Owl Be Yours_A Magical Romantic Comedy_With a Body Count by R. J. Blain

Author:R. J. Blain [Blain, R. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B07H1YRF47
Publisher: Pen & Page Publishing
Published: 2018-09-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Five

For the first time since the wildfire, I had everything I needed to be me again, including the authorization to return to mowing lawns and fixing machines, clothes I didn’t have to wash after my shift, and a rental to take me where I needed to go. The rental annoyed me; after years of driving a large truck, the sporty car handled like a hummingbird on speed.

I considered it a miracle I made it to work without crashing.

With no need to arrive extra early, I showed up thirty minutes later than normal, which gave me plenty of time to prep the trucks and mowers before anyone else arrived.

Nothing screamed normality like work on a Tuesday morning.

“Nice car,” my boss greeted from behind me. “I wasn’t sure you’d be here today or if we’d have another one of those contractors again.”

I retrieved Annie’s medical clearance from my back pocket and waved it. “Freedom is sweet, I’ve been declared healthy, and the pest had to go back to work today. The car’s a rental, and I’m just using it today.”

I’d start petitioning for something a little saner and with fewer aspirations to be a bird. If I wanted to perform aerobatics, I’d shift.

“Who’s on the rental?”

“The pest is the main renter, but I’m listed as a special note. It’s in the glove box if you need to see it.” Eager to be back to doing something familiar, I headed to the back to start my routine of preparing the mowers and trucks. My boss didn’t ask to see the papers, opting to return to his office instead.

In the week I’d been gone, someone had cut corners, and while I did my best to prep Isham’s mower, I bet it would pitch a fit by noon and spew black smoke as part of its death throes. Unless Isham coaxed the machine, which I doubted even on a good day, it’d likely seek out its revenge on its operator.

I hoped Isham survived.

I rocked back on my heels, thumping my wrench against my leg trying to figure out the best way to tell the boss his mower might last a week if he prayed, set up an altar, and otherwise beseeched the divine for a miracle. The quiet summoned my boss, who crossed his arms and frowned while I engaged the mower in a staring contest. “It’s too quiet in here. Quiet means trouble.”

I pointed my wrench at Isham’s misbehaving machine. “This piece of shit is about done. If Isham’s lucky, it’ll last through to the end of the day.”

“Why is it you always tell me things I don’t want to hear?”

“I’m usually right, sir. That’s why.”

“Well, when it kicks the bucket, you’ll fix it as always. You’ve been saying that old mower is about to die for years. You’re on spillover today, so your schedule’s light at worst. I got the lazy louts to pick up extra yards until you’re back into the swing of things.”

“I was gone a week. It’s not that hard to get back into the swing of things.

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