Blood Ties by Victoria Rice

to see if you needed a break, thought it would be nice to check out Cape Breton and do a little shopping.”
    I inwardly groaned. It was one of my least favorite activities. It wasn’t as if I’d had any bad experiences, except for the “have-to-come-home-with-me” shoes I’d bought in 8th grade that were too small. They hadn’t lasted long. They ran away to Goodwill one Thursday without even one parting glance. They’d left behind a gift. A crop full of blisters.
    I quickly answered in an upbeat voice. “Absolutely. It sounds like fun. Just let me go and change.” Shocker there.
     
     
    ***
     
     
    We took off in her lime green Volkswagen Beetle, her baby. It had been in the family a long time, a fondly held and coveted hand-me-down. The drive was pleasant if you ignored the fumes coming up from under the rusted out floorboards. I wondered what she was going to do in the winter. Keeping the windows rolled down in forty degrees below zero would be a tad uncomfortable.
    The island was beautiful with quaint villages peppered along the way. We stopped several times and I picked up some handmade sweaters and sheepskin lined boots. Jen bought a slew of junk to send home – shot glasses with the words “Nova Scotia” printed on them, a few snow globes with the Titanic, complete with a giant iceberg. I’d seen the movie, and never again. There’s nothing like a dead baby floating in water to get you out of your seat. After some additional sightseeing and dinner at a local pub, we headed back, hoping to get back to St. Germaine before dark.
    A few miles from town, Jen’s baby began to sputter and jerk randomly. “Shit. I knew that service guy was a rip-off.” She turned to me, pissed. “I just had this in the shop three weeks ago. They charged me a fortune, apparently for nothing.”
    The car finally rumbled to a slow death and we coasted to a stop.
    “Great, just great, ” she groaned. She turned on her hazard lights and smacked her hands on the steering wheel. She pulled everything out of her purse, her giant hoop earrings banging back and forth angrily against her neck. “Double great, I must have left my cell at home. Please tell me you brought yours?”
    “Sorry.”
    She rolled her eyes then jacked open the door, jumped out and slammed it shut with a loud bang. The car shuddered.
    We pushed it off the r oad and leaned against the hood. “What’s the probability that a car will drive by?” I asked delicately, worried it might send her off in a rage and start punching the hood with her fists.
    “Not likely, I haven’t seen a single one since we started back.” She folded her arms over her chest and glared at the highway, one eyebrow doing short, excited little jumps. She chewed on her bottom lip and ground her heel into the gravel. The cicadas started their twilight buzz.
    “Well, what is it, six miles or so?” She ignored me and stared down the stretch of highway, one eyebrow twitching. “It shouldn’t take me long. I’m used to a four mile run.”
    Her frustration deflated with a drop of her shoulders. “You sure?” She gave me a guilty look, but not guilty enough to pass on my offer and come along.
    “Yep, no problem. Stay put and I’ll be back in no time.” I looked down at my heeled sandals. Well, they would have to do. I wasn’t about to take them off and risk cutting up my feet.
    “Don’t worry about coming back to pick me up, just send a tow truck. I want to keep an eye on my heap. The last thing I need is a damaged frame.” I turned away and held back a laugh. I didn’t think a damaged frame would really matter with the shape it was in. I was amazed it had made it all the way from Chicago.
    I took off briskly. I turned around after a quarter mile, walking backwards. She was still leaned up against the car, watching me go. I waved then turned my attention back to the road. I walked in silence with only the buzz of cicadas for company. One mile, two miles, I counted – only three