22. Kendra
22
KENDRA
K endra felt somewhat vindicated the following morning when Rita gave a particularly good backfire and the check engine light came on as she was driving in.
This was her life.
Not kissing and talking dirty with a hot man, with a hope of more.
No, her life was having the rug yanked out from underneath her, again.
The van had been running rough and starting hard for a few months now, but Kendra just turned up the baby bop CD that was numbing her mind and crossed her fingers, hoping that it would miraculously work itself out without a major repair bill.
She was almost to Nickel City, nothing was smoking, and the battery, heat, and oil gauges were still normal, so Kendra pushed on. It was backfiring, but no more than usual, and Kendra knew that the cost of a tow on her big vehicle would be a hefty charge on top of whatever work it needed.
There was no space for parking in front of Tiny Paws, so Kendra left the van idling, not confident it would start again, and ran Amy in.
The day care was already busy, and Kendra felt her breath quicken when she caught sight of Alan coming to meet her at the entrance.
She took the coward’s way and set Amy down on his side of the gate. “Sorry, double-parked disaster!” she called, dropping the diaper bag beside her daughter, and then she fled before Alan could wade through the clinging sea of kids.
At some point, she would have to talk to him, to figure out what—if anything—they actually wanted.
A headboard to hold onto , her owl reminded her.
Thanks , Kendra said, trying desperately to banish the idea from her mind.
There was an auto shop just down the street, and Kendra pulled in front of one of the bays just as the van gave another sputter and backfired. She turned it off and rested her forehead on the steering wheel for a moment to gather her wits.
The sign in the window said that they were closed, but the door to the office was unlocked, and Kendra wasn’t sure her van would start again, so she went in. The door past the desk was open to the work bay, and after a moment, Kendra went to peer in. “Hello?” she called.
An older man and a younger guy with a deliberate-looking white streak in his hair were bent over the open hood of a vintage sports car. Kendra recognized him as one of the Tiny Paws parents. He had an older girl. Franky? Kendra didn’t know his name at all, but she already knew he was a shifter, even if she was too far away to sense it at the moment.
“Right with you!” the older one called.
“I think I’ve got this,” the younger said confidently. He had a slight Texas drawl.
“Just keep in mind that the plastic is seventy years old and none of us are as flexible as we were when we were younger.”
“Sure thing,” the younger teased. “Don’t forget, I have magic hands!”
“You have arrogant hands,” the older growled. “If you break it, replacement parts are coming out of your paycheck.”
Kendra retreated nervously to the office as the older mechanic wiped his hands down and came to greet her. “We’re closed Mondays,” he said apologetically.
When he was close enough, Kendra could tell that he was a shifter, too. She told herself that the feeling of relief that gave her was false. Shifters weren’t all safe. Bernard had a murder rap.
“Check engine light,” she said briefly. “But it’s been running really rough and starting hard for a while now.”
“Make and model?”
“Ford Super Duty van with…a lot of customization.”
The mechanic had taken a look out the shop window. “Oh, you’re Tom’s prodigy! Heard you took over some of his rounds.”
“Kendra,” she said briefly, and when the mechanic offered his hand, she shook it.
“Mason. That’s a sweet-looking unit! Great wrap.”
“That’s Rita. She’s also my livelihood,” Kendra said honestly. “Is there any chance you could work me in right away?”
“ Lovely Rita ,” Mason chuckled. “Take me through the symptoms,” he said, walking out of the office with her. “When you start it, does it sound like it’s a low battery or an engine issue?”
“She has plenty of juice, just doesn’t always catch right away. No indications on the panel of any problems, but she sometimes loses power while I’m driving—just briefly. She sputters a lot and backfires, which is what finally caused the check engine light to come on.”
Mason walked slowly around the vehicle, and Kendra thought it looked like he was sniffing. “It looks like a non-standard conversion. I’ve seen the mobile clinic model, but you’ve got windows over the cab.” He peered into the passenger side, and Kendra wondered what he’d think of the car seat full of downy feathers. He was a shifter and must know that she was; he could probably put those pieces together.
“I live in it, too,” Kendra said shortly, wondering at once if it was a mistake to admit it after he’d seen evidence of Amy. Hopefully, it would help her case for getting quick service.
“I won’t know for sure until I get it up on the lift, but it’s probably your catalytic converter. Age of the van, your symptoms, that sulfur smell; it’s pretty likely.”
“Is it expensive?” Kendra asked reluctantly. “Will it take long?”
“It’s a pretty standard part, so I can get it in town, and labor’s not the biggest part of this job. Couple of hours, probably. Not more than three. Pricey piece, though.” He quoted the cost.
Kendra swallowed and then nodded. “I can pay that.” She could, though it would set back her savings plan. Well, a few more months in the van instead of a house wouldn’t be that much of a hardship. She got her purse and gave Mason the key.
“I’ll get Logan to call for the part and we should have it done by lunch,” Mason said, accepting it. “We don’t have much of a waiting room, sorry.”
“I can walk the block to Heads Up Cafe,” Kendra said. Losing half a day wasn’t too bad. None of her morning clients were time critical appointments and she could reschedule them for later in the week.
Of course, at the bakery, she felt obligated to buy something in exchange for taking up space. Nursing a drip coffee and the cheapest pastry from their display, she sat at a crowded corner table and texted her clients about the delay. Both of them responded promptly with understanding, putting her concerns to rest and saving her from having to make a follow-up call. She texted them back with new appointments.
“Are you using this chair?”
The bakery had gone from busy to packed, even though it was still a while before lunch and Kendra’s (rather dry) cookie had been reduced to a few crumbs on her napkin. “I’m just leaving,” she said apologetically, gathering up her things.
She swallowed the last of her coffee and bussed her dishes, tossing the trash instead of leaving it balled up on the plate like most people had.
She hadn’t unpacked her winter coat from beneath the rig yet, and it was getting cold enough that her company coat (as opposed to her blood-stained work coat) was not warm enough for the weather. Kendra wandered nearly a block and found herself in front of a real estate office. The front window was covered with the choicest—and least affordable—options. Kendra skipped the ones with swimming pools (in Nickel City? Why?!) and lingered on the ranch houses and sprawling mansions. Who really needed six rooms and an equal number of bathrooms…but wouldn’t a ballroom be nice? One of the cabins appeared to come furnished with taxidermy.
It was too cold to linger outside and Kendra had nowhere else to be, so she went in. Maybe they had some more humble two-bedroom choices available, and there was nothing wrong with shopping, even if her plans were set back a while by an expensive repair.
A mousy young woman with thick glasses behind the counter leapt up from a computer with an air of desperation. Her name tag said Clarice and it had a little sunflower hand drawn beside it. “Are you house shopping? Can I help you find something? Are you thinking of a condo or a cottage? We have some single family homes that have just come onto the market. How many bedrooms?”
A little overwhelmed by the greeting, Kendra rubbed her cold hands together. She’d managed to forget her gloves in Rita. “Ah, I’m really in the very earliest stages of looking. Something modest. Two bedrooms.”
“Let me get the folders for you!”
The over-eager woman brought out a stack of thick binders. “I’ve organized the properties in three different ways,” she said, plunking them down on the counter in front of Kendra. “This one is by location, in case there’s a particular part of Nickel City you’re looking at. The Bluffs are in the front, the Tails in the back. This folder is by square footage. You’d think that would mean by price, but don’t be fooled. This folder is by price. Do you have an idea of your budget? We have all the paperwork you need for loan applications and we are FTC certified, of course. Oh, and there’s a key in the front to show what the stickers mean. The little house means a HOA, that’s a private well, the swing is a back yard…”
A little dazed by Clarice’s non-stop monologue, Kendra flipped one open at random and found herself staring at the perfect house.
Nothing is random , her owl assured her.
It was not a remarkable house, and it needed a coat of paint in the worst way, but it had trees all around it, and a large, fenced yard. It was two stories, with a little porch on the top level looking out the back. Kendra could imagine using it as a landing pad after a discreet flight. The rooms were small and the bathrooms were old-fashioned, but it looked charming, even empty and undecorated.
Room for a headboard, her owl reminded her.
“That’s a three-bedroom, see the tabs here?” Clarice leaned forward to flip the binder back, but Kendra kept a finger on the page as she nodded along with the sales pitch for a sterile condo with access to a swimming pool. (Again, in Nickel City?) Kendra bit her tongue to keep from commenting.
She was glad when the phone rang and Clarice scampered to answer it.
Kendra took the binder to a table ringed by chairs that had stacks of flyers and carpet samples off to the side, and turned the page back to the first house. The yard was quite overgrown, and there were some cracks in the cement floor of the garage, which would not have been big enough for her rig anyway. Did that indicate foundation damage?
Kendra shook herself. Why was she even worried about it? The house’s price was right there, and she’d have to wait another full year to save for the down payment at her current pace. There was no promise that it would still be on the market then, and did she really want to live with a four-year-old in Rita until she could afford something better than basic? Not-quite-three was enough of a handful.
She shut the binder and pulled her coat closed again as she stood. She was warmed up again, and there was no point in making herself crazy dreaming about things she couldn’t have.
The bell at the door rang and a very angry woman swept in, impractical high-heeled boots clicking on the floor.
Kendra was not an expert at people, but she knew animal cues, and this one was a trample risk, for sure. Clarice stammered her way off of the phone call and stood with her hands clasped behind her back fearfully. “Miss Chase?”
Kendra realized that the woman’s face was the same one as on the business cards on the counter: Veronica Chase. She had plastered a company smile on for the photo and she was scowling heartily now.
“I want the contract for Tiny Paws,” she hissed. “That Cherry has crossed me for the last time, and I am shutting down that unnatural abomination for good. ”