We drive through what looks like the town square, and there are people walking down the street, carrying shopping bags and chatting to each other. A big gazebo stands in the center of it all, clearly a meeting place of some kind.
It takes another couple of minutes before we reach the mechanic’s. Just like everything else I’ve seen so far, it’s dusty and small, but seems functional. There are cars parked to the side with their hoods raised, and an open garage door where a man is standing, talking to a woman in cowboy boots.
We pull to a stop, and Cash hops out. I hurry to follow him, opening the door for Cora so she’s not left alone.
“Cash,” the mechanic, an older man with grease stained hands, says. “Your truck on the fritz again?”
Cash shakes his head. “Nah, hasn’t made a peep of trouble since you saw to it last time. I’ve brought someone else for you.” He gestures to me, and I step up. “This is?—”
“Harper,” I say.
“Harper,” Cash echoes. “She had some car trouble down on Route 8.”
The mechanic nods, glancing at me and then at Cora. His eyes are kind, so I don’t bristle with anxiety, but I keep a hold of Cora’s hand all the same.
“You need a tow?” he asks, right to business.
“Yes, please.”
He nods again and then leans back into the garage. “Hank! Need a tow down on eight!”
Someone yells something back, and the mechanic turns to me again. “Make and color?”
I describe Lettie to him, and he makes notes quickly before passing them off to another man who comes out, wiping his hands on a rag.
“Fifteen minutes,” Hank promises and disappears around the corner to get the tow truck, presumably.
“We’ll have a look at it,” the mechanic promises. “You can wait inside if you want. Cooler in there than it is out here.” He glances at Cora. “And there’s a vending machine. It’s broken, so if you hit it just right, drinks come out.”
“Oh. Uh, thank you.” I stammer over my words.
“I can wait around,” Cash offers, shoving his hands into his pockets.
I shake my head quickly. “No, that’s okay. I’m sure you have other things you need to be doing, and you’ve already done enough. Helped enough.” Hopefully that doesn’t sound ungrateful. If it wasn’t for him, we’d still be on the side of the road, dealing with that creep from earlier. But at the same time, I don’t want to owe him anything else. I don’t want to feel like I’m getting further into his debt.
Cash studies me for a second, like he’s trying to figure me out, and I brace myself for pushback. If he insists, I don’t know what I’ll do. This is clearly his turf, and people will probably stand with him.
But his easy smile returns and he nods. “Fair enough. Good luck, okay? And Paul here knows how to reach me if you need anything.”
And just like that, he turns and gets back in his truck. He honks the horn twice in quick succession and then pulls back onto the main road and drives away.
I try not to feel abandoned without him, since I’m the one who told him to go.
“I’ll come get you when we know something about the car,” Paul says.
“Thanks.” I lead Cora inside, out of the heat.
Twenty minutes later, the news is bad.
Cora sits on one of the folding chairs in the makeshift waiting area, sipping at a lukewarm soda and eating honey roasted peanuts one at a time.
I stand off to one side with Paul, feeling the weight of everything bearing down on me.
He uses a lot of terms I’m not familiar with, but the gist of it is that he won’t be able to fix the car tonight. “Not with what we have on hand. I can order some parts from Cedar Mill—that’s the next biggest town over—but it’ll be tomorrow morning before they get here at the earliest.”
Fuck.
Fuck.