by Vicky Jones
Shona cursed to herself. Taking her cap off, she again ran her hand through her greasy, matted hair and followed behind her.
“Hey, I didn’t mean nothing by what I said. I meant it genuine. You got a nice place, Mrs. Clark. Yeah, it could do with a coat of paint here and there, but…” Shona rambled, scrunching her cap through her hands.
“Well, I try to keep on top of everything…” She paused, then waved a wrinkled old finger casually around the yard. “But I’m sixty-eight years old now and I can’t get up ladders no more to see to those gutters.”
“That’s a shame,” Shona replied, leaning on the truck and toeing the dirt. “Look, why don’t you take the lighter bags in while I take a peek under the truck’s hood. I can’t promise I’ll be able to do much but…”
Relief spread across the old lady’s face, lighting it up. “Really? Well now, I surely would appreciate that.” She climbed up the three steps, struggling to hold a bag under each arm.
“Don’t you be lifting that coal bag, I got that one,” Shona called after her, then turned back to the truck and sized up where to start.
It was almost lunchtime when Mrs. Clark looked through the tiny window by the side of the front door to see Shona tinkering under the hood of her truck, her shape distorted by the thin crack in the pane. She tottered down the porch steps and across to a patch of grass which now looked like an operating table. Bits of engine, springs, caps and covers were strewn around, with countless old rags showing how much diesel oil the poor battered engine had bled out. Shona emerged looking like a battlefield surgeon as the old lady approached, the contents of the glass mostly surviving the journey.
“How’s it going? Am I calling the priest to give it its last rites?”
Shona shrugged. “Well, Mrs. Clark…”
The old lady waved her free hand and shook her head. “Call me Dorothy”.
“OK.” Shona smiled as she accepted the glass of tea. “Well, I think your engine’s had it. When was the last time this thing had a service?”
Dorothy’s smile evaporated. “Oh, well… I try to get it down to Harry’s place in town to get the oil changed now and again. He tinkers with it until it runs smooth, but lately I’ve just let things around here slide a bit, I guess…” Her voice tailed off as she gazed at her house.
Shona sipped her tea and followed Dorothy’s line of sight up to the gutters.
“Say, maybe you could take it down to Wreckers for me tomorrow? You probably know more about what it needs and what to ask for. Harry’s a good man. He’ll be fair with you.”
“Tomorrow?” Shona repeated.
“Well, I just assumed that you’d care to stay here until then? You don’t seem in a hurry to get over to your… um… family’s place.” Dorothy’s eyes glinted in the sun.
“Um, yeah… I guess I should have said before when you asked. I ain’t got no family out here,” Shona began. She drained her glass and offered it back to Dorothy who shook her head.
“Oh no. If you’re staying, you can take that glass back in the house yourself. Leave it by the sink when you get washed up. Don’t want you leaving oily handprints all over my countertops now.” Dorothy headed back up to the front door.
Shona looked around the yard, then bent down to pick up her jacket and satchel. After packing up the tools she’d borrowed from Dorothy’s shed, she then headed along the cobblestone path and up the porch steps. Turning around at the top, Shona surveyed the land around her and smiled. It’ll do for the night at least. It’ll be a nice change from a cold alleyway and a piece of cardboard to sleep on, she thought.
In the hallway, Shona placed the toolbox on the floor, mindful not to scrape it too heavily on the wooden boards. They weren’t up to much but the last job that Shona wanted to be given was to have to scrub oil patches off them. Dorothy was quite a salty old goat, but one who had offered her a warm place to sleep, and Shona was respectful enough to acknowledge that. Kindness was a rare commodity, not one she had encountered that often on her journey. The hostility she’d escaped from was more than enough for one lifetime.
Nervous, Shona stepped along the hallway, looking through the doorways to her left and right. Up ahead was a small kitchen, with a stove, tiny sink and a few worn-looking cupboards. On the right side of the hallway there was a small front room; the window looked out over the driveway. Perfect to notice visitors, Shona thought. The rickety staircase to the left of the hallway looked perilously steep, considering it led to the bedroom Dorothy must sleep in every night.
“You hungry?” a croaky voice called out from the kitchen.
“A little bit,” Shona called back. “But, um, please don’t go to any trouble for me, ma’am,” she added.
Dorothy appeared in the doorway, her face blank. “I wasn’t going to. And until you get those paws squeaky clean, you ain’t getting a crumb.”
Shona looked at her oily hands and flashed Dorothy a lopsided grin. “Oh, sorry,” she replied, rubbing her elbow on the white doorframe to wipe off the smudge of oil she’d left.
Dorothy smiled back at Shona’s efforts. “I think that’s the least of my problems, don’t you?” She waved her hand around in the air, pointing out the bits of wood missing from the paneling and the odd bit of bannister that was missing from the staircase. “Once you’ve washed up, I’ll heat you up some stew. Made it this morning, my own special recipe. Got some biscuits too.”
Following the old lady into the kitchen, Shona located the basin and ran the faucet. Shuddering when she felt the ice-cold water splash against her grubby hands, she persisted in scrubbing them as clean as she could with the welcome help of the scourer on the drying rack. She turned and held them up to Dorothy, who barely even registered a flicker of being impressed but motioned for Shona to take a seat at the table and placed a bowl of steaming hot stew in front of her. Dorothy popped a couple of biscuits on the side and sawed off a hunk of bread.
“There you go, eat up. Get some meat on those bones o’yours. I’ll take you up to your room afterwards and you can get settled in.” Dorothy passed Shona the lump of bread and started washing the pots and pans by the sink.
“Aren’t you having anything?” Shona mumbled through a mouthful of bread.
“No. I’ll have something later,” the old lady replied, turning to face her.
Watching Shona polish off her dinner with huge hungry mouthfuls, Dorothy leaned against the counter heavily with her eyes closed for a moment. After a few moments, the old lady’s lips curled into a tight smile, her eyes narrowing slightly.
“You don’t say much, do ya?”
“Not much to say,” Shona replied, wiping her lips and mopping up the last of her gravy with her bread.
“Everybody’s got a story,” Dorothy said, her eyes glancing up towards a framed black and white photograph of a smiling young couple with their arms around each other. The young man was wearing an army issue uniform, complete with his World War One victory medal shining proudly on his lapel.
“Yeah. Well, maybe some don’t need to be told,” Shona replied, her tone clipped.
After finally being able to clean herself up with a warm bath, Shona now felt a lot more comfortable. She was wearing her less grubby pair of jeans and undershirt she had in her satchel and her hair was combed neatly, smelling fresher than it had for a long time.
“Here y’go, you should be snug as a bug in a rug tonight,” Dorothy said as she handed Shona a pile of bedding comprised of a sheet, pillowcase and a thick wool blanket.
“Thank you,” Shona replied, grateful that the bed Dorothy was showing her looked a lot more comfortable that the pile of folded boxes she’d slept on last night. Her still-aching back was a constant reminder to her how roughly she’d slept these last few weeks on her trek from Louisiana. If it wasn’t a park bench, a storm drain or a drafty old barn, it was an alleyway with a cardboard mattress.
But as long as they didn’t find her, it didn’t matter.
“Here, let me take those.
I got a pile to do tomorrow anyway.” Dorothy reached out to take Shona’s dirty clothes. “You got any more in there?” she asked, pointing down to Shona’s filthy satchel.
“No, really, don’t worry, I can do them myself,” Shona replied, clutching the clothes against her chest.
Dorothy nodded and backed off. She watched as Shona’s eyes scanned the room, fixing especially on the tiny window at the far end. The bedroom was a little cramped and cold. It was obvious from the damp air that the old lady wasn’t one for having guests very often, but somehow, despite this, the room still felt inviting. The bed was tucked away in the corner, with a small chest of drawers to the left of it and a tattered old red and green rug running alongside.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’m across the way there so just knock if you need anything, although I tend to sleep like the dead so—”
“I’ll be fine.” Shona interrupted, then smiled.
“Well… goodnight then. You can take the truck down to Harry first thing in the morning, if you don’t mind?” Dorothy asked.
“Sure. Goodnight,” Shona replied.
Closing the door behind her, Dorothy headed across the landing to her bedroom and clunked her door shut.
Once Shona had made up her bed, she climbed underneath the thick blanket and pulled it up to her chin. Shona smiled to herself.
For the first time in a long time, she felt safe.
It was the middle of the night when Shona woke with a jump. Her eyes darted around the dark room for some clue as to where she was. Bare walls and a chest of drawers reflecting the shard of moonlight blaring through the thin drapes were her only indications of where she could possibly be. She looked over the side of the bed to see her boots untied. Across the room, her pants were folded neatly on the little wooden armchair next to the bedside table, exactly where she’d left them, along with her coat and shirt. Peeking underneath her blanket, she found herself still wearing her cotton undershirt. She reached her trembling hand lower to see if everything else was as she’d left it too. It was.
Not like the last time she’d woken up in a panic. And the time before that. But all was well in this house. She was safe for now, it seemed.
Shona rubbed her eyes and shivered as she swung her legs out of bed. She pulled on her pants and crept to the bedroom door, jumping as she found the only floorboard between the bed and the door that squeaked without mercy.
“Goddamn it,” she blurted out, mindful not to raise her voice too much. Turning the handle, she opened the door and poked her head into the corridor.
Nothing.
Seeing Dorothy’s bedroom door closed, Shona breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn’t disturbed her and tiptoed down the hallway to the bathroom. Clicking on the light, she squinted as her eyes adjusted. The bathroom was old and sparse, but it was clean. She walked up to the sink and turned on the faucet. Splashing her face with the ice-cold water, she brought herself completely into the here and now. Wiping her face with the towel that was draped over the rail, she looked at herself in the mirror.
“Jeez, girl, you really need some sleep. This ain’t no good, moving from place to place. You need to settle.”
She squeezed her eyes shut.
But they can’t find you if you keep running, she thought.
Chapter 3
Sunlight beamed through the bedroom drapes that Friday morning and landed square on Dorothy’s sleeping face. Groaning, she winced as she opened her heavy eyelids. The welcome comfort of company had encouraged her to sleep in well past her normal waking-up time. She headed to the bathroom and, as she raised her head up from the sink, looked out of the window. Smiling, she dried herself off and headed downstairs, placing one careful foot after the other.
“You do know it’s only 7:30 a.m., don’t you?” Dorothy called out as she walked across the front garden towards a pair of boots poking out from underneath the truck. The hood had been unbolted and heaved off, with various tools strewn around on the pale green grass.
Shona slid out, her face smeared with axle grease and brake dust. “Huh? Oh. Well, I thought I’d just take another look at your truck.”
“You must have been up at the crack of dawn to get those pesky bolts off that hood. That’s a job and a half in itself.”
“Yeah, I know, but I always get up early. I like the quiet,” Shona replied as she felt the morning sunlight bathe her face in its glow. “Well, usually. There’d be no chance of sleeping in late with that goddamn rooster you got over there.”
“Oh, you mean Buddy? Yeah, he’s everybody’s wakeup call around here. Regular as clockwork he is.” Dorothy turned her head in the direction of the little chicken run by the side of her house. Three black chickens were clucking and bobbing in the dirt, with Buddy sitting proudly on the top of the henhouse holding court. “And before you say it, he ain’t going in no pot-roast either.” A mischievous grin crept across the old lady’s wrinkled features as Shona opened her mouth to reply. “How’s it going with the truck anyway? You found out what’s wrong with it?”
“Yeah, think so. But it'll need some new parts and I don’t think they’re gonna be cheap. It needs quite a bit of work done to it too. I think you might need an expert.” Shona’s voice tailed off as she ducked her head down into the engine bay of the truck.
“Alright, then. Well, I guess you’d better take it down to Wreckers.” Dorothy turned and headed back up the porch steps. “Now, I’ll go make us some breakfast while you put that back on.” She pointed at the hood lying on the grass. “How many eggs you want?”
“Um… just one,” Shona replied, but her stomach protested loudly. “Maybe two?”
“Three it is then.” Dorothy said, grinning. “You need filling out, you’re too scrawny.” She pointed a long fingernail at Shona, then trundled off into the house.
“So, when you get there, you ask for Harry, OK?” Dorothy instructed as she handed Shona a wad of dollar bills and the keys to the truck. “He never charges me full whack, but I want you to make sure he takes it this time.”
Shona held the bunch of keys in one hand and the money in the other, her mind racing with the thought of how far she could get with a semi-working truck and thirty-five dollars.
“You remember where you’re going, right?” Dorothy asked.
“Yeah, I think so. Back towards town, right?” she replied, pointing towards the tree-lined driveway and perimeter gate.
“Yep. Be as quick as you can, though, I could use a little help with those gutters. Buddy had to dodge a big chunk o’metal falling down the other day.” Dorothy chuckled.
“I’ll be back soon.”
Shona walked over to the truck, started it up and roared off down the driveway.
“I hope so,” Dorothy muttered to herself as she watched her beloved truck disappear into the distance.
As she bit her bottom lip, thoughts polluted Shona’s brain. She stared down at the money burning a hole in her hand after pulling over about half a mile from Dorothy’s ramshackle house. Survival is survival, she thought. But the idea of stealing from an old lady, who’d shown her nothing but kindness in the last twenty-four hours, disgusted her so much that it left her mind as quickly as it had entered. “No, Shona. That’s not who you are,” she chastised herself out loud, flooring the gas pedal as she did so.
After driving the mile back along the highway, Shona pulled up on the edge of Wreckers’ parking lot. Several trucks were already lined up in various states of repair, with pieces of their vital parts being scrutinized by several mechanics wearing smart blue denim overalls. The air was thick with the smell of tailpipe emissions and petroleum gas, mixed with the sound of barely-in-tune singing to the wireless. Back slaps and tomfoolery between some of the younger mechanics added to the zip of the joint and Shona smiled briefly. Straightening her cap, she mentally composed the story she was about to tell Harry when she was finally introduced to him. Just then, she jumped in her seat as a figure loomed large at the side of the truck.
“Not really,” she replied after a few moments.
“Well, I guess Mrs. Clark found you in the end, seeing as though that’s her truck you’re sittin’ in.” Jonny paused, waiting for a reply, but Shona looked straight ahead. “You’ll probably be lookin’ for Harry, then?” His eyes dimmed noticeably until Shona looked at him to respond, causing the goofy grin to reappear on his handsome face.
“Yes. Please.”
“Sure thing, ma’am, I’ll go get him. Oh, and you might want this.” Jonny reached down behind the truck and lifted up a piece of tailpipe that had fallen off. “If you pull the truck up on those ramps there, I can fix it back on if you like? No charge.”
“If you could just get Harry for me, please, that’d be swell,” Shona said. Jonny nodded and rushed off into the office at the far end of the garage, ducking underneath the car lifts and sidestepping the pneumatic drills.
Shona switched the engine off and climbed out of the truck. Three mechanics looked over, but rather than elbowing each other and letting out the low wolf-whistles she was used to getting in establishments like this, she was pleasantly surprised that all she received was a tip of their caps, then the sight of the tops of their heads as they inspected a Buick engine.
“How can I help you, young lady?” a deep, gravelly voice sounded out behind Shona. She spun around to face a tall, stocky, black-haired man wearing a set of navy-blue denim overalls. They were cleaned and pressed, the Wreckers logo stitched onto a badge next to a name tag.