Page 7 of A Small Town Risk

Ginger brings my meal, and I look out the window the whole time I eat it. From this angle and distance, the tire isn’t low anymore; it’s flat. Jeezus.

I finish eating, and Ginger comes back. “How was everything?”

“Fine.”

“Can I get you anything else?”

“A slice of that apple pie to go, please?”

I’d eat it here and now, but I have to know about that tire.

Ginger brings my pie in a Styrofoam container, and I tip her and pay my bill. I get out to the trailer, and the tireisflat. I rub my mouth and chin.

Go back in and talk to Ginger. She knows the mechanic at Digger’s gas station, and they have a truck with everything required to fix and change a tire right there where you sit. “I can call him if you like?”

“Would you, please?”

An hour later, I’m back on the road, and by supper, I’m finding a Holiday Inn. I am shot. Every muscle in my body aches. I order a hamburger pizza, shower, and spend the rest of the night watchingThe Last Kingdomon Netflix. If you ever get a chance to see Uhtred of Bebbanburg without a shirt, you need to take it.

I wake up the next morning exhausted. I stayed up until three, watching that damn show. Never got to finish it because it’s five seasons.

Before the day begins, I swing by the breakfast bar and snatch a coffee and two croissants. Then I’m on the road again.

Three hours from Manning Falls, and my pickup pulls to the right and I hear a thumping noise. Then, the low-tire pressure light comes on. “You have got to be kidding me.”

I turn the flashers on and sit there, rubbing my face. I’ve changed one tire in my lifetime, and you talk about stress. I’m considering calling 911 and seeing if they can’t help, but is this really an emergency?

I decide to do it myself. I get out and see a highway patrol car coming. What luck! I wave when he pulls in behind me.

He gets out and strolls to me in his smokey bear hat. His button-down shirt is tan and has patches on the shoulders. Badge is nice and shiny. Boots, high-gloss black. Name tag says Officer Palmer. He states the obvious. “Got a flat, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Gotta jack and spare?”

I point in the back of my pickup.

He rolls up his sleeves and gets to work—pure efficiency.

“There you go,” he says, heaving the flat into the bed and placing the jack where he found it.

He brushes his hands together, looks at me, and smiles. “So, what’s your name?”

I tell him.

He eyes my breasts. “Where’re you headed?”

Now I’m feeling uncomfortable because he’s staring, and I have to come up with a lie. “Manning Falls,” I tell him. “To see my boyfriend. He’s the sheriff there.”

He quits staring. “Ryan Manning. I know him.”

“Yeah? I’ll tell him you helped me out.”

“You do that.”

Uncomfortable silence.

“Guess I better be going,” he says. “Have a nice day.”

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