Katie shot him another look. “What did you used to do for a living?”

Bruce said, “I was a high school English teacher.”

“There’s a shocker. You’re good at using a big word when a small one would do the trick. Is that what drove you to drink? Having to deal with tons of teenagers every day?”

Bruce frowned at her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, eyes forward. “That was kind of asshole-ish.”

Bruce shrugged it off. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No, really, that was shitty of me.”

“I think I’d have become a drunk no matter what,” Bruce said. “I was born with the inclination. Truth is, I liked teaching.”

Katie, taking the route Bruce had suggested, was soon driving out of the residential area and into undeveloped parts of Garrett Island, of which there were many. Elected officials who’d presided over the island had been careful not to let development get out of control, much to the disappointment of folks in the housing and real estate business who, given the opportunity, would have turned every square inch into a profit.

“So, like, you didn’t answer my question,” she said.

“What was the question?”

“How’d you end up with this car?”

“Oh,” he said, and his voice softened. “So, when I was about twenty, my dad bought this car. And yeah, he bought it new. All he ever wanted in life was a new Cadillac. He made an okay living. Owned a small chain of three grocery stores up in central Mass, but it wasn’t like he was a millionaire or anything. But then he sold the stores, getting ready for retirement, and he bought himself this Caddy.”

“Okay,” Katie said, watching the road ahead. Since leaving Bruce’s house, they hadn’t encountered a single Arrival. The roads were empty, except for the occasional squirrel racing across.

“God, how he loved this car. It was the icing on the cake of his career. It showed he had made it. He had a fucking Cadillac. He’d drive around town, the windows down, his elbow on the door, one hand on the wheel, sometime, doing that cool move where you rest your wrist on the top of the wheel?” He glanced over. “Don’t try that.”

Katie tightened her grip. “Don’t worry.”

Bruce smiled sadly. “He was so proud of this car. My mom, she called it his mistress for a while there. Said he loved this car more than he loved her, which of course, was nonsense.” He considered his last comment for a second. “Or maybe not. She never drove, so she never had any real appreciation for cars. But this car was dad’s baby. And I’m glad that, for at least a while, he had a chance to enjoy it.”

Katie said, “What do you mean, for a while?”