Bird took me around the truck and showed me all the bells and whistles he’d included. He sounded like he was describing a woman he loved or a dream he wanted so badly to revisit.
Once he was finished and we were sitting in the front seat—me behind the steering wheel and him in the passenger’s side with a grin, I almost wanted to give him the truck. But I knew it had to come home with me. I’d decided that I couldn’t give the truck back to Chauncey Billups.
“So what you got to hang from the mirror?” Bird asked. “My father used to say you don’t own a car until you hang one thing, and one thing only, from the rearview mirror. It’s like naming your baby.”
I pulled a thin golden necklace from my pocket. An oval-shaped locket with ivy engraved over the top hung from it. I handed it to Bird.
“What’s this?” He opened the charm.
On the left side was a picture of my father and King that I’d taken with my first Polaroid camera on the front steps of Grammy Annie-Lou’s house in Social Circle. The truck was to my right in the grass when I’d taken the photo. Still new and glistening. A promise. The tires filled with air and ready to go anywhere. You couldn’t see the truck in the little picture, but I knew it was there.
“It’s my father and my dog,” I explained to Bird of the picture in the left frame.
“What’s going here?” He pointed to the empty right frame.
“There is something there,” I said. “It’s my baby.”
Bird didn’t asked me anything else. He took the locket and slid it over the rearview mirror.
“That’s fine travelin’ company, Ms. Lady,” he said soberly. “You ain’t never going to be lost with these kinds of passengers.”
We watched the locket dangle for a minute and find its place.
“Just promise me one thing,” Bird asked.
“What?”
“Don’t leave this locket hanging from the mirror. Somebody’s bound to crack the window to get at it. And then I’m gonna have to go to jail, because I’m going to find that person and put my hands on him.”
“You’re so crazy,” I said, laughing. “How about this—I’ll keep it in the glove compartment?”
“Yeah, because I didn’t want to ruin the moment, but you might want to just get a palm tree air freshener or something to hang from the rearview window,” Bird said, getting out of the car and walking around to my window. “You have to be careful in this truck. Can’t leave it just anywhere. Can’t take it just anywhere. And don’t stop at any red lights in the hood.”
“I know. I know.”
“Might want to keep it in a garage through the winter. Paint’s still new.”
“I know,” I said. “Hey, what are you doing for the holidays?”
“Going on a three-week cruise to Alaska. Christmas and New Year’s.”
“Really? A cruise? I didn’t peg you for the kind of man who’d enjoy being on a boat that long.”
“Got me a new girlfriend. She ain’t never been nowhere, so I put a little money in her bank account and told her to take her man someplace nice.”
“That’s wonderful,” I said. “I’m sure you two will have a great time.”
“We will. She’s the kind of woman who will make sure of it. What about you? What you getting into? I’m sure you’ll be at the mayor’s ball or the White House by New Year’s Eve.”
“Don’t be too sure,” I said. “I’ll probably be doing the same thing I did last year.”
“Well, don’t break too many hearts out there, pretty lady,” Bird said.
“I’m sure I won’t.”
12
“Auld Lang Syne”