“Loretta,” he said. He looked over his shoulder at the whole street standing in their driveways. “Would you… could you do ours? Gina has to get to her mother’s.”
“I thought this truck was inoperable,” I said.
He didn’t say anything.
“For Gina,” I said, and put the blade down.
Irene’s Living Room
The meeting wasn’t supposed to be until January. The neighbors decided otherwise.
By Sunday night eight of the eleven households had signed a petition for a special meeting. Hector delivered it to Grant’s door in person.
So on Tuesday night, five days before Christmas, twenty-one people crowded into Irene’s living room with a plate of bars on the coffee table and Gizmo asleep on the heat register.
Grant stood by the fireplace with a binder. Gina sat by the door with her coat on.
“I understand people are frustrated,” Grant began. “Frankly, so am I. Kessler has been a reliable vendor for four years. They had a fleet issue. I’ve already spoken with them, and there will be a credit on next year’s…”
