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Chapter One?
“Oh, crud!” I sigh, as I lay my head on Kiley’s steering wheel, my fingers still squeezing the key, although I have let off the starter.
Kiley won’t start… again! I smell something. I hope I haven’t burned anything up and made it worse. I lift my head and my wrist to see how much time I have.
None.
I’ll call Chris Fosdick to see if he can look at her today. But even if he can, I don’t know if I’ll have time to get Wade Karl, that cute little hay-seed cowboy who towed her last time, to come take her to the Fosdick’s Auto Repair Shop. Not today anyway. I moan and ease my forehead against Kiley steering wheel again, like I would put my forehead against a child’s for us both to feel better. I really thought I’d get a few thousand more miles out of her after Chris worked on her, before I had to give up— or she gave up— the ghost.
A tear drops on my jeans, causing the indigo threads to darken to a midnight-blue circle. I don’t want to trade Momma’s car. I love Kiley. A clap of thunder startles me into sittingstraight up. I’ve got to get moving. I have an appointment with a certain accountant.
I rub my hand down Kiley’s steering wheel as if it were a cat’s head and the feline is purring and rubbing against my hand. The sorrow settles in my chest like a wrecking ball.
“Don’t force me to trade you off!” I scream at Kiley. I guess I’ve moved into the anger phase of grief. I hate crying, but I just cannot stop the sobs that now come in waves. I pound my fist on Kiley’s steering wheel.
“Please!” I turn the key, one more time, just in case maybe she’ll start this time.
Nothing. I mean really nothing. Not even a click.
Now the battery is dead, too. “Ugh!” I lay my head against her steering wheel one last time. With a resolving sigh, I get out and lift my phone.
“U got time 2 give me a ride?” I text Kate, my friend who pretends to be a taxi driver. I don’t know how she did it, but the first time I went online to order a taxi, she showed up instead. She stays just under the cops’ radar by briefing her passengers to deny paying her for the service should a police officer ask. Which happened to us the first time she took me downtown. Although I know she’s not legit, I rely on her for a ride when Kiley can’t. The way I look at it, it benefits her and me. Besides, since when could I claim to be above the law when it came to my gambling secret.
My garage feels like a cool sauna as the rain washes over the roof, making an opaque curtain across the open overhead door. The humidity is great for my skin, not so much for me going to Cindy Bradshaw’s office for her initial consult before we start her declutter. Will the rain stop before Kate gets here? The last thing I want is to show up at Cindy’s office looking like I nearly drowned in the Whitewood Creek before sloshing into her place.
“Sure. When” Kate responds, without punctuation, before I can lower my phone. Funny how some people don’t bother with sentence structure when texting.
I walk around to Kiley’s trunk and look for that umbrella I think I left in there for emergencies. “Now, if u can.” I reply. I can’t let myself not punctuate.
Ah, I find the umbrella. It was a cheap, quick purchase from Walmart one rainy day back when I lived in Denver, Colorado, and I can only remember using it the one time. Will it still work? Squeezing the handle, I muscle it to extend the canopy. It opens, a little, just enough to see the ribs are rusty and each point that connects to the nylon panels looks rotten. Surely it’ll still open. I shove harder and the runner springs out, making the shaft twice as long as before and the canopy opens taut like bat wings.
“Good.” I sigh. At least I may be able to keep my hair dry. My phone dings.
“Be right there.”
How can Crazy Kate, who is brilliant enough to hack into the real Deadwood taxi company’s online requests for a taxi, always be availableevery timeI ask her for a ride?
The rain is letting up. Instead of a solid curtain of sky-water filling the open void of my garage opening, it looks like dripping remnants of run off from the roof. Even the rain gutter is still dumping water at the side of the garage like a torrent tide being shot out of a six inch downspout. It disappears into the crushed granite driveway which barely even looks wet now.
I stand next to Kiley just inside the garage, and wait for Kate. She’s always quick about showing up.
“And here she is.” I mutter to myself, a habit I seem to have picked up since I left Jason in Denver. Holding the too-small decrepit umbrella over my head, I walk out and turn to use the keypad on the door frame to close the garage door.Wincing against the dripping sky I push the four numbers 1876, apparently the year Wild Bill Hickok was shot and killed during a card game. A fate not lost on my soul, considering what I do from time to time when I have need of a lot of cash.
My eyes glance to the pristine white-trimmed-in-black door that looks just like a carriage house door from some race horse movie with velvet in the name. I wave at Kate as the garage door slowly lowers and rush toward her moss-green Bronco. Her windshield wipers are beating out a rhythm as I jump in the back seat.
“Hey. Thanks so much, Kate.” I fight the umbrella to get it compressed back into the size of a single nunchucks stick. Water splashes me and the inside of Kate’s SUV. So much for not getting wet.
“Hey,” she says, but I can barely hear her. She’s been down lately, unlike the first several times she gave me a ride. Then, she was chipper and energetic, on top of the world. Something really has her worried, but she hasn’t, as of yet, been willing to tell me what is wrong.
“Kiley giving you trouble again?” She sounds like Eeyore. It breaks my heart to hear her so depressed.
“Yeah, she won’t start. Poor thing.” I purse my lips trying to stay the tears that really want to make a repeat performance ofCry Me a River. Shoving my sorrow aside like a spoiled child who just wants attention, I focus on my friend. “Kate, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She snaps. “I’m sorry Kiley’s not running, but I’m happy to give you a ride, where ya going?” She flashes a plastic smile that almost looks scary rather than joyful. Her mouth returns too quickly into a frown that quivers. She too looks like she’s on the verge of crying. We can’t both cry all the way to Cindy’s office.
“Aces & Eights Bookkeeping and Accounting Agency.” I let the business name roll off my tongue as if I say it everyday, the way I’m sure Cindy does.
Kate nods. She knows where everything is, so far, because she’s lived here… How long has Kate lived here? That’s something I need to ask her.
