Drives Like a Dream by Porter Shreve Page A

The crowd, well into its cups, replied with a resounding, "
Bravo!
"
    "Before we move on to toasts, there's a little secret that Ellen and I want to let you in on. What's the range on this thing?" he asked Rick, pointing to the microphone and beginning to walk around the first table.
    Rick gave a thumbs-up.
    Cy continued. "Perhaps you're wondering why we decided to hold our wedding at a Scottish church and our reception at a Southwestern restaurant. In fact, I'd like to personally apologize to those of you who had your hearts set on haggis for dinner. Nothing pleases the stomach quite like stomach." He laughed at his own joke and was quickly joined by the inebriated.
    Cy stood over Casper Spivey, who glanced up and smiled politely. M.J.'s cheeks looked heavy, her expression flat as a horizon. Cy seemed to enjoy walking around with a microphone. He flicked it between two fingers like a fat cigar. Watching him, Jessica grew apprehensive.
    "Maybe you're also wondering why this cake is shaped like a cactus and why the theme of the reception is Desert Southwestern." Cy moved from the front tables toward the middle of the room, touching people on the shoulder, giving a wave here and there. He looked more like Phil Donahue combing the studio audience than Jessica's father, his hair whiter without the beard, his features more bland.
    "We chose the Casual Cactus to give the people we love—dear friends and family—a glimpse of the life Ellen and I are about to embark on together." Cy stood at the far side of the room now. "Ellen, honey—" He wandered back toward the wedding cake. "Come give me a hand with this."
    Ellen floated toward him, and Jessica began to feel alarmed. She knew they were going to the Grand Canyon for part of their honeymoon, and assumed most of the guests were aware of this, too. Cy had never done surprises very well, and he had a remarkable way of de-dramatizing significant events. Jessica saw that her brothers looked worried.
    Ellen took the microphone and held it chest high with two hands, an eager-to-please look taking over her face. She wasted no time. "Cy and I would like to announce that we're moving west," she said. "My maid of honor and best friend, Gisele, has found us terrific positions with Southwestern Cellular, and we're thrilled to tell you all that beginning next month our address will be Phoenix, Arizona."
    The applause began slowly, a few hands clapping in the back of the room, and gradually moved toward the front. Davy clapped the loudest at table two. M.J. dabbed at her eyes. With a sinking feeling, Jessica wondered what her mother was going to think of this.
    Ivan sat square as a soldier, one hand on the table, the other softly patting his chest, either to calm himself down or, more likely, to acknowledge that the best man's speech that he had worked himself into a dither over had become, with this latest news, obsolete.

7
    O NLY ONE OTHER person was browsing in the converted showroom at the Ypsilanti Automobile Museum. Across the room, he held his glasses behind his back as he peered into a display case. No docents were in sight. Lydia had left her laptop on a desk near the back, and she turned around every so often to check on it. The "Heritage Collection," as the museum's neon sign announced, celebrated what its curator called the "orphaned car." No Chevy Bel Airs or Corvettes here. No Ford Thunderbirds or Mustangs, Chrysler Airflows or Lincoln Zephyrs—none of the classics from the Big Three automakers. The cars on display at this tiny museum had rolled hopefully off the line, only to be cut loose when the companies that had dreamed them up died.
    She had been meaning to come here since the place had opened three years ago, but because her book was about GM, the trip hadn't been a priority. The cool darkness, the quiet buzz of the air conditioner, even the room's acrid smell of vinyl and Pine Sol were oddly soothing on this chaotic day. Lydia admired the plaid upholstery of