crossed into the kitchen. Getting the coffee started, she went back to the dining room and began to spread the plastic tarp on the floor and halfway up the oak wainscoting directly under the mural before taping it in place. Coffee brewed, she went to make a cup, then opened the sliders to get some fresh air only to get a view of Mrs. Bachman’s large backside while bent over in her yard pulling weeds.
Sufficiently traumatized and caffeinated, Eva went to work, carefully spraying a thick coat of wallpaper remover over the entire mural. “Goodbye,” she murmured as she watched it slowly begin to work, bubbling and lifting the mural from the wall. Good. As long as she was making progress on something she didn’t feel stalled. She was one step closer to making something all hers, something which didn’t carry any bad memories she couldn’t erase.
Although her dad had done his best, her childhood home had held a vibe which never went away. And she knew it had been worse for him. From the front door he watched his wife walk out of, the driveway which held the car that took her away, the crockpot he later threw away along with the overcooked roast he had claimed still lingered in the air, he couldn’t escape the memories either. Even when he took Eva to the department store, he steered clear of the makeup and perfume aisle, avoiding any whiff of Chanel No. 5.
Michael Sinclair had promised a much nicer home, one where they could start over, but a lineman’s pay and single-dad duties didn’t see it that way. Having severed ties with Carol’s parents after the incident, all he had to lean on was his twice-widowed mother who lived in North Carolina who visited sporadically to help out before passing away when Eva was twelve.
After school, Eva took up a cheap apartment one town over with MaryLynn until her friend met the future, balding George Doyle. Not being able to swing the rent herself, and with no steady job prospects, Eva moved back in with her dad before taking over the card business from the retiring owner, slowly building it up to where it outgrown its meager surroundings. She found its new home, as well as her own, in the very same town she wanted to escape from. Fate really was a twisted bitch sometimes.
At nine sharp the doorbell rang. Through the bay window in the living room she saw a flatbed parked on the street and expected to see Ben on the other side of the door. Instead, what greeted her caused her to literally gasp. It wore a mechanics jumpsuit and facial piercings with the name ‘Taz’ sewn on it in black thread. And the thread wasn’t the only thing that was black. Hair, eyes, sideburns and mustache and beard cut to a point. The only thing this ‘Taz’ was missing was horns and a tail.
“Pickin’ up, sweetheart.”
Eva wasn’t about to internally rant about the sexist endearments. She wasn’t one of those die-hard feminists who were easily offended by them. Plus, if this guy was also a Skull who doubled doing body work, he was no doubt cut from the same cloth as Ben regarding their terminology for the female of the species.
“Oh, yeah,” she said, forgetting that she was expecting Ben instead of Beelzebub. “Maroon Jeep. In the driveway.”
He saluted. “I’ll get it hooked up. Just need your keys.”
“It’ll be done end of day, right?”
The pads of his thumb and index finger twirled the tip of his beard into an even sharper point as he thought. “Three-ish should do. If you need a ride, we can send someone else to pick you up.”
She didn’t want to have
Sufficiently traumatized and caffeinated, Eva went to work, carefully spraying a thick coat of wallpaper remover over the entire mural. “Goodbye,” she murmured as she watched it slowly begin to work, bubbling and lifting the mural from the wall. Good. As long as she was making progress on something she didn’t feel stalled. She was one step closer to making something all hers, something which didn’t carry any bad memories she couldn’t erase.
Although her dad had done his best, her childhood home had held a vibe which never went away. And she knew it had been worse for him. From the front door he watched his wife walk out of, the driveway which held the car that took her away, the crockpot he later threw away along with the overcooked roast he had claimed still lingered in the air, he couldn’t escape the memories either. Even when he took Eva to the department store, he steered clear of the makeup and perfume aisle, avoiding any whiff of Chanel No. 5.
Michael Sinclair had promised a much nicer home, one where they could start over, but a lineman’s pay and single-dad duties didn’t see it that way. Having severed ties with Carol’s parents after the incident, all he had to lean on was his twice-widowed mother who lived in North Carolina who visited sporadically to help out before passing away when Eva was twelve.
After school, Eva took up a cheap apartment one town over with MaryLynn until her friend met the future, balding George Doyle. Not being able to swing the rent herself, and with no steady job prospects, Eva moved back in with her dad before taking over the card business from the retiring owner, slowly building it up to where it outgrown its meager surroundings. She found its new home, as well as her own, in the very same town she wanted to escape from. Fate really was a twisted bitch sometimes.
At nine sharp the doorbell rang. Through the bay window in the living room she saw a flatbed parked on the street and expected to see Ben on the other side of the door. Instead, what greeted her caused her to literally gasp. It wore a mechanics jumpsuit and facial piercings with the name ‘Taz’ sewn on it in black thread. And the thread wasn’t the only thing that was black. Hair, eyes, sideburns and mustache and beard cut to a point. The only thing this ‘Taz’ was missing was horns and a tail.
“Pickin’ up, sweetheart.”
Eva wasn’t about to internally rant about the sexist endearments. She wasn’t one of those die-hard feminists who were easily offended by them. Plus, if this guy was also a Skull who doubled doing body work, he was no doubt cut from the same cloth as Ben regarding their terminology for the female of the species.
“Oh, yeah,” she said, forgetting that she was expecting Ben instead of Beelzebub. “Maroon Jeep. In the driveway.”
He saluted. “I’ll get it hooked up. Just need your keys.”
“It’ll be done end of day, right?”
The pads of his thumb and index finger twirled the tip of his beard into an even sharper point as he thought. “Three-ish should do. If you need a ride, we can send someone else to pick you up.”
She didn’t want to have
Similar Books
