“I mean, did we have to go across town for the burgers?” I say, running an exasperated hand through my hair as I stand on the side of the road, staring at the steaming engine of Victor’s Jeep.
“We had to get the best, mom,” Alvin says sternly, ready to jump to his dad’s defense. The boys were thrilled to learn, about four hours ago, that this wasn’t a quick trip to McDonalds. Instead, we had to go about an hour west to the little diner that Victor frequented when he was a teenager, which he swears up and down have the best burgers and shakes in the world.
In his defense, they were delicious. But then, when we had driven about ten minutes away from that diner with our full bellies, the car had begun to shake and tremble, a steady cloud of steam rising from the hood.
Victor immediate
