“You okay, Miss V?” Harold, the ancient diesel mechanic grinned at her, shifting his chaw to the other side of his mouth. Smiling lightly, she straightened the windshield wiper display next to the window. “I’m fine Harold. Why do you ask?” “Well,” he drawled out the word as only a true Kentuckian could. “You been straightenin’ that display for weeks now. There somethin’ I need to know ‘bout them wipers?” Mortified color stained her face and neck. Violet turned away from his knowing, laughing eyes. Harold had been adopted as family many, many years ago, well before her time. He had seen her struggle through braces and pimples and a very few boys. She didn’t think there was anything Harold didn’t know about her family. The fact that he could embarrass her that badly just went to show how out of sorts she was. “I’m fine Harold. Just…looking out the window.” “Like you been doin’ past several weeks. What you looking for, girl?” Shaking her head, Violet refused to answer.
