Free Damaged Goods by Heather Sharfeddin

confused.
    “I’m sorry. You don’t know how important it is that I get that car back.”
    “It doesn’t run. Why not let him have it? I can look up the sale price. I won’t take a commission. Just let him have it. I’m sure he’ll give you your personal belongings back.”
    “I don’t want anyone going through my stuff!”
    Hershel sighed heavily. “This is my fault. I was off my game last night. I’m sorry. I don’t remember selling your car.”
    “Carl told me about”—she immediately regretted starting down this path—“the car. The Charger.” She looked down at her hands, feeling self-conscious. “It was a bad wreck, huh?”
    Hershel nodded and looked out the window, as if to escape the conversation. “Yup. Pretty bad.”
    They sat in awkward silence for several moments; then the phone rang, startling them both.
    Hershel swiped it up in his fist. “Swift.” He held it away from his head as the man at the other end shouted.
    “I’ll reimburse you for your trouble. It was a mistake. C’mon, don’t be an ass.”
    Silvie studied Hershel’s face, but he wouldn’t look at her.
    “Is this because I didn’t sell—” Hershel glanced at Silvie, then away. He lowered his voice. “Is this because of that other item you were after last night?” He rubbed his eyes. “Fine. It’s yours,” he said in a hushed tone. “Just bring the fucking car back.” After an extended pause, he set the phone down. “I guess he agreed; he hung up.”
    Silvie felt no sense of ease at the news. Now she waited with mounting anxiety about whether the angry man on the phone had ransacked her things and gotten his hands on Jacob’s box.
    “Please, let me buy you something to eat,” Hershel said. “To make up for all this. Please.”
    Silvie shook her head. “How soon do you think he’ll bring it?”
    “What’s in your car that’s so important?” he asked.
    She looked away.
    “I should fire Carl for this.”
    “He’s a nice man,” she said. “I don’t think you should fire him.”
    “No, you’re probably right.”
    “Has he worked for you long?”
    “A couple of years. Tell me again why you’re going to Lincoln City. Are you going after a job?”
    Silvie bit at her lower lip. “I’m just … I just want to be near the ocean, that’s all.”
    He studied her. “So what’s all the fuss about the ocean?” he asked.
    “I’ve never been.”
    “You don’t have to move to the coast to see it for the first time.”
    She kept her eyes on the floor, her mouth now set in a hard line.
    “You’re not from Montana. Not with Wyoming plates on your car. You should take the money. It’s more than you’ll get for it anywhere else.” He sat back in his chair, looking suddenly confident. “So why would a girl who can’t even afford a motel room prefer a dead car over a little extra cash?”
    “I’m running from an abusive man.”
    He blinked.
    “It doesn’t matter,” she went on with venom. “Now that I’ve been here and you know my name and what I look like, I’ll have to find some other place to go. It won’t be Lincoln City. It won’t be anywhere that you can tell him about, that much is for sure.”
    Hershel opened his mouth to speak but didn’t.
    “If—
when
he shows up looking for me, just tell him you never saw me. Okay? Tell him you found my car somewhere in Washington. Tell him—” She began to cry. “Tell him whatever you want.” Her narrow shoulders shuddered violently and she buried her head in her lap.

8
    Carl pulled his jacket collar up to keep the morning rain off his neck as he stood on Yolanda’s step. The siding was rotting away, and he could see where water had seeped down into the seam and buckled the plywood. Mold covered the entire structure. All the cabins had been painted bright turquoise three summers back. The landlord had offered a week of free rent to tenants who painted their own, and everyone took him up on the offer. They complained bitterly about the