At a pinch the two bench seats can take eight people and there’s still an acre of space for stuff in the back. He had bought the car when he first came down to Florida. He had chosen it not for its utility, but as a symbol. Confirmation that he no longer wanted a slot in the fast lane. The BMWs he had once owned he now derided. “I’m out of the race,” he said. As the years went by, it became clear to his friends that he had not left the race; he had simply redefined it. Now he drove doggedly in the center lane, no more a speedster, but a self-appointed arbiter of vehicular character. Anything post-1970 had little chance of earning his approval. He reserved his most withering scorn for minivans. “You get a lot of seats and no luggage space, or a lot of space and no seats. Some deal! This beauty gave you both—still does.” They were driving to Miami airport to pick up Tom, Jane, and Hal and one hour into the trip Henry had realized there was no need to reply. On cue, a Chrysler minivan drew up alongside in the outside lane, its headlights flashing at a slow-moving Ford in front.
