“I’d been heading for Sundance, thinking Rocket might not kill me quite as dead if I had Grandma’s last surviving jar in my hands. But reaching the sign for the salvage yard, I’d stopped, drawn to the sea of scrap. Ruined vehicles covered the open, rolling landscape: trucks, cars, tractors, even an RV and an old boat or two. I followed the access road into Neary’s, looking out at the bone orchard of broken-down bolt buckets. Maze-like lines of metal radiated from a single large, steel structure,... a building that appeared to double as a repair shop and a house. I didn’t know what I was doing. Or why my knees knocked so badly. Here, everything was already broken; I shouldn’t have been scared. But walking into the salvage yard, the metallic taste in my mouth grew so strong it made me want to spit. A slim figure emerged from the steel building and I stopped. It took me a minute to realize that the person approaching was a lady. No older than Rocket, the woman had an ink spill of straight black hair working its way out of a hair band to frame a perfectly oval, copper-colored face.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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