Hehad stepped up, though, when the big, unshaven man had leaned much too close toher and introduced himself as Rollo. Dad’s friend, she realized. The one who’drefused to accept Dad’s business. She and Dad had Skyped monthly, so she knewhe and Rollo had been close for a long time, but they’d suffered a falling outover... she wasn’t sure what. Dad had used the pronouns “she” and “her,” butthese days that could refer to a woman or a car. He’d never specified, andAshley never asked.
Rollohad spoken in a hoarse whisper, saying he and herfather had been best friends for years. Said he was sorry for her loss,couldn’t imagine how he would fill the hole in his life that her father’s deathhad left behind. More lies. Dad hadn’t suffered a death; he’d committedsuicide. Plus, the last time they’d Skyped, Dad had said he and Rollo hadn’tspoken for a month. Of course, Dad had also insisted everything was hunky-dory,but later actions had put the lie to that.
Rollohad asked nonchalantly if she’d gotten a motel room for the night. As if beinga school teacher gave her money to throw around. The rental car had beenenough. She’d told him she was staying at her father’s house. He’d gaped ather. Told her she was a fool if she stayed there. That’s how he said it,there, set off in tone as if he feared the place would hear him. He’dgrabbed her arms and begged her to stay somewhere else.
“Youdon’t know,” he’d said. “You don’t know.”
Jimmyhad stepped in then, signaling to the men who worked for the funeral home.
“Areyou staying there as well?” Rollo had asked Jimmy.
“I’mwith Ashley, so....”
Threefuneral home workers had surrounded Rollo and herded him toward the door.“Neither of you has the sense God gave a duck,” he’d yelled.
Assoon as they were gone, Jimmy had wrapped her in a hug.
“Isthis our left?”
Ashleyblinked, surprised to find herself back in the rental car.
“It’s...I think it’s...” she squinted toward the turn. “Is there a street sign?”
Jimmyslowed. “I don’t see one.”
“There.In the trees. Esker Road. Left here.”
“Leftit is.”
Jimmyturned and sped up.
“Allthe way up, on the right,” Ashley said.
Shefocused out the windshield as they drove, determined not to space out again.
Treeshugged the road on both sides. As they progressed, the forest thinned. Half amile in, the occasional single-story modular homes appeared in cleared-outsections. Ashley wondered what kind of life decisions you had to make to end upin one of those.
“Thismust be the bridge,” Jimmy said. It came into view around a curve.
Onhis side, the bridge still had its original stone wall, reinforced with steelslats bolted along its length. On Ashley’s side, though, most of the stone wallwas crumbled into a deep ravine. She’d guess fifty feet, at least. Constructionbarrels lined the drop, wrapped generously in yellow “caution” tape.
“Jesus,”Jimmy said. “Somebody did a number on that.” He slowed the car as they nearedand came to a stop on the bridge. He pushed himself up and leaned over Ashleyto look down into the ravine. She refrained from shoving him back into thedriver’s seat. He gave a low whistle. “Was that from an Earthquake? How deep toyou think it goes?”
Ashley’spulse raced. Dad had dived from here. She couldn’t see the bottom, but thesides were lined with rocks. They’d been the last things her father had seen,and now Jimmy wanted to gawk. “I don’t know,” she said. Her voice was barely awhisper.
“How’dthe bridge break in the first place, Ash? Did your father ever talk about it?”Thankfully, he settled back into his seat.
“Itwas an accident earlier this year,” she said, trying to remember the tale. Shehadn’t paid close attention when Dad told the story, and now he wasn’t aroundto tell it again. “I don’t remember. Some couple were on their way home. Had afight and crashed through. He survived; his girlfriend didn’t.”
“Ouch.”
“Hewalked back here a few days later. Two and a half miles. Moved the barrelsaside and took a header into the ravine.”
“Really?”Jimmy said. “And you don’t want--”
“No.I don’t. Get me to the house. I want to take a nap.”
Jimmysighed. He looked out the windshield for a moment, then sighed again. Heslipped the car into gear, but didn’t move them off the bridge. “I’m justsaying.”
“Canwe go?”
Hestill didn’t drive. Ashley looked out the windshield. From here forward, astockade fence ran along the road. Dad had told her his junkyard was completelyfenced in, but one section of fence was missing along the ravine, where it ranup into the woods. In that space, she saw rows of cars, each of them strippedto various degrees. Dad’s Pick Apart.
Dadowned five acres of land stretching back into the woods. Well, she ownedthem now. It was a smallish plot, as these things went, but situated as it wasnear the edges of three small towns, it did a fair amount of business.According to Dad, he’d started drawing customers from towns further away. He’djoked that the place was keeping him in cat food.
“Isshe supposed to be there?” Jimmy asked.
Ashleyfocused. She’d started to space out again. Jimmy was staring at the missingsection of stockade fence. She didn’t see anyone.
“Iswho supposed to be there?”
“Her.Wait. I thought someone... must have been a shadow.” He eased off the bridgeand sped up. They travelled in silence for a moment before the stockade fenceended. Jimmy stopped in front of a driveway gated with a section of highwayguardrail. Hanging from it was a hand-lettered sign. Dale’s PICK APART. “Thegate’s closed. You have the key?”
Ashleylooked at him.
“Thekey? The lawyer gave you the key.”
Sheremembered the fat man handing her something.
“Youput it in your purse.”
Sheopened her purse and looked inside. One small key ring sat on top. Even holdingit before her eyes, she couldn’t remember seeing it before. Six dirty goldenkeys on a simple metal ring. “Maybe it’s one of these?”
Jimmytook them and got out of the car.
Herattention wandered to the tiny house built on an incline at the edge of theproperty, not much larger than a trailer. Another modular home. Figured. She’djust been looking down her nose at people who lived in these. Of course, Dadhad always referred to it as his “palace,”
