Pulphouse Fiction Magazine Issue #34 by Dean Wesley Smith

Author:Dean Wesley Smith
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: WMG Publishing

Monday. And I was late for work. Bad enough that the kids were causing trouble but Molly and I had had another fight. It was sort of a relief to get out of the house and hop in my car. I should have known better.

"'Morning, Jenny."

"Good morning, Mark." Jenny replied quickly enough.

I put the key in the ignition and turned it. Nothing. I tried again. Then I realized—silly me! I hadn't stuck in the clutch. Still nothing. "Jenny, what's up?"

"I'm not starting."

"I noticed—why?" I looked at the gauges—nothing seemed wrong.

"I'm five hundred and two-tenth miles overdue for a service."

I blew out my breath. We'd had this argument for the past week. "I know that, Jenny, and I promise I'll get you in as soon as I can."

"You could have done it Saturday," Jenny said. "Or Sunday."

"I was busy Saturday," I said. "You know."

"Yes, you and the family went to the Mall," Jenny said. "And little Jeremy dropped his ice cream cone in the back seat⁠—"

"We cleaned it up!"

"You tried. There's still dried ice cream on the carpet! And I haven't been washed in ages!"

"We'll get to it, I promise. Besides, what's a little dirt?" The words slipped out before I could catch myself.

"A little dirt? A little dirt?" My car responded indignantly. "It's been a whole month since I was last washed. Do you know what that dust does to my aerodynamics? I'm losing over half a mile an hour in top speed and burning a tenth of a gallon extra every thousand miles and you say—'a little dirt'! Don't you care about the environment, about your children?"

"Of course I do," I said. "But you can't seriously expect me to believe that not being washed for a month is going to make a big impact on anything. After all, it rained last week."

"And did you notice that my right windshield wiper is frayed?"

"No." I glanced at the right side of the windshield for signs of wiper tracks. "In fact, I don't see anything wrong."

"No, of course not," Jenny said primly. "That's because I compensated. But how long do you think I can go on like this?"

"Don't worry, old gal, we won't let you break down or anything."

"Won't you?" she demanded sarcastically. "Have you seen the color of my oil?"

"Well no, but the oil light's not on," I said. "And didn't we get you that special long-life oil anyway?"

"That's not the point." Jenny snapped. "My oil's dirty and you just know what that could mean—poorer lubrication, worse heat dissipation and—" Jenny sniffed "—early breakdowns!"

"Okay, okay," I said soothingly. "Don't get upset. We'll get you serviced, I already promised. But Jenny, I'm going to be late for work."

"I'll book an appointment. We can go in today at ten."

"No good. I'm going to be in meetings all day."

"How about tomorrow?"

"Same."

"Are you sure?" Jenny asked with suspicion. "Wait a minute! Wait a minute! I just checked with your appointments computer - you're going to be free tomorrow from twelve until one."

"That's lunchtime, Jenny!"

"So? What's more important, your stomach or my safety?" Jenny demanded.

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