Salt & Stone by A. L. Knorr

Author:A. L. Knorr [Knorr, A. L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Intellectually Promiscuous Press
Published: 2018-12-10T16:00:00+00:00

Once Antoni and I had kissed one another goodnight, he turned to Georjie. “Have a good time in Scotland, whatever you get up to. I’m a little jealous. It was really great meeting you. I can see why Targa is so fond of you.”

Georjie colored a little. “Likewise, Antoni. Maybe I’ll see you among the highlands one day.” They hugged, and as she stepped back, I heard her say, “Take good care of our girl.”

As soon as Antoni slipped out the front door, Georjie and I put our outdoor gear on and went to the garage. Flicking on the light switch just inside the door flooded the six-car garage with fluorescent light. The cold concrete space smelled like rubber, oil, gasoline, and diesel, but it was shiny and clean. Four vehicles sat under custom black fabric cozies, and several times more than four sets of keys dangled from hooks on a corkboard over a workbench along one wall.

“Wow,” breathed Georjie. “So, these cars are all yours now? Your life is so weird.” She walked around one of the mysterious shapes and lifted the corner of the fabric to peek underneath.

“Says the girl who can see the past and turn into a tree,” I replied, lifting my own corner of fabric.

“Touché. Have you ever driven in Poland before?”

“Yes, but only an old truck to the dump when I was collecting garbage from the sea. They drive on the right-hand side of the road here, so I should be fine.”

“This is Europe, though, they don’t build cities on a grid. It’s more like someone threw a bunch of super-long spaghetti down on the terrain and then just paved it the way it fell…with cobblestones.”

I grinned. “That just makes it more fun.”

“Right.” Georjie didn’t look like she agreed with me.

“Do you want to drive?”

Her head was invisible beneath the fabric of one of the vehicles as she peered in through the window. “Nope. I don’t drive stick shift.” Her head appeared, her blond hair mussed. “Good thing your mom always drove stick.”

I agreed. “Which one looks the least expensive?”

“I’d say the little Fiat.”

“Fiat it is.” Rifling through the keys on the wall, I found the Fiat’s key fob while Georjie pulled the fabric off the sleek red body of the little car.

We got inside and I adjusted the seat, the steering wheel, and the mirrors. The little black device hooked to the sun visor was easy to spot, and I pressed the button on the remote. An electronic hum and movement in the rearview mirror signaled the rising of the garage door directly behind us.

Georjie took my phone from my bag and punched the museum’s address into the GPS. Backing the little Fiat out of the garage, I took a steadying breath, wheeling the car around to face the hill leading from the garage level to the main level and out the front gate. I guided the Fiat out onto the deserted nighttime street. The rain had let up a little, and now drizzled lazily against the windshield.

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