Maggie was the first person to discourage me from going out on the road with the rest of the clan. In some ways, she was more Traveler than any of us, growing up in Ireland and all. But in others, she stuck out like a sore thumb.
“Until Shay gets back,” I said, “I’m staying here. I don’t trust—whatever it is he’s doing.”
“I don’t see how staying in Louisiana does anything to help your brother all the way up in Pennsylvania,” Maggie said.
“I’d like to keep an eye on Pop,” I said, trying for an ominous tone. Maggie just stared at me with her hands on her hips and an expression that indicated she wasn’t impressed. “You know, it’d help if you’d tell me what you and Pop talked about the other day before Shay left.”
Maggie sighed. “If you don’t want to go out with John, why don’t you at least get out of the trailer for a little while? Your constant mooning about is enough to drive a woman mad.”
“Mooning?” There was no way I was mooning. Whatever that was. Maggie said the oddest things, like when she’d scold me for taking a notion or tell Shay to cop on to himself if he knew what was good for him. I usually chalked it up to her growing up in Ireland, but something told me even if she’d been Village born and bred, she’d still talk funny.
“Aye, mooning! Now go on.” She moved her hands in a shooing motion like I was a slow cow that refused to get out of the barn. “And don’t come back before dinner.”
“You’re kicking me out?”
“I’m kicking you out.”
“Fine.” I hopped down from my platform and stepped out of the trailer.
Beckett and Yeats, our Irish Wolfhounds, sat lazing under the tree. I whistled for them and patted my thigh, but neither seemed motivated to come over and keep me company. Beckett lifted his head and yawned, then laid it back down on his paws. Yeats didn’t bother to move at all, except to shift his brow in a way that told me I wasn’t worth the energy. “Thanks guys,” I said. “Way to show your support.”
Now what was I supposed to do? I shoved my hands into my pockets and felt the phone on the right side and my wallet on the left. The wallet felt warm. Like I could feel the ill-gotten money from the hardware girl burning through the leather.
Ah, fuck it. What else did I have to do?
C HAPTER T WO
I PULLED INTO a space in the hardware store parking lot and immediately felt like an idiot. What were the odds Tracy was even working today? Was I going to go up to whoever was at the counter and tell them a week ago I was given too much change? Who does that? Even country people would have the sense to pocket the money and go on with their life.
This was stupid. I put the key into the ignition to restart my truck, and unsurprisingly it sputtered, but not to life. The truck was a dried out pile of crap, but I hadn’t been able to give up on her.
Although, maybe it was time. Shay always thought Maggie was the one who wouldn’t let us get a new truck, but in reality I was the one who couldn’t let go. Maggie had gone along with the lie even though she’d suggested we put the old girl to rest years ago. I’d argued we didn’t have enough money, but Maggie insisted there was always money to make sure Shay and I were safe.
But this truck had been my da’s. It was the only thing I had left of him. It was bad enough that I barely had any memories from before he died. Giving up his truck seemed like letting go of him for good, and I just wasn’t ready for that.
I turned the key again, but the engine didn’t cooperate. “Come on girl, you can do it.” The truck coughed a few more times, but refused to turn over. If I tried the key again I was liable to kill the starter.
I guess St. Jude had spoken. I was supposed to go in and give the ten bucks back.
I walked into the small store and at first didn’t see anyone there. No one was behind the counter or in the aisles as far as I could see, but
“Until Shay gets back,” I said, “I’m staying here. I don’t trust—whatever it is he’s doing.”
“I don’t see how staying in Louisiana does anything to help your brother all the way up in Pennsylvania,” Maggie said.
“I’d like to keep an eye on Pop,” I said, trying for an ominous tone. Maggie just stared at me with her hands on her hips and an expression that indicated she wasn’t impressed. “You know, it’d help if you’d tell me what you and Pop talked about the other day before Shay left.”
Maggie sighed. “If you don’t want to go out with John, why don’t you at least get out of the trailer for a little while? Your constant mooning about is enough to drive a woman mad.”
“Mooning?” There was no way I was mooning. Whatever that was. Maggie said the oddest things, like when she’d scold me for taking a notion or tell Shay to cop on to himself if he knew what was good for him. I usually chalked it up to her growing up in Ireland, but something told me even if she’d been Village born and bred, she’d still talk funny.
“Aye, mooning! Now go on.” She moved her hands in a shooing motion like I was a slow cow that refused to get out of the barn. “And don’t come back before dinner.”
“You’re kicking me out?”
“I’m kicking you out.”
“Fine.” I hopped down from my platform and stepped out of the trailer.
Beckett and Yeats, our Irish Wolfhounds, sat lazing under the tree. I whistled for them and patted my thigh, but neither seemed motivated to come over and keep me company. Beckett lifted his head and yawned, then laid it back down on his paws. Yeats didn’t bother to move at all, except to shift his brow in a way that told me I wasn’t worth the energy. “Thanks guys,” I said. “Way to show your support.”
Now what was I supposed to do? I shoved my hands into my pockets and felt the phone on the right side and my wallet on the left. The wallet felt warm. Like I could feel the ill-gotten money from the hardware girl burning through the leather.
Ah, fuck it. What else did I have to do?
C HAPTER T WO
I PULLED INTO a space in the hardware store parking lot and immediately felt like an idiot. What were the odds Tracy was even working today? Was I going to go up to whoever was at the counter and tell them a week ago I was given too much change? Who does that? Even country people would have the sense to pocket the money and go on with their life.
This was stupid. I put the key into the ignition to restart my truck, and unsurprisingly it sputtered, but not to life. The truck was a dried out pile of crap, but I hadn’t been able to give up on her.
Although, maybe it was time. Shay always thought Maggie was the one who wouldn’t let us get a new truck, but in reality I was the one who couldn’t let go. Maggie had gone along with the lie even though she’d suggested we put the old girl to rest years ago. I’d argued we didn’t have enough money, but Maggie insisted there was always money to make sure Shay and I were safe.
But this truck had been my da’s. It was the only thing I had left of him. It was bad enough that I barely had any memories from before he died. Giving up his truck seemed like letting go of him for good, and I just wasn’t ready for that.
I turned the key again, but the engine didn’t cooperate. “Come on girl, you can do it.” The truck coughed a few more times, but refused to turn over. If I tried the key again I was liable to kill the starter.
I guess St. Jude had spoken. I was supposed to go in and give the ten bucks back.
I walked into the small store and at first didn’t see anyone there. No one was behind the counter or in the aisles as far as I could see, but
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