s what it’s taken for Holly, Eli, and me to survive.
We know how to adapt. Eli will go to the ball, get the information, and get out.
We will drive back to Westlake, and in a few weeks, he will drop off Pearl at her art school in Savannah.
Maybe I can join them. Maybe we can spend a few days on Tybee Island.
I smile at the idea, at the possibility of a fresh start for both of us.
After dinner, we crowd into the small kitchen, where Pearl and Eli work to put away leftovers and load the dishwasher.
I’m wandering about, curiously exploring every nook and cranny, when I notice a series of intriguing photographs on the wall beside the cabinets.
They’re a ghostly, almost fantastical image of abandoned vintage cars in an old forest.
“Where were these taken?” I ask, gesturing toward the frames.
Pearl moves beside me, studying the images over my shoulder.
“That’s Eli’s favorite junkyard,” she says. “Old Car City in White, Georgia.”
I chuckle. “You have a favorite junkyard?” I ask, turning to Eli, who is scrubbing a pot in the sink.
“Don’t you?” he asks, deadpan.
“That’s where Mabel came from,” Pearl exclaims.
“Mabel?” I ask, my expression drawing a blank. “Who’s Mabel?”
The dirty dishes are abandoned as a very eager Pearl leads me to the garage and introduces me to Mabel—a 1966 Ford Bronco that Eli has been painstakingly restoring.
Mabel is jaw-droppingly beautiful. The pastel-mint body exudes retro beach vibes. The creamy leather interiors and shiny chrome details add a touch of classic elegance. She’s a perfectly calibrated blend of charm and ruggedness.
“She was rusting under this big magnolia tree,” Pearl explains, pointing to a series of Polaroids pinned to the wall of the garage. “Eli rescued her.”
“I think she rescued me.” Eli runs one hand over the hood, eyes glinting with pride. “I’m still tinkering with the engine. She needed a brand-new transmission, brakes, exhaust system, driveshaft. Everything had to be replaced.” He pops open the hood, offering me a glimpse of his work.
“Is this what you do?” I ask, mesmerized, even though I have no idea how the inside of a car works and I’m finding it hard to reconcile the corroded scrap of metal in the wall photos with the gorgeous vintage car under my fingertips.
“I’m a mechanic,” Eli says, his chin jutting with pride. “I like pulling things apart, putting them back together again. Giving a wreck a new life.” He closes the hood, pushing it down until it locks in place. Then guides me to the open side door, gesturing for me to climb in. I do.
“What’s next for her—after you’re done?” I ask, sliding both hands over the soft leather steering wheel. Eli takes the passenger seat beside me.
“A potential buyer came through last week,” he says, rubbing a speck of dust off the dashboard with the back of his palm.
“He offered three hundred thousand dollars,” Pearl exclaims enthusiastically.
I shoot Eli a dubious look. “I think she added an extra zero,” I say, unable to believe anyone would pay the price of a condo for this car. “Who has that kind of money?”
“Jackson Hole ranchers, apparently.” He shrugs sheepishly in response. “The deal is far from done,” he says, “but if it goes through, I’ll be driving Mabel out to Wyoming before Labor Day. Wanna come?”
A few months ago, the mere suggestion of a road trip to Wyoming would seem ludicrous.
For one, when would I find the time? Most of the vacation I accrued at The Georgia Times went unused.
But standing here beside Eli and this dream of a car, it’s easy to imagine myself in the passenger seat, a silk scarf over my long, windswept hair, the sun lapping at my bare shoulders, a vast cloudless sky over an expansive stretch of road—and the endless possibility of it all.
Pearl’s phone pings, breaking into my thoughts.
“My friends are here,” she announces, texting something back.
“It was so awesome to meet you, Luisa.” In a sudden frenzy, she opens the driver’s door and throws her arms around me, giving me a tight hug.
I hug her back, unaware that she would be leaving.
“I’m staying at Paulina’s,” she says to Eli. “We’re having a horror movie marathon. Can I take the leftover cake?”
“I thought you made that for me,” Eli exclaims in mock indignation. “What are Luisa and I supposed to have for breakfast?” He cuts me a sly glance, and my cheeks go red at the suggestion that I’ll be spending the night.
Pearl sets her gaze on me and smiles. “You kids make good choices,” she sings on her way out.