The Bookish Life of Nina Hill(77)

“Really?” Why was her voice so squeaky?

“Yeah. His favorite thing to do was drive up the coast and find some deserted beach where he could sit and read in peace.” He looked at her, patiently. “Now try the car again.”

Nina turned the key in the ignition. She went very slowly, and sure enough, there was a moment when she felt the car move under her. She kept working the pedals, and suddenly they moved forward, whereupon she immediately hit the brake without disengaging the clutch and stalled the car again.

“Dammit. This is hard.”

Moltres nodded. “You can see why the automatic gearbox took off.”

“Why would anyone choose to drive stick?”

“It’s more fun,” he answered. “You have to concentrate more, pay more attention. You have to work with the engine. Easier isn’t always better.”

Nina turned the key again, and this time when the car moved she controlled herself and managed to drive forward without incident. “Now, how do I change gears?”

Moltres’s voice was calm. “You do the same thing again. Put pressure on the gas until you hear the engine is ready to change up.”

“I don’t hear it.” Nina’s voice was less calm.

“Stop the car,” Moltres said. “Let’s try something else. Don’t forget to disengage the clutch when you brake.”

Nina managed to stop the car without stalling, and put it in park.

“Let’s swap places,” Moltres said. He went around the front, Nina went around the back, and then they were looking at each other from the other direction.

Moltres said, “I need you to focus. I’m going to talk you through what I’m doing, and you’re going to learn how it sounds.” Nina nodded. “Listen, I’m putting it in gear, the clutch is off, I’m adding gas”—the engine note changed—“and now it’s in gear and we’re moving. More gas, more speed, and can you hear that the engine is starting to work too hard?”

Nina could, kind of. “It sounds too loud. Is that what you mean?”

“If that’s all you’ve got, go with that. Anyway, here I go, disengaging the clutch, changing the gear, reengaging the clutch, second gear.”

The engine sounded happier. They sped up again, making swoops across the parking lot. “And now again, second to third. Clutch out, change gear, clutch in, third gear.”

Two hours later Nina cracked it.

Three hours later Moltres handed her the keys, declared himself satisfied, and let her drive away. “Keep it for a few days,” he said, “then bring it back and I’ll fix whatever you broke.”

Four hours, two stalls, and much circling later, she found a parking space and remembered why she didn’t own a car in Los Angeles.

Back-and-forthing in the space was nerve racking, and Nina kept having to slam the brakes to avoid hitting the car behind her. After one particularly hard brake, the glove box of the car flew open and a pile of envelopes and papers slid out onto the passenger seat and floor.

Nina turned off the car and reached over to pick it all up. She saw her name, then saw Becky, Katherine, Archie, Millie, Lydia, Peter . . . There were lots of yellow envelopes, the kind with little metal butterflies on the flap, each addressed to one of William’s kids or grandchildren.

Nina frowned; this couldn’t possibly be good. She found hers and opened it, still sitting in the car, the engine ticking as it cooled. There was a folded piece of paper, and a very ’80s-looking bankbook, with My First Savings Account written on it in gold, with an actual rainbow unicorn. Banking used to be so much cuter. She opened it up and goggled at the balance. Over two and a half million dollars. Doubtless there was some mistake. She turned to the letter.

Dear Nina,

I’m going to open this letter in the classic way: If you’re reading this, I’m already dead.



Nina made a face at the cliché, but kept reading.

My being dead probably doesn’t bother you much, seeing as you didn’t find out I was alive until I wasn’t. I’ve wanted to reach out to you many times, and I used to come and watch you get picked up from school, to make sure you were happy. Your mom was quite right to keep me out of your life; looking back, my biggest regret is how much I hurt my kids, and you were spared that. But I did love you, even if it was creepily, and from a distance.



Nina looked out of the window. It would be nice to know what her father’s voice sounded like, so she could imagine the letter in voice-over, but as she didn’t, she decided to pretend the car was talking to her in William Daniels’s voice. It had started raining, which seemed appropriately anomalous for this moment.

Anyway, I’m leaving you this car, and also the savings account. Your mom refused to take money from me, so I put it away for you. One hundred dollars every week you’ve been alive, plus interest, and it’s ended up being an excellent example of the miracle of compounding. Spend it on something amusing. If you want to sell the car, please offer it to Moltres first; he loves it. Don’t be fooled by his gruff exterior. He’s really a pussycat and a good man. I’m not suggesting you marry him or anything, but he’ll give you a fair price.

Here’s the thing, Nina. I have a feeling you and I are very alike. I know you love books even more than I do, and I know you enjoy being alone. (Yes, I stalked you a little bit online as you got older. There’s nothing you can do about it now that I’m dead. Sorry.) But I made mistakes in my life, and I want to give you some advice.