Page 8 of Four More The Merrier

When I finally get through to "Bubba's Quik Fix", sounds promising, I know, the news isn't good.

"Won't be able to get out there till morning, miss. Parts store's closed now anyway."

"There's really nothing you can do?" My voice cracks. "I have to be in Montana by tomorrow night."

"Sorry. First thing tomorrow, sugar, promise."

I tell him my location, bum fuck Egypt, and hang up. There's another phone call I need to make that I'm dreading.

I dial Tommy's number, my stomach doing somersaults. He picks up on the third ring.

"Quinn! How's the road treating you?"

"About that..." I lean against Betty's warm hood. "I'm stuck in South Dakota. Car trouble. The mechanic can't get to me until morning."

"What?" His voice shoots up an octave. "The meeting's at eight AM sharp tomorrow. The headliner's got a tight schedule-"

"I know, I know." I rake my fingers through my hair. "Look, I'll drive through the night if I have to. I'll get there."

"You better. This is your shot, kid. Don't blow it."

"I won't." The words come out stronger than I feel. "Hell or high water, I'll be there."

After hanging up, I grab my guitar from the backseat and perch on Betty's hood. Might as well practice while I wait for the tow truck. My fingers find the strings, and I start picking out a melody.

"Well, Betty," I say to my faithful car, "at least you waited until after we got the tire fixed to break down completely. That's something, right?"

The wind whistles through the corn in response, and I swear it sounds like laughter.

If you can consider it luck, there's a motel room within walking distance where Betty called it quits.

The front desk guy, who's name tag fondly says Corey, and who looks like he's sported the same haircut since the 70's,ensures me that he will set me up in the finest room they have. For a whopping total of $98 dollars, it better at least have 4 ply toilet paper.

I finagle the key in the lock and open the door to my overnight oasis. The room smells like stale cigarettes and broken dreams. I drop my overnight bag on the bed, and a puff of dust rises from the ancient comforter. At least the sheets look clean-ish.

"Home sweet home." I fish a granola bar from my purse - dinner of champions.

My phone buzzes at 7 AM, jolting me awake from my less than luxurious sleep. Bucky's Quik Fix number flashes on the screen.

"Please be good news, please be good news," I whisper, answering the call.

"Morning, miss. Got your car up on the lift." The mechanic clears his throat. "Found something else. Your timing belt's shot to hell, and the water pump's going with it."

My stomach drops. "But you can fix it today, right?"

"Parts truck should arrive at noon. These older Hondas-"

"No, I need my car now. I have to be in Montana by tonight."

"Listen, miss-"

"I'm coming to get it. Whatever's wrong, I'll deal with it on the road."

He sighs. "Unless you're planning to pull a Fred Flintstone and run it with your feet, that car ain't going nowhere. Engine will seize up within five miles."

"You don't understand." My voice cracks. "I have to be there."

"I understand just fine ma'am. But physics don't care about your plans. That car moves, you'll end up stranded somewhere a lot worse than here."

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