Free Fatal Distraction by Diane Capri

to interpret them. Vivian couldn’t forget the two sons she’d lost, her two grown daughters insufficient to fill the hole in her life.
    â€œKids ain’t cars,” Vivian had told her a few weeks ago. “You can’t just get new ones down at the dealership.”
    In truth, Vivian’s daughters had moved on. They called home once in a while, but not often, according to Vivian. With Arnold dead, Jess thought, Vivian was alone in the world.
    Vivian glanced up from her game as Jess came across the room.
    â€œHey, Jess,” she called, looking back down at the deck and turning over the next three cards, as if Jess had been in the diner yesterday instead of weeks ago. “I figured you wouldn’t be coming around until after Friday night when they kill that bastard, once and for all.” Kilt and figgered and Fridee . Vivian’s drawl was as strong as ever. She sounded like a country music singer from a bygone era, except her tone lacked all emotion.
    So she didn’t know about Arnold. Jess pasted a smile on her face and approached. “How are you doing, Viv?”
    â€œGood, sugar. You?” She shuffled another three cards and flipped them over, revealing a four of clubs that would play and put it up on the five of diamonds. She squinted around the cigarette smoke that drifted upward and filled the crinkles around her eyes.
    â€œLike coffee?” She nodded toward the pot behind the counter and pulled the next three cards from the deck, revealing another playable card.
    â€œSure,” Jess said, glad to delay the inevitable, since she’d arrived in time. She walked around to snag a mug off the shelf and fill it half full with coffee that smelled fresh enough. “Pour one for you?”
    Vivian nodded. Jess took the pot over and refilled her cup, then returned the pot to its warming plate and carried her own mug to Vivian’s table.
    Jess waited until Vivian finished her game. The cards were worn, corners bent, the white spaces dingy, sticky with dried sweat and grease. Vivian played solitaire over and over, night after night, until the cards wore out or got lost. She didn’t seem to mind that often there were fewer than fifty-two cards by the time she tossed the deck. Then she’d unwrap the cellophane on a stiff new deck and start over. Her ritual had continued for years. Marking time. Occupying her mind with alternating red and black suits kept her despair manageable.
    When Vivian reached the point in her game where she could no longer make a move, she put all the cards face up on the table and raked them together. She lifted her fingers to her cigarette and took a final puff before crushing it out in the full ashtray that stood on a pedestal next to the table. She gathered the cards up and began to shuffle, but Jess reached over and covered both of Vivian’s hands with one of hers.
    â€œViv, honey,” Jess began, and then stopped. She’d rehearsed the words in the car that suddenly stuck in her chest.
    Vivian pulled her hands away, still wrapped around the card deck, and returned to her shuffling.
    Jess cleared her throat. “I have some bad news.”
    â€œAin’t no other kind,” Vivian said. She shuffled the cards a few more times. Fanned and then stacked them together. Set the deck down on the table and cut. Rapped the deck with the first two knuckles of her right claw. Then picked them up again and began to deal the familiar layout. She kept her gaze firmly down, watching her hands expertly arrange the cards.
    â€œIt’s Arnold. He’s been hurt, Viv. It’s bad.”
    Vivian placed the remaining cards in the deck on the table and played the hand she’d laid out. She moved a new cigarette around with her tongue and took a deep drag, allowing the smoke to seep from her nostrils and trail upward.
    â€œDid you hear me? I said Arnold’s been hurt.”
    Vivian picked up the remaining cards in the deck and