She turned on her heel and I let out a slow breath. You know the junkyard gets creepier the later it gets." "Right, well… you'd better be on your way. She lingered a few seconds longer before glancing back at the launderette. "Wish I had someone to run my errands." She grimaced at her laundry. "Oh, I see," she said, her eyes moving from my three-wheeled trailer and returning to my face. Connelly's old china," I explained, a response I had thought up long before leaving my room this morning. My jaw twitched as she left the sidewalk and approached me. "What are you doing out here, Violet?" she asked.
She was clutching a bundle of white sheets. The fluorescent street lamps illuminated the tall, lithe brunette standing on the sidewalk outside Georgette's Laundry. I forced a casual expression to my face and twisted around. What was she doing in this part of town at nightfall? It was one I’d grown accustomed to hearing every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. I repositioned my throbbing palms on the handlebars and my feet on the pedals of the bike when a voice called behind me. Catching my breath, I wiped my palms against my blouse. I slowed to a stop once I reached the end of the last concrete road on this side of the city. I hadn't passed anybody I knew, and nobody had halted me to ask where I was going. By the time I arrived at the edge of town, the sun had set. I tried to fix my eyes ahead on the perfectly even road and not keep glancing over my shoulder at the makeshift wooden trailer I was pulling behind me.Īs the uniform townhouses on either side of me grew sparse, so did the light. M y sweating palms slipped against the handles of my bike as I cycled at a pace I hoped would not look suspicious.
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