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“…Wherever it is we’re going.”
    Henry grins maniacally. “I’m stealing you for my very own…” then, maybe worried his joke revealed something, Henry follows up with, “It’s no problem. Really. If I can’t exploit my father’s power for good, what’s the point, right?”
    “I guess,” I say and grip the rolled down window as we take a curve half on the road and half on the sandy shoulder. I wonder if I would mind if Henry took me away, whisked me off to his plush digs to wine and dine me. It sounds easy. It sounds fun. It sounds semi-tempting (um, like there’s even been an offer?) but it somehow would feel really distant, like it would be happening to someone else. Like an outer-body experience.
    Henry slows the car down outside a locked chain fence. Everyone has issues with their parents — and sometimes I feel lucky to have the ones I do with my dad — namely that we’ve been so close he now feels the need to make a point of our independence by making me a Hadley Hall boarder. Aside from that, I don’t have many qualms with him. My mother, however — Galadriel — Gala — that maternal mystery is another story. An epic.
    “Hey — can you jump out and unlock the gate?” Henry touches my knee to bring me back to earth from whatever parental planet I’ve been visiting.
    “Sure — but I don’t have a key,” I hold up my hands as proof they’re empty and hop out of the car. As I take a minute to look at the lightly worn exterior of the BMW, I remember that Lila Lawrence, my shiny Hadley friend who now goes to Brown, has an old BMW, too. It’s like the fact that the car isn’t new and glistening makes it less obvious. That the off-beat colors (hers is purple, Henry’s is orange) gives off an eccentric air rather than just a moneyed one. All those subtleties of wealth — if the cars were this year’s model, it would only mean Lila and Henry came from New Money. And New Money isn’t nearly as posh as old family money. That much I know.
    Henry digs into his glove compartment and finds a key ring on which are strung numerous brass, silver, gold, and skeleton keys. “It’s the big square one with the blur rubbery thing on it,” he explains and turns the music up while I attempt to locate the key. Once I do, I stick it into the giant padlock and wriggle it around until the clasp opens.
    “All set!” I yell over the music and swing the gate open while Henry goes through.
    The lot is sandy and deserted save for a mess of cars parked in no particular order.
    “Which one do you want?” he asks and it occurs to me briefly as I watch him wander from Bentley to rusting Jeep Wagoneer to VW Bug that he’s only partially kidding. I get the feeling that if I really hoped to leave the lot with a different vehicle, I could merely ask Henry to trade my crappy Saab (my crappy Saab that reminds me of Mable so I will never get rid of it), he’d make it possible.
    “I’m good with what I have,” I say and pat the side of my car like it’s a dog. Inside, my piles of books and maps and clothes are okay. “Looks like no one took anything.”
    Henry shrugs and walks over. “No one takes anything here — you know that, right? You can leave your keys in your car all day and night and no one would touch it.”
    “True — I mean, where are they going to go? You can’t get a ferry reservation until October now…so I guess you’d be stuck.”
    He eyes my face, looking for clues of some kind. “I hope you don’t feel stuck.” Henry peers into my car, probably amazed at the volume of junk inside. “That’s a pretty big pack you’ve go there.” He opens the side door.
    I thumb to the backpack, “Oh — that’s Jim.” My face it totally straight. “My pretend boyfriend.”
    “Hi, Jim,” Henry says and offers his hand to my bag. I try not to laugh. “Thanks for taking care of Love on the ride down — but I’ve got it from here.”
    He winks at Jim for my benefit and I consider his words.