More Ferarum

Chapter Twenty

She grimaced.

"What don't you like about it?"

"Ugh. Me."

I shoved her over and sat next to her on the bench. I held the camera between us, the gesture suggesting she explain. She huffed, scattering the wig-bangs.

"Well this one's okay... because I don't look like me."

I pressed my jeaned thigh against hers and knocked it a couple times. "What if I guarantee you that you'll never look like you in any photos I take?"

She huffed again, and I thought this huff was one of agreement. I jabbed her with my elbow. "Get the suit. Let's go."

The suit was a red Jackie O. number with big covered buttons and matching pillbox hat. Despite the fact that it fit Bettie off the rack, she moved awkwardly in it. She had a devil of a time getting up into the Bronco and kept her knees locked together the entire ride to the salvage station.

She managed to disembark by pointing both her knees at the open car door and sort of slithering out, claiming in an annoyed tone that she was just worried about damaging the vintage classic. I gave her an eye roll equivalent of a drawn out suuuure, and she flipped me the bird for the second time that day.

She pulled at the side seams as she walked. "I don't do skirts."

"It's like shorts, Bettie. Jeez."

She looked down at me. "Shorts might be short. But they meet in the middle. My thighs are chafing."

I waggled my brows at her.

"Oh stop, Kate. I wish I'd never taken pity on you enough to agree to this."

She mimicked the conversation we'd had, repeating lines that were almost what I had said—though she transformed me into a whiny high-pitched beggar to her resolute low-toned reserve. I rattled the heavy chain holding the dump gate closed and its loud clank drowned her out. She quieted and shifted uncomfortably next to me, tugging at her skirt seams.

I shook my head. "You're gonna tear that skirt and then your mom will never let us borrow stuff from the theater again."

"That may be a blessing in disguise for me, if you keep using me as your own personal doll."

"You like it."

She gave me a look suggesting that no, she really didn't. But while her face was stoically unamused, there was a small delighted fire in her eyes. And I knew Bettie. If she really truly didn't want to be here, she'd leave.

"Hiya!" Vita had emerged from her shack of an office and waved the keys at me in greeting. I waved awkwardly back. She chattered at me as she popped the shackle on the lock and pulled the gate open.

After catching me up on her daughter, her daughter's daughter, and her bad hip she ended with, "How long you need?"

"Maybe an hour?" That would depend on Bettie and if I could get her to just relax.

Vita nodded and rustled us in before relatching the gate. "Maybe I watch later. Doing taxes now." She rolled her eyes and vanished back inside. I could see her through the grubby little window as she took her seat in front of an open laptop and a pile of receipts.

I led Bettie down the path. I'd crowbarred the door of the Oldsmobile open a few days ago and gone in with some ArmorAll wipes and a bottle of Windex. The seat and steering wheel didn't quite shine, but at least they were clean-ish.

"So the idea I want for these pictures is that you've just broken down. Maybe you've called for a ride and it's taking forever for them to show up and get you."