“I’ll help,” Zach volunteered.
“Go ahead, I’ll be fine,” Mrs. Fairmont added. “It’s so pleasant out here this morning.”
In the kitchen I studied Zach’s face. “Why are you asking me to go for a ride?” I asked.
“I’ll tell you later,” he replied. “I promise.”
There wasn’t time to call my parents and get their counsel. I had to decide myself. My mind leaned toward no, but my mouth must have been connected to another part of me.
“Okay, but not long.”
It only took a few minutes to clean up the kitchen. Zach loaded the dishwasher exactly the same way I did. I went downstairs, brushed my teeth, and tied my hair in a ponytail. I threw some things in a casual handbag. Zach and Mrs. Fairmont were on the veranda, continuing their conversation about Savannah.
“I’m ready,” I announced.
“Have fun,” Mrs. Fairmont said.
I followed Zach outside. Parked alongside the curb was a big black motorcycle with a sidecar attached to it.
“I thought you had a red motorcycle,” I said.
“I do. This one belonged to my parents. It’s twenty years old. I used to ride in the sidecar when I was a kid. That’s when I fell in love with motorcycles. My father was going to sell it last year, so I bought it from him. I couldn’t stand the thought of it leaving the family.”
The passenger carrier had orange flames flickering along the side.
“You make it sound like a family heirloom.”
“In a way, it is.” He handed me a black helmet also decorated with the orange flame motif. “This is my mother’s helmet. It should fit.”
I pulled the helmet over my head. It rested snugly against my ears. A plastic shield covered my face.
“It feels claustrophobic,” I said, speaking extra loud so I could be heard.
“You’ll be glad the first time a june bug crashes into your face at fifty miles an hour.” Zach slipped on his helmet. “And you don’t have to yell,” he said in a voice that echoed inside the chamber. “There is a microphone connection embedded near the right corner of your mouth. It helps with the guided-tour portion of our ride.”
“Testing, one, two, three,” I said.
He tapped the side of his helmet and nodded. “I’ll help you get settled in the sidecar.”
He held out his hand, but I ignored it and stepped in. As I sat down, I quickly slid my legs forward, making sure my knees remained covered. My feet barely reached the nose of the narrow car.
“It has plenty of legroom, doesn’t it?” Zach asked.
“Like a limo.” I reached down with my hands. “Where’s the seat belt?”
Zach threw his right leg over the motorcycle seat. “There isn’t one. If a motorcycle wrecks, staying attached to it isn’t always the safest thing.”
He started the motor and revved the engine. It caused the sidecar to vibrate. I couldn’t believe I’d left the peace and safety of Mrs. Fairmont’s veranda to sit a few inches off the ground beside a motorcycle operated by a man I barely knew.
“Ready?” Zach spoke in stereo into my ears.
I nodded grimly.
He looked over his shoulder at the street and pulled away from the curb. The first thing I noticed was the immediate sensation of speed. The street seemed to fly past.
“How fast are we going?” I shouted.
“About thirty. You don’t have to yell. It might make me wreck.”
Some of the streets in the historic district were in need of repair, and we bumped along for several blocks. The helmet limited my view so I turned my head from side to side. Everyone we passed stopped to stare. If the twins had been on the sidewalk and saw me ride past attached to a motorcycle and wearing a black helmet with orange flames on the side, they would have fainted.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“To a smoother road.”
We left the historic district and turned onto President Street Extension, a broader, four-lane highway. The motorcycle picked up speed, and I could feel the wind rushing past my arms and neck. Even though it felt fast, I noticed that Zach stayed in the slow lane, letting most of the cars pass us.
“How do you like it?” Zach asked.
“Better than the back of a pickup truck,” I admitted.
We left the city behind, but both sides of the road were still marked by commercial development. We stopped at a light, and I looked at the street sign.
“Are we going to Tybee Island?”
“Yes. Have you been there?”
“No.”
“Is that okay?”
“Sure.”
I doubted Julie and the rest of the bikini crowd would be out this early. Without the presence of girls, the half-dressed men wouldn’t be seen either. And there was no reason why I couldn’t take a quick look at the ocean. My promise to Julie had been to stay away from the office. As we drove along, I relaxed and enjoyed the ride. I thought about Zach’s mother sitting in the sidecar.