Page 133 of Tito

The entire group danced, some in time with the music, and some not. Everyone, however, had fun.

During the Cha Cha Slide, Ally and I were laughing so hard at my father’s lack of rhythm that we couldn’t dance any longer. Standing at the edge of the dancefloor nearly out of breath, I looked at her and smiled. “I’m about to pee my pants.”

“Follow me,” she said. “I’ll take you to the bathroom.”

I followed her inside. After using the bathroom, I took a quick tour of the gorgeous home. From what she said, it was a mixture of how Abby left it and how she and Goose wanted it to be. All I could say was that it was nothing shy of perfect.

When we finally got back to where we started, I paused. “So, what do you do?”

She gave me a funny look. “About what?”

“For a living?” I asked.

She returned a blank stare. Maybe she didn’t need to work. Afterall, she and Goose inherited the home, so there was no mortgage payment.

“Do you work?” I asked.

“Oh.” Seeming amused, she chuckled and opened the door. “I’m a semi-retired race car driver.”

I looked at her like she was crazy. “Get out of here.”

“No,” she said, straight-faced. “I’m serious.”

It sounded like an exciting career. “For real?” I asked excitedly. “A race car driver?”

“For real.”

“Do you have a race car, and everything?” I asked. “Like Danica Patrick?”

“Follow me,” she said.

She led me to the garage. She punched a code into the keypad and opened the door. Four motorcycles and a spotless red BMW SUV were parked in the stall on the left. On the right, the stall was empty. A framed poster of a silver Porsche sliding around a corner with the words “the road to excellence takes many turns” printed below it was hanging in the center of the wall.

“See that silver 911 Turbo S in the poster?” she asked, gesturing to the framed wall-mounted print.

I nodded. “It’s cool.”

“I set a track record at Lime Rock Park’s racetrack in Connecticut in one of those,” she said.

I glanced at the poster and then at her. “Oh, wow.”

“I used to have one. It was silver, just like that one.” Seemingly sad, she glanced at the red SUV. “Now, that’s my baby.”

I faxed the SUV. “This red one?”

“Eight hundred horsepower.” Her voice was laced with pride. “It’s a beast.”

The SUV was bright red, had tinted windows, and extremely wide tires that looked like they were fitted to racing wheels. Even though it was an SUV, it looked menacing.

“I like it,” I said. “What happened to the car like the one in the poster?”

Her gaze dropped to the garage floor. After a moment, she looked up. “I sold it the other day. A guy in Florida bought it sight unseen.”

She seemed rather sad about not having it. I felt bad for asking and tried to keep the conversation upbeat. “Maybe you can get another one of these days.”

“They only made 345 of them, so they’re stupid expensive,” she said. “I’m going to start saving for another one, though.”

“Hopefully you’ll find one better than the last one,” I said. “What are you going to do for work to save money? Race this red one?”