Margaret stood in front of the piece of garbage car which steamed almost as much as she did. After opening the hood, Margaret looked down where the fan belt should be. As she suspected, the pulleys were bare.
The clunker had to hold together until Permanent Fund Dividend time. Permanent Fund Dividends were a life saver for many Alaskans. Those with lower than average incomes depended on them for a healthy infusion of cash. The checks came out once a year in October, usually just before the first big snowfall.
Between her dividend and Mindy's, it might be possible to get the piece of garbage fixed or find something a little better. Better would be nice, but she wouldn't count on it. This minute, she must figure out how to get home tonight, and back to work in Anchorage come morning.
With no bus service from Wasilla to Anchorage it looked like she would be hitch hiking in the morning. To have even a chance of getting to work on time, she would need to get up at 3:00 a.m.
Her temper hit the boil mark. Margaret walked around to the driver's side of the junk heap and kicked the front tire as hard as she could.
After she kicked the tire, the tears started. Cars sped by on the Glenn Highway, commuters going home to the Matanuska Susitna Valley.
She didn’t have enough money to afford a cell phone. By now, Mindy would be home and wondering what had happened to her mom. After the disaster of her marriage and subsequent divorce, Mindy would be terrified when she didn't get home on time.
A truck in the outside lane slowed, then pulled up in front of her car. The driver backed up. Margaret watched in surprise when a sandy haired, lanky man got out of the truck carefully, to keep from being hit by the cars speeding past.
He walked back to her. "Hi. It died on you?"
Margaret scrubbed her wet face on the sleeve of her blouse and nodded. "Popped the fan belt. Miserable hunk of junk."
The man gently took her arm and moved her to one side. "Let me have a look at it."
"Got a gun? This dead horse needs to be shot."
With his head in the engine cavity, the man looked up at her with a grin. "That's a girl. Humor always helps."
He surveyed the pulleys, then nodded. "Well, I don't have a belt with me to fit it. But I'm pretty sure I have one at the shop. Now all we have to do is get you there." Straightening up, he wiped his hands on the front of his tee shirt. He smiled. "The virtues of wearing black tee shirts for uniforms."
The frustration and anger inside her eased. Margaret took a deep breath. He wanted to help.
"How hot did this thing get?" The man asked.
Margaret sniffed a little and blinked. "I heard the belt go, so I pulled over as quick as I could. It started steaming after I shut it off."
He tapped his hand against the uniform pants while looking out at the swamp on the other side of the gravel which marked the shoulder of the Glenn Highway. Margaret waited quietly. He was thinking about how to help her and she wouldn't butt in.
Then he turned to look at her. "You wouldn't be wearing panty hose would you?"
Margaret blushed and looked down. She hoped he wasn't a nut case. "Yeah. I am."
"OK. Climb into the cab of the truck and pull off the panty hose. Come on back here with them. Then we'll see if we can get this escapee from a junk yard to the shop and get you back on the road."
She stared at him for a minute, "Seriously?"
The man smiled at her again and his blue eyes seemed to sparkle. "Honest to God. And I promise I won't peek. Just lock both doors if you're worried."
Margaret made an instant decision. He didn't look like a white knight, but if he could help, she would let him try. As much trouble as she was in it wouldn’t hurt. With a nod she walked up to his truck and climbed inside. Margaret really had to wiggle to get the panty hose off in the enclosed space. She had one more pair at home, and payday was in two days. If she kept her last pair run free, she might make it.
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