“Glad for you to come. I just hope you don’t mind a little wind,” Pitt said, nodding toward the car.

“That’s some set of wheels,” Lisa stammered. “What is it?”

“A 1932 Auburn Speedster. I just finished rebuilding the brakes last night and thought it would be fun to take her out.”

Lisa gazed at the sleek car, painted in dual shades of cream and blue. The open cockpit offered cramped seating for two, and there was no backseat. Instead, the bodywork behind the driver’s compartment flared to a triangular point at the rear bumper, in the classic boattail shape.

“I don’t think there’s room for all of us,” she lamented.

“There is if somebody doesn’t mind riding in back,” Pitt replied. He walked over and pushed down on the flush topside surface of the boattail. A hideaway seat folded back, revealing a one-passenger compartment.

“Oh my, I’ve always wanted to ride in a rumble seat,” Lisa said. Without hesitation, she climbed onto a foot bracket and hopped into the compartment.

“My grandfather used to tell me how he rode in the rumble seat of his father’s Packard during the Depression,” she explained.

“No better way to see the world,” Pitt joked, winking at her before helping Loren into the front seat.

They loped through rush hour traffic along the Mall and across the George Mason Bridge before heading south into Virginia. As the city monuments grew smaller behind them, the traffic lightened and Pitt mashed down on the accelerator. With a smooth and powerful twelve-cylinder engine under the hood, the sleek Auburn quickly sprinted past the speed limit. As the car accelerated, Lisa grinned and waved like a little girl at the passing traffic, enjoying the wind as it rustled through her hair. Up front, Loren placed a hand on Pitt’s knee and smiled at her husband, who always seemed to find a touch of adventure wherever he went.

Pitt drove past Mount Vernon, then exited the main highway. At a small crossroad, he turned down a dirt road that meandered through the trees until ending at a small restaurant facing the Potomac River. Pitt parked the Auburn and turned off the motor as the heavy scent of Old Bay Seasoning filled the air.

“Best spiced crabs in the territory,” Pitt promised.

The restaurant was an old riverside home converted to a café, plainly decorated but with a cozy atmosphere. They were seated at a table overlooking the Potomac as a crowd of locals began filtering in.

“Loren tells me you are a research chemist at GWU,” Pitt said to Lisa, after ordering a round of beers and crab.

“Yes, I’m part of an environmental studies group looking at the global-warming problem,” she replied.