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“Here you go, ma’am. That will be twenty dollars.” Savannah held out her hand as if she were a taxi driver.
“Har har.” I rolled my eyes. “I’ll see you later,” I told her as I closed the door and headed for the reception desk at Bud’s.
A little bell on the glass door announced my arrival. A few seconds later Bud himself came through a swinging door that led to the back of the shop.
Gray, caterpillar-like eyebrows lifted at the sight of me. “Well, if it isn’t Whitney Rose.” He chuckled.
“Hey, Bud.” I waved at him. “You have my car back there, it’s a twenty-sixteen imperial blue BMW.” I put my hands on the counter in front of me and raised up onto my tiptoes to see if I could catch a glimpse of it through the glass window that showed the work going on in the shop.
“That’s yours?” Bud sorted through some papers on the counter and lifted a clipboard. “The towing company brought it in yesterday,” he said, going through all the details on the sheet in front of him. “My guys have taken a look.” He raised his head and removed his glasses.
My stomach sank. It was never a good sign when someone had to remove their glasses to tell you something.
“Cosmetically, there isn’t a whole lot of work that needs to be done. We will need to replace the bumper, but the other driver did quite a bit of damage to the system underneath. There are alignment issues as well as transmission issues.”
I stood there stunned. I didn’t know much about cars, but I knew transmissions were important.
“Give it to me straight, what are we looking at cost wise and time wise for repairs?”
“It ain’t gonna be cheap. I hope the person who hit you has good insurance.”
I scoffed. More than likely my mom had no insurance at all. If by some miracle she did, I doubted it would be any good.
“I have good insurance. I can give them a call this afternoon.”
Bud nodded and gave me the estimated timeline for repairs. Since they didn’t fix many BMWs, they’d need to order some parts and have them shipped. It would be at least two weeks before I’d get my gorgeous car back. Resigned, I thanked Bud then walked next door to get myself a rental.
That damn BMW meant a lot to me. I bought it only once I was financially secure a few years after starting Whitney Rose Party Planning. After college I had kept to a tight budget, investing every extra penny I had into my company. Knowing I needed to also look the part, I ended up buying the car once I had enough in savings to justify the expense. With my business in LA closed and my LA condo on the market, there were very few reminders of the success I had made for myself.
At least it was fixable. My muscles relaxed, relieved that despite the work the car needed, it could still be salvaged.
Once I had my rental keys in hand, I decided to make a stop at one of my favorite haunts. Barb’s Diner.
I drove the two blocks and found a parking spot in the lot out back. The thing I missed the most about Haver’s Creek while I was in LA was Barb’s famous strawberry pie.
Oh, and my sister.
Okay, so my sister first, and then Barb’s strawberry pie.
And, of course, Barb herself.
I could smell the delicious treats from Barb’s diner from the parking lot. As I pulled open the door to the diner I breathed in deep. Barb’s always smelled like home.
Not the home I grew up in, but a home Iwantedto grow up in.
A teenage girl greeted me in one of the diner’s signature 1950s inspired mustard yellow dresses. Since it was a weird time of day, after breakfast, but before lunch, I had my choice of tables. I picked my favorite center booth in the front of the diner. With its floor-to-ceiling window it was the best spot to people watch in all of Haver’s Creek.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in. The whole town has been talking about the entrance you made last night.” I turned my head at the familiar voice. Barb looked exactly the same. Well, her hair had a few more grays in it and it was cut shorter, but other than that she hadn’t aged a day. I got up and gave her a big hug.
“It’s nice to see you, Barb.” I held her tight.
“You too, honey. What finally brought you back to town?” Barb took a seat across from me before waving down the hostess and asking for two cups of coffee and a slice of strawberry pie.
I salivated waiting for it to arrive.
“You remembered.” I grinned from ear to ear.
Sometimes, when I was in LA, I would dream of Barb’s strawberry pie. Despite my mad baking skills, I could never seem to recreate Barb’s signature dessert. Much to my chagrin. And my waistline. I ate a lot of not-so-great strawberry pie test batches in my day.
