'Second, it's cheaper than a downtown garage and much cheaper than Darnell's.'
'That's not the point, and you know it!'
'Maybe you're right,' Michael said. 'But you're missing something too, Arnie. You're missing the real point.'
'Well suppose you tell me what the real point is.'
'All right. I will.' Michael paused for a moment, looking steadily at his son. When he spoke his voice was low and even, almost as musical as his recorder. 'Along with any sense of what is reasonable, you seem to have totally lost your sense of perspective. You're almost eighteen, in your last year at public school. I think you've made up your mind not to go to Horlicks; I've seen the college brochures you've brought home - '
'No, I'm not going to Horlicks,' Arnie said. He sounded a little calmer now. 'Not after all of this. You have no idea how badly I want to get away. Or maybe you do.'
'Yes. I do. And maybe that's best. Better than this constant abrasion between you and your mother. All I ask is that you not tell her yet; wait until you have to submit the application papers.'
Arnie shrugged, promising nothing either way.
'You'll be taking your car to school, that is if it's still running - '
'It'll be running.'
' - and if it's a school that allows freshmen to have cars on campus.'
Arnie turned toward his father, surprised out of his smouldering anger - surprised and uneasy. This was a possibility he had never considered.
'I won't go to a school that says I can't have my wheels,' he said. His tone was one of patient instruction, the sort of voice an instructor with a class of mentally retarded children might use.
'You see?' Michael asked. 'She's right. Basing your choice of a college on the school's policy concerning freshmen and cars is totally irrational. You've gotten obsessed with this car.'
'I wouldn't expect you to understand.'
Michael pressed his lips together for a moment.
'Anyway, what's running out to the airport on the bus to pick up your car, if you want to take Leigh out? It's an inconvenience, granted, but not really a major one. It means you won't use it unless you have to, for one thing, and you'll save gas money. Your mother can have her little victory, she won't have to look at it.' Michael paused and then smiled his sad grin again. 'She doesn't see it as money flying away, both of us know that. She sees it as your first decisive step away from her . . . from us, I guess she . . . oh, shit, I don't know.'
He stopped, looking at his son. Arnie looked back thoughtfully,
'Take it to college with you; even if you choose a campus that doesn't allow freshmen to have cars on campus, there are ways to get around - '
'Like parking it at the airport?'
'Yes. Like that. When you come home for weekends, Regina will be so glad to see you she'll never mention the car. Hell, she'll probably get out there in the driveway and help you wash it and Turtlewax it just so she can find out what you're doing. Ten months. Then it'll be over. We can have peace in the family again. Go on, Arnie. Drive.'
Arnie pulled out of the dry cleaner's and back into traffic.
'Is this thing insured?' Michael asked abruptly.
Arnie laughed. 'Are you kidding? If you don't have' liability insurance in this state and you get in an accident, the cops kill you. Without liability, it'd be your fault even if the other car fell out of the sky and landed on top of you. It's one of the ways the shitters keep kids off the roads in Pennsylvania.'
Michael thought of telling Arnie that a disproportionate number of fatal accidents in Pennsylvania - 41 per cent - involved teenage drivers (Regina had read the statistic to him as part of a Sunday supplement article, rolling that figure out in slow, apocalyptic tones: 'For-ty one per cent! shortly after Arnie bought his car), and decided it wasn't anything Arnie would want to hear . . . not in his present mood.
'Just liability?'
They were passing under a reflecting sign which read LEFT LANE FOR AIRPORT. Arnie put on his blinker and changed lanes. Michael seemed to relax a little.
'You can't get collision insurance until you're twenty-one. I mean that; those shitting insurance companies are all as rich as Croesus, but they won't cover you unless the odds are