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you humming in the store,” Nick says.
    “Me, humming?” I blush. “I guess I’ve been too busy to notice.”
    “Have you always worked there?”
    “Not always—after my father died, my mother couldn’t bear to stay at her job. That was twenty years ago. So she opened the shop.”
    “You were just a kid.”
    “Yeah—I hung around the shop after school. My parents had both been teaching at South Cascade University. My father was a scholar, an editor of sacred Sanskrit texts. My mother has a master’s in design. Baba left us some money, and so she started the business by herself. She’s always been somewhat adventurous, trying new things. She took flute lessons for a while, then rappelling, if you can believe it.”
    Why am I divulging so much? Maybe the lull of the car, Nick’s casual driving style, the warmth and comfort of the air are functioning like a truth serum to get me to talk.
    “Cool lady, your mom,” he says. “I’m sorry about your dad. Looks as though you’re doing pretty well for yourself now.”
    “We’re doing great,” I lie. “But I haven’t always worked at the shop. I took time off to get my business degree at the UW, and I even worked in New York for three years.”
    “What brought you back?”
    Ma’s business was faltering. Sean and I broke up. “I missed my friends.” That much is true. “Now I own half the store.” I’ve already given far too much information to this driver. “So have you always driven a limousine?”
    “Drove professionally for a while. Raced, gave it up while the money was good.”
    “You raced? Isn’t that dangerous? Like a big adrenaline rush or death wish or something?”
    “A bit of both. I got to know where all the best tracks are, where you can get your car driving sideways along a wall.”
    “I can’t imagine driving sideways.” I shiver. “I’d be afraid of flipping over.”
    “You feel the fear, and you go with the rush. But…I got older. I’m thirty-three now, an old man.” He laughs.
    “Do you do this all day, every day? Driving people like Asha Rao? Celebrities and such?”
    “Hell no. There’s more to life. Good food, sleep, a good workout. Baseball, football. Sex.”
    I bite my lip and pretend to look out the window, at the freeway rushing by, Seattle high-rises growing closer. “Tell me about your tattoos,” I say quickly, to change the subject. “Where did you get them?”
    “Oh, you noticed them, eh? Osaka. I was on liberty, a long time ago. Can’t you tell? My hair is long. Guys who had to wear their hair short always rebel and grow it long when they get out.”
    He’d look great in a uniform. Good in a suit, in jeans. He’s a driver, I remind myself. Like rickshawallas or family chauffeurs. He’s not even Indian.
    “Why would you want to permanently deface your skin?” I ask. “Tattoos never come off, you know.”
    “Yeah, I thought about that. What if I’m a different person ten years from now? Lucky I didn’t put a girlfriend’s name on my arm.”
    I clear my throat. “So you have a girlfriend?” I ask politely.
    “On and off. Her name is Liz. My mom keeps pushing me to tie the knot, but I’m not quite ready for that.”
    A memory stings me—of Sean saying exactly the same thing. Not quite ready to tie the knot. “So you have family around here?”
    “My parents are still in Port Westwood, out near Port Gamble, Port Townsend, that area. They’re retired, traveling all the time. Mother was a teacher, and a master gardener! My father’s a businessman. Started Dunbar Limousine. I’m the eldest. I have two brothers and a sister. Youngest brother’s a lawyer, sister’s a teacher. My other brother and I run the business.”
    “It must be nice to have such a large immediate family,” I say wistfully. “I’ve always wished for a sister or a brother, to take some of the burden off me. I feel such a tremendous responsibility to my mother, you know? She’s lonely, and she puts all her energy into