24. Maggie

The empty parking lot stretched before us. Tommy sat in the driver's seat, and I was still firmly sitting in the passenger seat. He had been trying to convince me to get out and switch places with him for about fifteen minutes now, but I refused to move.

The Chicago Cougars had a few days off from traveling, which meant neither of us had to go to the stadium, and apparently, off days were dangerous for Tommy because it was when he came up with terrible ideas. Today's terrible idea was finally helping me get back behind the wheel of a car. He had showed up at my house earlier than I would have liked and called me until I came out. When he didn't tell me where he was taking me once I got in, I knew I was in some serious trouble.

"Maggie, come on," Tommy said. "You've been wanting to do this for a while and now you have the opportunity to."

"I know."

"I'm not going to let you chicken out."

"I know."

Tommy got out of the car and walked over to the passenger side. He opened my door and stepped to the side, staring down at me with expectant eyes. After I realized he really wasn't going to walk back over to the driver's side this time, I sighed and pulled myself out of the car.

"There we go." Tommy slipped into my seat before I could even blink, forcing me to either sit in the back like a loser or face my fears and get behind the wheel again.

Every step I took felt like an eternity, and soon I was looking down at the wheel of Tommy's car, wondering how something I hadn't thought twice about at one time was now the most difficult thing in the world. Before I could talk myself out of it, I dropped down into the seat and stared out the windshield like it was the first time I was ever looking out this side of it.

"Okay, now put your hands on the wheel," Tommy coached. It felt like I was now the player on the baseball field and he was the coach. But instead of my hands doing what Tommy said to do, they stayed firmly in my lap.

"Okay, now put your hands on the wheel," Tommy repeated.

"I know."

Tommy paused as he watched me from the passenger seat. We'd at least made more progress in the last five minutes than we had in the last hour. "You don't even have to start the car yet."

"Okay."

What he said made sense, but it was like my body was fighting against what it should do. Tommy reached over and gently laced his fingers through mine before he raised my hands to the wheel. When he let go, he cheerfully looked at me and said, "See? That wasn't so bad."

As I sat there with my hands gripping the wheel, I half expected to have a flashback to that night. But nothing happened, nothing came. So instead, I gripped the wheel tighter as I felt some of the worry I had been feeling leak out of my body. With one more breath, I reached down and turned the key. It was different feeling a car start up when you were in control rather than sitting in the passenger seat. You were at the mercy of the engine under the hood and responsible for the safety of whoever was inside the car.

Tommy started to encourage me to take that small step, but he stopped when he watched me put my foot on the brake and the car in drive.

"Are you sure?" he asked as the car began to creep forward.

"We're already moving, Tommy," I told him as I edged the car around the empty parking lot. We were not zipping around the parking lot at a normal thirty miles per hour. It was a slow crawl around five, but I was driving a car for the first time in almost four years. The speed didn't matter, so long as the car was moving.

"You're doing it!" Tommy shouted. He was celebrating my accomplishment like the fans cheered for him when he made a game-saving play or hit a game-winning home run. It meant the world to me that he was celebrating something so small like the massive accomplishments people celebrated of his.

He didn't stop cheering for me as I moved his car around and around in circles in that parking lot. I knew I wasn't going to have the courage to take it out on the road today, but that moment in the parking lot was enough for me.

I was surprised when my chest didn't constrict and my palms didn't sweat as I drove. In fact, I didn't feel nervous at all. It was a little like riding a bike. Sure, I was a little rusty, but I hadn't forgotten how to do it. As I continued to drive in circles, I realized that it wasn't the act of driving I was afraid of. I had been a safe driver before the accident. Instead, I was afraid of the other people on the road and the unpredictability of what they would do. The accident had effectively given me trust issues with driving.

After a few more turns, I slowed the car to a stop and put it in park. Tommy stayed silent next to me as he waited to hear my thoughts. My eyes glanced between the dash and the road just beyond the parking lot we were in, my mind calculating the risks.

"How do you feel?" Tommy asked after I hadn't said anything for a few minutes.

"Like I need to actually go on the road."

"You don't have to," he replied quickly, trying to make me feel comfortable with what I had done so far.

"Driving isn't the problem, Tommy," I told him. "I trust myself. It's everyone else that I don't trust."

"Well, I'm sorry to tell you that will never go away." Tommy chuckled softly. When my eyes still remained firmly planted on the road in front of us, Tommy continued, "Okay, how about this? There's an ice cream shake place a couple miles away from my place. If you can get us there, I'll get us back to my house."

"Deal." This was a momentous occasion to reward with some ice cream.