11

“I am actually scared for my life,” I murmur as I snap on my seatbelt.

“Merri,” he leans over and takes my hand in his, squeezing it gently, “I’ll try not to kill us.”

“All well and good for you,” I mutter, “you’re a supernatural creature. I’m just an ordinary old woman.”

“Enough with the old. You’re a beautiful, vibrant creature, and you’re about to teach an angel how to drive.”

“Only because you won’t stop harping and begging,” I roll my eyes. “If it were up to me I’d be sitting on that new couch with a hot chocolate and a good book.”

Chris laughs.

“You and that couch.”

I raise my chin. “I didn’t get a sports car. And it’s not my fault if Wednesday didn’t check the delivery address. Besides, possession is nine-tenths of the law.”

“I one hundred per cent agree,” he nods, grinning. “And I know there’s something, or rather someone , I’d like to possess on that impossibly comfortable leather.”

“OK, OK, cut it out.”

“Alright, but you did say you’d teach me to drive when I could retract my wings. They’re retracted.”

I nod. This is true. I’d put off showing him a few things, like how to do ceramics, or drive, because his wing protruding from his back prevented him from sitting straight or comfortably. Now that his wing was mending, still a little painful, but retractable, I was all out of excuses.

“I’m just going to put it out there one more time that this is a bad, very bad , idea. After the snow-blowing machine episode I really think you and machines are mortal enemies.”

“The snow blower wasn’t my fault,” he groans. “I had no idea there was a blade inside or I never would have stuck my hand in there.”

“You almost lost your fingers! And refuelling it while it was running? You almost blew up the garage!”

“Almost,” he laughs. “But I didn’t. What’s this pedal do?”

“It’s an ejector seat igniter, put your foot on it and you’ll shoot through the roof and into the sky.”

He turns slowly to give me a scrutinising look.

“Are you bullshitting me?”

“God save us,” I groan.

Laughing, he starts the engine, and I begin our lesson.

It’s been weeks now that we’ve been sharing a house. Weeks of me teaching him everything I can think of as we slowly repair and renovate my home, and weeks of him making me laugh. But also weeks of absolute terror at some of the crazy-ass dangerous things he’s done as he pursues knowledge at all costs.

As we pull out onto the road he tries to take my mind off my fear that we’re going to crash and ignite into a fiery ball of death, by asking me about my life, as he often does.

“You taught your daughter to drive?” He asks as I indicate with my hand that he needs to keep his eyes on the road, not on me.

“Yes. James taught Roger and I taught Katie.”

“Tell me about them.”

“Jesus! Just slow down and stick to the right, for Christ’s sake. That’s it. Ah, well, they both went to college. James wanted Roger to follow him into the building trade, but Roger was always destined for something arty. He ended up settling on architecture, so James was slightly mollified. He’s still studying that now in Los Angeles. He could have studied closer to home, but he moved there quite out of the blue to follow the lovely young woman he was in love with. They have a two-year-old son. My daughter, Katie, is the older of the two. She’s a teacher in Idaho. She married a farmer there who she met in Paris of all places on a group tour. She hasn’t worked since she had the twins five years ago. She has my love of nature, but James’ pragmatism.”

“Which one is your favourite?”

“I don’t have a favourite,” I laugh, “but James definitely did. He always treated Katie like a little princess. I think Roger was a disappointment to him because he was more creative than hands-on. You would have been the ideal son,” I laugh, “with your workshop mania.”

“Except I’m too old to be his son,” Chris says, flicking his eyes to me and giving me a ‘how many times do I have to tell you?’ Look.

“Yes,” I nod, “so you say. Ah, watch out!”

Chris narrowly misses a squirrel running across the road, and I clutch my heart as he turns the corner way too fast to head back towards the house.

Today had been a ‘once around the block’ agreement, and he was sticking to it, as promised. I don’t think my nerves could take much more just yet.

But my shocks are obviously not over for the day, because as we round the corner I see a For Sale sign has been put up in my front yard.