18
“Let me drive!” Muffin insisted for the tenth time. “We’ll be on the beach in an hour.”
“That’s impossible,” Frankie said. “And no one drives Lucille except me. You can’t come between a man and his automobile.”
Muffin stared pointedly at his oversized sunglasses blinged with little rhinestones. “You’re using that word loosely,” she muttered and crossed her arms. “Hey, Nutterbutter, toss me a bag of chips from the basket.”
Speaking of using words loosely, I dug through the giant box—not basket—of snacks to find her chips. The box was so big it took up nearly the entire back seat, leaving a nook to wedge myself in.
I didn’t complain. It would only slow us down, and the clock was ticking. Instead, I left a message for Remy to call me back. I also called Caleb to cease the remodeling w
