Repo Madness by W. Bruce Cameron Page A

fought about money and sex. I couldn’t imagine what there was about sex to fight about, but money made sense. “Becky doesn’t pay me in winter. The Bear really doesn’t make a profit until the snow melts.”
    â€œThat’s not my point. It’s not that you’re not making any money; it’s that you go there even though there’s no reason. I just would like to spend an evening somewhere else for a change.”
    â€œOkay. We’ll do that. It’s a good idea. Let’s go someplace nice.” I mentally reviewed my financial status, which was broke and out of a job. Well, maybe not that good of an idea.
    â€œNo, I’m sorry. That’s not what I even meant to tell you. Forget I said that.” She gave me a serious look, and I felt my blood chill. There would be bad news now. “I think I found a place. In East Jordan. Like we talked about. Closer to work.”
    â€œNo,” I protested. “We said we would discuss it.”
    â€œNo,” she responded in disconsolate tones. “Please don’t say that. We’ve discussed it a lot. The commute, our relationship, how things have been lately.”
    â€œYou say ‘our relationship’ like it’s this thing we keep in a closet somewhere. It’s not a thing; it’s us,” I argued. I could feel the heat rising in my face, though I knew I needed to be calm and reasonable.
    â€œIt’s really late, can we not fight about this now? I won’t know about the place until tomorrow. I just really need to chill out and go to sleep; I don’t want to go through this all again.”
    Well, I did. I wanted to go over this ridiculous idea that we were going to put a pause in our lives. We were betrothed; you don’t suspend that for some sort of engagement vacation. But instead I came up with the most difficult word for me to utter in the moment. “Sure.”
    Katie sighed in relief and picked up her book in a way that suggested the conversation was over. I thought about asking her if she wanted to fight about sex, but instead went to drag my dog out into the cold. He really had to lift his leg, but his expression indicated he resented me anyway.
    *   *   *
    Katie slipped out before I awoke, and, of course, Jake didn’t stir. I had a vague notion of my front door easing closed while it was still dark, and then what seemed like just seconds later my house was filled with daylight.
    The morning was so nice, it hurt. We don’t see much of the sun in late January, but on this day the air was full of dancing sparkles as the trees shook off their snow under a dazzling blue sky. I shielded my eyes as I stumbled to the repo truck, which barely started despite the dual batteries. The sun was doing nothing to cut the cold, which had driven temperatures below zero.
    â€œWhy on earth would the Wolfingers want to go to Hawaii?” I asked myself.
    I drove to Boyne City for the second time in twenty-four hours. My route took me through the little town of East Jordan, where Katie worked, then through acres and acres of hardwood, the trees casting dark shadows in the brilliant sun, until finally I arrived at the shore of Lake Charlevoix and turned right. My heater had apparently decided to give up—even after an hour in the truck, I could still see my breath.
    When I arrived in Boyne City, the shanties clustered out on the frozen lake looked like big animals huddled against the cold. I pictured the men sitting inside them, not moving, holding fishing rods, icicles hanging from their faces. Well, okay, the shanties probably had to be heated.
    I kept driving north, and eventually the woods thickened up, blocking my view of the ice, until I turned off the road and into a neatly plowed driveway near a mailbox that read STRICKLAND .
    Barry Strickland had been the sheriff until recently, when he resigned amid the scandal of an extramarital affair with a councilman’s