The laundromat was easy but we quickly realized we needed every stitch of clothing washed—including what we were wearing. We found a secondhand clothing store and I bought a tank top and another pair of cargo pants. On my way to the register, I spied a sundress in lavender and turquoise. It was rayon—cheap material, but soft. And only ten bucks. I bought it with the money Evan had given me and stuffed it in the bottom of the bag before he could see it. I didn’t have any plans for when I’d wear it, only a vague idea I wanted to look pretty for him sometime.
Evan bought a pair of jeans and a few t-shirts, but I could tell he was trying to conserve money. Our eight hundred bucks seemed like a lot until we had to buy a car with it. I don’t think either of us had high hopes we’d find even the most decrepit junker for much less than that.
While our clothes were being laundered, we ate lunch at a little Mexican place, taking a corner far from the windows. When he went to pay, Evan struck up a conversation with the guy behind the register. The guy told Evan about a salvage yard that sometimes sold used cars. South end of town, a few miles out. We thanked him for the tip, took our newly-laundered clothes back to the motel and headed out.
On the bus to the salvage yard, I was conscious of eyes on me. Evan kept the bill of his baseball cap low over his eyes, but there wasn’t much I could do about my scar except keep my hair over it. Around Evan, I often forgot about my face. Now it was a dead-giveaway to any regular news-watcher or police-blotter devotee. I rested my cheek against Evan’s chest to hide my scar and to listen to the rhythm of his heartbeat.
Evan’s pulse was steady. He was cautious, but not wound up. I decided to use his intuition as my barometer: if he were worried, I’d get worried. Until then, I’d enjoy being with him. Touching him whenever I wanted. Feeling his body next to mine.
The salvage yard was an acre-and-a-half of dented metal. Row after row of beat-up junkers sprawled under the overcast, humid sky. The smell of gasoline from a burn pit reminded me of Lee, setting my teeth on edge. A shadow of last night’s dream passed my eyes and was gone again.
Evan took my hand and we walked to the front office—a trailer near the fenced entrance. A young, twitchy-looking guy with the name Travis on his shirt rubbed his greasy, stubbly cheek in thought after Evan made his request.
“How much you say you looking to spend again?”
“As little as possible,” Evan said. “I can fix something up too. If you got the car, I can get the parts and put something together myself.”
Travis scratched behind his neck. He eyed me up and down in a way I didn’t like as he haggled with Evan. At last he offered a twenty-five-year-old hatchback. It was missing a timing belt, needed new spark plugs, a new alternator, plus a bunch of other issues that made it sound like a corpse and Evan would have to be Dr. Frankenstein to get it off the slab.
“I can let it go for four hundred bucks,” Travis said. “Parts would be another hundred or so from Mike’s place up the road. But tell him I sent you and he’ll give you a deal. You can do the repairs here.”
Five hundred dollars sounded like too much to me, but Evan shook hands with Travis, deal done. An hour later, I was sitting on an overturned bucket in the salvage yard, watching Evan try to work a miracle on the car. It must have gleamed white once. Now it sulked a yellowish pale grey. I showed it some mercy and dubbed it Snowball.
I watched Evan work on the car, admiring how the muscles in his arms worked to lift, twist, and screw in bolts. He reached back to wipe his hands on the grease rag he kept tucked into his back pocket, which drew my attention to his ass.
Evan Salinger had a seriously fine ass.
“See something you like?” he said, grinning, without looking up from his work.
“Several things,” I said. “Are we almost done here? I feel like we’ve spent too much time in one place.”
“Almost done.”
I squinted at the skies, trying to guess the time. Two o’clock or so. I had no way to confirm since I’d dropped Evan’s watch in a river. Evan seemed to be in no particular hurry. Nor was he concerned that our escape fund was down to three hundred bucks.
“Where to next?” I asked. “We’ve got Snowball, a beautiful piece of automotive engineering, but now we’ve got a cash flow problem.”
“I think we’ll be okay,” Evan said, and grunted as some bolt or screw gave him a hard time.
“Less than three hundred bucks.” I chewed my thumbnail. “How many days can we make it on that? Are we going to Thelma and Louise it? Start holding up liquor stores?”
“I’m not a thief and neither are you.”
“That’s a non-answer if I ever heard one.”
He emerged from under the hood. “We’ll be okay,” he said again. “And if not, we can always make a few bucks freelancing at a strip club.”
“Sorry to burst your bubble, but I’m a terrible pole dancer.”
He slammed the hood down. “I beg to differ.”
I groaned. “Cute.”
Evan chuckled and tossed me the car key. “Give her a try.”
The hatchback smelled like cigarette butts and dog hair. I turned the key and the engine sputtered to life.
“It’s alive!”
Evan leaned on the window frame with a satisfied smile.