A Few Bikes

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"Hmm, they actually have a place for bikes here. Maybe there's some hope for this job after all."

Ziggy carefully went through her triple lock procedure, sniffing disdainfully at the Walmart specials that surrounded her prized possession. She bent over and vigorously shook her head, quickly eliminating any trace of the helmet hair look. One of the few good things about this wild mass of curls was that it easily sprang back to life, even after a long ride. And unlike some of her friends, she never wasted any time doing her hair in the morning. Combing it was pretty pointless and painful besides.

A natural blond, she had dyed it a nondescript brown in her first year at school. It had been bad enough smiling through the well-meaning Shirley Temple comparisons when she was little, and then ignoring the dumb blond jokes as she got older and "filled out". But after being hit on for the umpteenth time by guys who assumed busty, curly-headed blonds were always ready to hook up, she decided to become a brunette. Her roommate Cathy clearly did not understand the motivation, but she had advised Ziggy to quit wearing the tight Lycra bike wear all the time, too, if she was really serious about shutting down the pick-up attempts. With the purchase of some baggy tees and a couple of ugly flannel shirts, Ziggy was no longer an obvious target for the hormone-crazed morons that swarmed the halls and walks around the campus. Cathy mockingly called it her Fleet Farm look. Unless she was biking, in which case Ziggy looked as sleek as anyone on the Tour de France.

Glancing at the time on her phone, Ziggy realized she still had an hour to kill before she was supposed to show up at the printing shop. Her aunt had offered to drive her over, but the opportunity to legitimately ride her bike somewhere else was incentive enough to agree to the interview. Mostly, it was the easiest way to get her uncle to shut up and quit nagging her for a while. Aunt Jen had sighed, and quietly suggested she bring a clean shirt and a washcloth with her to clean up before she went in.

Maize was about 20 miles away, maybe a bit more on the back roads she planned to take. She could bike that in her sleep. Ziggy had meant to take it slow, but as usual, she lost track of time when she was riding. She had flown down the deserted roads, focused on not thinking about anything. The not thinking thing was the only hard part of the ride, as the Kansas roads were as flat as their reputation proclaimed. She had the T-shirt to prove it. No steep hills to climb or hairpin turns to navigate, yet another reason to miss her mountain canyons.

Looking around for a place to change, the only viable candidate seemed to be the little diner across the street. After double-checking the locks on her bike, she grabbed her pack and jaywalked over to the raggedy restaurant, in spite of the sign forbidding it. Not that there was any real need for a No Jaywalking sign in this podunk town. It was probably there to justify the also unnecessary traffic light on the corner. Must have been extra money in the city budget the year they put that in.

Established in 1902, Irma's Kitchen looked its age. Some paint and a new sign would probably improve it’s curb appeal, but at least it seemed like it belonged on the street. Vastly more interesting than the disjointed strip malls and plastic franchise restaurants she had passed coming into town, or the faux modern facade of it's neighbors. Not that modern construction was inherently evil, but the unplanned mish-mash of new and old offended her aesthetic sense. They could really use some kind of zoning committee in Maize, with more of an eye to preserving something of the old town's character. But she supposed the economic development of the Wichita bedroom community held a higher priority for the city planners than achieving a harmonious look or preserving their history.

Sighing, she pulled open the heavy glass door, smiling then at the pleasant jingle it made as she entered. A dozen or so tables and booths were mostly empty as it was well past lunch and too early for dinner. But the old-fashioned counter with the red-padded metal stools drew her over. Dropping her pack on the foot rail below, she sat down and reached for a menu. She wasn't really hungry, but she felt funny about coming in just to use the bathroom. And she didn't want to show up at Jammed too early, afraid that would make her look overly needy.

"Afternoon. What can I getcha?"

The waitress was about her age, maybe a little younger, her skin freckled and brown with no trace of make-up. Her hair was pulled back in a long pony-tail and stuffed through an old Ford Truck baseball cap. The hat jarred her, bringing her to a place she didn't want to go. She zoned out for a second, losing awareness of where she was.

"Yo?"

Flustered by her lapse of attention, Ziggy fumbled for an order.

"Can I get a latte, please?"

The girl laughed out loud at her request, but it was a friendly laugh, not mean.

"There's a new Starbucks next to the Target out by the highway that's not too far away. But no lattes here, sorry, though I did just make a fresh pot of coffee a few minutes ago. And my coconut cream pies turned out pretty nice today. You can get both here for the price of a Triple Venti there."

"Um, sorry. Of course, I meant a coffee. Black. No sugar. And that's my favorite kind of pie, so I would like a piece of that too. Not too big though. I only have a few minutes. I didn't want to be early, but I don't want to be late either. And I ate lunch before I came anyway. And can you tell me where the bathroom is please?"

Laughing again, the girl behind the counter pointed to the back of the room.

"Sure, it's through that doorway back by the jukebox, turn left, last door on the right. The light switch is outside the door, so you want to turn that on before you go in."

Grabbing her bag, Ziggy quickly headed back to clean up, embarrassed by her rambling response. As directed, she flipped on the light switch first and peeked in. It was something of a tight fit, as the closet-sized room was pretty much filled by a sink, a single toilet, and a huge metal trash can. But it was clean, and nothing like as scary as some of the gas station restrooms she had used during her long distance bike trips. Closing the door, she pushed the rusty hook into the matching eyelet, hopefully ensuring a little privacy in lieu of a proper lock.

Ripping off her sweaty shirt, she grabbed the washcloth out of her bag and did a quick wipe-down. A couple swipes of deodorant, and then she pulled out the clean shirt. Nicely ironed, buttoned and folded, it reminded her of how good Aunt Jen had been to her. Mentally promising herself to show more appreciation, and maybe work on choosing her words to her uncle more carefully, Ziggy put on the blue and white striped oxford. Adding a lightweight angora sweater for a more professional look, she tried finger combing her hair, making perhaps a modest improvement. A little mascara, some face powder, a bit of lip gloss, and she was good to go. She put the damp washcloth in the little plastic baggy, also provided by her aunt, and shoved the toiletries and her dirty clothes back into the dusty bag. Remembering to turn the light off, she went back to the red stool. Apparently watching for her return, the pony-tailed waitress came through the swinging door, carrying a picture perfect slice of pie and a steaming pot of coffee.

"Wow, a biker went in and a preppy came out."

"How did you know I was a biker?"

Laughing, again, the girl said "Nope. I'm not psychic. I saw you across the street when you rode up."

She poured the coffee into a very large and uniquely colored ceramic cup with one hand, putting the pie and silverware down with the other.

"What a cool mug. I've never seen one like that. It's as beautiful as that piece of pie."

"Well, thank you. I do most of the baking here, besides taking turns serving out front with my brother. Brian's the one who made the mug. He's got his own kiln, and he uses pieces of crushed and broken glass pushed into the clay, which sort of melts around the cup when he fires them."

"Do you sell them here? Mugs like that would be a way cooler trinket than the usual dopey T-shirts I've see other diners sell."

"I'm pretty sure everyone in town already has a set, whether they wanted them or not, so no, they're not for sale. Maybe if we were out by the highway and got more traffic. He's made a ton of them, but our parents don't believe in TV. No TV means time to do other things, like ceramics. Not that we have that much free time, working here at Irma's. You're not from around here, are you?"

"No way! I'm from Salt Lake. Just staying here with my aunt and uncle in Haven for a while."

"Sorry, I suppose it is a little boring here in the backwaters of Kansas."

"Wait, I didn't mean that to sound so snotty. But you're right, I'm used to a different kind of...vibe, a little more urban, I guess. Are you...Amish?"

Drawing more laughter from the girl, she said, "No, though my great-grandparents were. And if you go another ten miles up the highway there's Yoder, which has a pretty visible Amish community still. My parents never practiced, they just think watching TV is a waste of time and it rots your brain. You rode your bike here from Haven? To go to an interview? My name's Jane, by the way."

"Uh, you sure you aren't psychic? How did you know I was here for an interview?"

"Well, it wasn't that hard to figure out when you parked your bike at Jammed, changed your clothes, and mentioned you didn't want to be late. Plus, my brother interviewed there this morning, so I knew they were hiring."

"Ok, not psychic, just smart. And I'm Ziggy."

"Ziggy? Like the cartoon?"

"No, like the song, not the comic strip. My parents were big Bowie fans, and apparently I was conceived after they went to one of his concerts. They thought it was fitting, I guess, but I sometimes wish they had named me something normal."

"Yeah, cuz a boring name like Jane would be ever so much better."

"Did you get the me Tarzan, you Jane cracks in school?" asked Ziggy sympathetically. "There was a girl in my high school named Jane. She got that all the time from the guys. And she wasn't nearly as pretty as you."

"How nice of you to say! It's just this hot new apron I'm wearing, really. Brings out the blue in my eyes." Jane simpered and batted her lashes, affecting a model's pose. "But you know what, you better finish up that pie, and get out of here. It must be almost time for your interview, right?"

"Geez, you're right. Again. How much do I owe you?"

"Don't worry about it. I'm outta here at four, and I already closed out the till and set it up for the night shift. Too lazy to change it now, and no point in Brian getting sales credit for nothing. We have a bet going on who brings in more money this month. Winner gets a whole week off while the loser does double shifts. Consider it a welcome to Maize gift. I'll probably be gone before you're done, but feel free to come back over and change again, if you want to."

"Thank you. For everything. And your pie was wonderful, I'll have to come back for another piece."

"No problem. And good luck on your interview, though don't tell my brother I said that."

"I doubt I'll get the job, but I'm doing it to make my uncle...happy."

Ziggy gulped down the last swallow of her coffee, and headed for the door. Ten minutes to go, just the right amount of early. Getting this job might just be good, especially if it gave her the opportunity to get to know Jane better. Her infectious laugh and observant nature appealed to Ziggy, who hadn't spent time with anyone her own age in forever. Besides the fact that her pie was killer good, which was reason enough to come back. Eating lunch here too often might be hazardous to her waistline, not that she ever worried about gaining weight. Biking burned off a lot of calories.

Waiting on the curb for some actual street traffic to pass, she stared at the coral wall of Jammed, admiring the shade and the gradients of color. She was halfway across the street before she noticed the bottle on the sidewalk. Like the wall, her vision turned red, and her heart began beating furiously. She flashed back to the news clip someone had sent her in email. Why they thought she would want to see it, she had no idea. Nor could she explain why she had stupidly sat and watched the whole piece. Now the memory of it was burned in her brain, impossible to block out. She froze, starting to hyperventilate.

"Hey! You, there. Ziggy?"

The sound of her name interrupted what was turning into a major anxiety attack, something she thought she was past. Ziggy realized she wasn't moving, and slowly continued toward the row of bikes.

The guy standing by the bike rack was looking at her like she was a little crazy.

"You are Ziggy Evans, right? Are you okay?"

"Um, got lost in a thought there for a minute. Yeah, I'm fine. Who are you, and how do you know my name?"

Now that she seemed coherent, and wasn't standing stupidly in the middle of the road, the guy had the grace to look a little embarrassed himself.

"I'm George. I work at Jammed. I was on the front desk today and saw your name on the calendar for 3:30. You kind of look like you're dressed for an interview, so I just guessed you were her. I was waiting for you to show up before I ran over to the Quikstop. We're working late tonight and I wanted to go grab some snacks for later. You sure you're okay, you look kind of shaky?"

Flustered about how she had acted, and tired of everyone always asking her if she was alright, Ziggy replied snippily.

"Yeah, I just said I was fine, didn't I? And what am I supposed to do? Stand out here and wait for you to get back?"

"No, you can go in. Through the door to the left of the desk. It's the last office on the right. Zach's waiting for you and his door is open."

She started walking toward the front of the building, when she considered how poorly she had behaved to a potentially future co-worker. Just her luck to get the job and then have everyone hear she was some kind of whack job. She turned back, giving George a genuine smile.

"Thanks, George. I appreciate it. Sorry I was so spacey there."

"No biggie. Good luck on the interview."

Attempting to collect her composure, Ziggy turned back again to the entrance. She opened the door, but unlike the friendly jingle of the diner's door, a raucous buzzer blared, startling her again. When the sound didn't seem to have drawn any attention, she took a deep breath and went through the inner office door. As she walked down the hallway, she noticed several people, mostly young, working hard to box up stacks and stacks of flyers. They were cracking jokes though, and seemed to be having a good time. One of the girls noticed her looking, and gave her a wink and a nod. Most of the other office doors were closed, and she reached the end of the hall before she was really ready. She couldn't just stand in the doorway looking in, like the idiot she seemed to be, but she had another moment of panic when she couldn't recall the owner's name.

"Mr. Hopper?" she tried tentatively.

"There you are. You're late. And it's Hopson, but call me Zach. Take a seat."

Great start, Zig, she thought to herself. Before she was even settled on the straight-backed chair, positioned several feet away from his massive oak desk, Zach began peppering her with questions.

"Tell me what you know about engraving?"

"Well, not a lot, but..."

"How about the CTP process. Are you familiar with that?"

"Uh, I'm not exactly sure what that is, could you..."

"What about bindings, you done any bindings before?"

"At school, I..."

"Oh that's right. Your uncle Harold told me you were majoring in Design. Not that college is very helpful in the real world. Too much theory and not enough application if you ask me."

Not sure how to take that, Ziggy started to get a little angry with him cutting her off before she could even answer his questions.

"I have a 4.0 at CalArts, and I've been told I have a very good eye for color and layout perspective."

"Do you have any kind of real experience?"

"I worked at Kinko's for two summers during high school. Last summer I was in charge of designing the invitations for over fifty events.

"Hmmph. That's kind of like applying at the Four Seasons when your only experience is flipping burgers at McDonald's, but it's something I guess. Did you bring your portfolio?"

Duh, why hadn't she thought to bring something to show.

"Um..."

"You do have a portfolio of your work, don't you."

"Yes, but I-"

"Tell you what. We have a rush job we need to get finished tonight, and I need to go check on the team. Go home and email me some samples. Hobson with two Os, at Jammed.com."

He stood up dismissively when the phone on his desk rang. Shooing her toward the door with a wave of his hand, he picked up the receiver and began speaking in a voice much more pleasant than the one he had used with her.

Starting to lose it, Ziggy broke for the door. Rushing down the hallway, she ran smack into the girl who had winked at her earlier. The pile of papers she was carrying went flying everywhere.

"Suh..sorry. I'm so sorry, I didn't see you."

"Yeah, whatever. You got a hot date or something?"

"Let me help you pick those up, I'm so sorry."

"No, never mind. Most of these copies are ruined. Zach would have a fit if we sent anything out that was the least bit bent or dirty. Go ahead, I got this."

Not wanting to start bawling right there and then, Ziggy apologized again and made her escape. Walking by the empty booze bottle on the way to her bike was the last straw. Tears streaming down her face, Ziggy somehow got her bike unlocked, climbed on the seat, and bolted.

She opened the screen door of the rambler, not really sure how she had gotten there. She felt drained and dirty and just wanted to go lie down and sleep.

"So, how'd it go?" asked her uncle, getting up in her face before she was ten steps into the house.

"Uh, not so good actually. But he was such a crusty old fart, I wouldn't want to work there anyway."

"Ziggy, Zach isn't even forty yet. He's not old. And as far as I know he's not crusty, though I hear he's sleeping his way through every woman in the county, so I could be mistaken about that," he said sarcastically. "What happened exactly?"

"Harry!" exclaimed her aunt. "That's completely inappropriate."

"He was like a drill sergeant," said Ziggy. "I was barely there 15 minutes before he was shoving me out the door."

"Sweet Mother of God, girl! That was a perfect job for you. I called in a big favor to get you that interview. All you had to do was show up, and the job was yours for the taking. You can't just lie around this house forever you know."

"I don't just lie around the house. I help Aunt Jen with dinner, I do the dishes almost every day, and anything else you ask me to do."

"That is no life for a 20 year old woman, Ziggy. You have to get over it. Hiding out in the house, never getting in a car, just riding around in circles on that damn bike of yours. What's it called again? The Diva Pro? I guess that's appropriate enough."

"Harold. That is enough. Go out to your workshop and calm down," said her aunt, using a tone of voice that brooked no argument. "And Ziggy, go sit in the living room and wait for me. I just made some lemonade. You must be thirsty after that long ride."

Uncle Harry glared at Ziggy, and stomped down the back hall and out the door. He stopped short of letting it slam shut, barely. Ziggy also did as she was told, holding her head in her hands as she sat waiting for her aunt.

Aunt Jen came in a couple minutes later with two tall glasses filled to the brink with pink lemonade, and a plate of her favorite cookies.

"Ziggy. I'm sorry your uncle was so...difficult. But it's not all about you girl. I know how much you miss your parents, and my heart aches for you every day. But Harry lost his only brother, and he's an orphan now too. Maybe that sounds funny at his age, but it's how he feels. He wants so much to help you but he just doesn't know what to do. He really thought this job was going to be something you would love. Not for the rest of your life, just something to get you going again, before you decide where you want to go and what you want to do."

"Are you asking me to leave, Aunt Jen?"

"Of course not," she replied, exasperated. "You can be just as prickly as your uncle you know. But do you really want to stay in Haven, living with your old aunt and uncle for the rest of your life?"

"I'm sorry, Aunt Jen. I don't know what to tell you. I'm not ready to go back to school, and I just can't face living alone in the house in Salt Lake."

"We get it, Ziggy. Again, that's why your uncle thought this job could help you. He's tired and frustrated, too, you know. Trying to get the insurance companies to settle, dealing with the lawyers, taking care of the bills and the house in case you did want to go back there and live. He comes home from work and won't even sit in his favorite chair to relax anymore. He just wants to have his beer and watch the news. But he's afraid to drink anything around you, the way you glared at him when you first got here. So he goes out to the shop alone, so he can have one without you seeing it. Then when he comes in he feels guilty about it, which doesn't improve his disposition a whit."

Ziggy stared at her aunt. She really had been selfish, not understanding that her uncle was grieving too. He looked so much like her dad, though they were such complete opposites otherwise. Closed off, where her father was so open. Sarcastic, instead of unfailingly kind like her dad. She realized it was painful for her just to look at her uncle some days. And her aunt was the one who'd provided the quiet sympathy. Without her help, she'd still be taking the sedatives, which she had only stopped taking after Christmas. When the doctor had said he was worried about the possibility of addiction, Ziggy got scared and immediately began weaning herself off the drugs.

"Alright, enough brow-beating. Drink your lemonade, eat a cookie, and go climb in the shower. We can talk about it more later. But, Ziggy, try to remember your uncle and I both love you dearly, and take him with a grain of salt when he's scratchy at you. Ok?"

Ziggy followed her aunt's advice, but after the hot shower, she couldn't face another thing today. She crawled into bed, pulled the covers up over her head and went to sleep.

The next morning came and went, with Ziggy still in bed at noon. Subdued and confused, she lay there thinking about everything her aunt had said to her last night. It was hard to believe she had been here for almost six months now. She had been so happy last fall. Just arrived back in California, taking the cab to the quaint little rental house she, Cathy and two other friends had found the spring before. They were almost giddy with excitement, full of plans for the parties they would throw and the fun they would have, thrilled to be out on their own. She was glad to done with the dorms, and ready to attack the advanced designed classes that were the reason she had picked CalArts in the first place. No more boring general ed classes, most of which had nothing to do with her future career. Life was most excellent.

Until the next morning when Cathy knocked on her bedroom door, ridiculously early for a girl who was rarely out of bed before ten. Ziggy immediately knew something was wrong.

"Ziggy, honey, I'm so sorry. There's been an accident. Someone from the police department called. They said that your parent's car was hit last night, by a drunk driver I guess. Ziggy, I'm so sorry. They died at the scene before the ambulance could even get there."

Numbly, Ziggy just stared at Cathy.

She heard the words, but they made no sense to her. Her father had dropped her off at the airport just the morning before, complaining all the way there about the lousy draft, who they should trade, and how the Jazz were never going to win a championship in his lifetime. I guess you were right, Dad.

Bizarre, disconnected thoughts like that drifted in and out of her mind for the next several days. Most of it was a blur, beginning with packing the bags she had just unpacked. Cathy offered to fly home with her, but Ziggy politely declined. She did let Cathy come to the airport with her, though spending all that money to ride back and forth in a cab seemed kind of silly. Her aunt and uncle were waiting at the airport when she got into Salt Lake, having arrived a couple of hours before Ziggy's own flight landed. That silent ride to her parent's house, a place that was supposed to be her home, but strangely foreign now. The funeral was nice she supposed, but by then the sedatives had taken hold and very little had any impact on her.

Except that video. Accidents on I-15 were pretty common, but it must have been a slow news day as the Channel 5 crew was there shortly after the ambulance showed up. Not a lot of details were given, but the sight of the huge white Ford looming over the little red Mazda was the prevalent image on the screen. Somehow they were able to pan the interior of the truck, littered with beer cans and crumpled fast food bags. The sight of the empty scotch bottle, sitting alone on the seat, was the shot that really stood out. The sole survivor of the crash. Though the man driving the truck hadn't died until a few days later. Ziggy bitterly begrudged the fact that his family had at least been able to say goodbye to him.

She had no recollection at all of the drive to Haven from Salt Lake, or the weeks that followed. She'd been here a long time now, doing little more than eating and sleeping, just like her uncle had said. Riding her bike on the trails around the non-working farm her aunt and uncle owned was the only time she felt almost normal. The outrageously expensive Orange Mountain bike she had saved for two years to buy was one of her few comforts. Still short by a thousand dollars, she was shocked when her parents had given her the check for the balance on the night of her high school graduation party. The three of them had gone to the trendy cycle shop downtown the very next morning to pick it up. She finished in the top three for the first time ever riding that bike the summer before she left for college, her parents screaming their heads off as she flew across the line.

The knock at her door was like déjà vu all over again.

"Ziggy, you awake, dear? There's someone here to see you."

What? She didn't know anyone here, unless you counted Jane from the diner yesterday. And she couldn't know where Ziggy lived, could she? She jumped out of bed and pulled on some bike shorts. She considered changing out of the shirt she was wearing. Her uncle, who found it wildly amusing, had given it to her a few months ago. Not Everything in Kansas is Flat, it said. Whatever. It was soft and comfortable, and it made her uncle laugh when she wore it. Deciding it didn't really matter, she opened the door and went to the living room.

Definitely not Jane.

The man was tall, maybe 6 foot 4. He had dark curly hair, almost as curly as Ziggy's. But it was his deep blue eyes that grabbed her, mesmerizing her almost.

"Ziggy?"

"Yes?"

"Hi, I'm Brian. From the diner. Jane's brother."

Ziggy wished now that she had put something different on before coming out of her room.

"I found this under the counter last night. Jane said it was yours. She has the day shift all week, and she was worried you would be missing it. She asked me to bring it to you."

Ziggy hadn't even noticed that he was holding her backpack, she had been so captured by that face and those eyes.

"What? I didn't even realize I had left it there. Yesterday was kind of...crazy."

"Yeah, Jane said you were interviewing at Jammed."

"But how did you know where I lived. I think I told her Haven, but not my address. I know there's only a couple hundred people in Haven, but what did you do? Knock on every door until you found me?"

For some reason, the image of Cinderella and the glass slipper came to her mind.

With a laugh like Jane's, Brian shook his head, handing her the bag.

"No, I went over and asked Zach if he knew where you lived. He gave me your uncle's name, and I just googled the address. And while I was there he told me he decided to hire you for the design job."

"What? I was supposed to send him some samples of my work, but I haven't even sent it to him yet."

"You must have been pretty impressive in your interview then."

"What? Are you kidding? It had to be the worst interview on record. I can't believe he told you he was hiring me."

"I was an Eagle Scout, so you can trust me. I imagine he'll call you soon. They seemed kind of busy over there this morning."

"Wait, I'm sorry. You wanted that job too, didn't you?"

"Hmm, yes, I did. But I've been thinking about applying to WSU this summer, so not getting the job made up my mind for me. I'm kind of glad I didn't get it actually."

"Really?"

"Really, really donkey."

"What?"

Laughing the laugh that was making her melt, "You know, you say "what" a lot. Don't tell me you've never seen Shrek?"

"Of course I've seen it. It's one of my favorite movies, actually. I...I was just surprised when you said that."

Shrek was one of her family's favorite movies, and she couldn't count the number of times they had watched it together. A lot of the lines from that movie had become inside family jokes. Those were the kind of memories she didn't want to block.

"Is that your bike out front?"

"Damn!"

"What?"

"Ha! Now I've got you saying it. It's just that I'm not supposed to leave it out in the driveway. I need to go put in the garage before my uncle hollers. Let me just put this bag in my room, and I'll be right back."

"Oh hey, about that. I did not paw through your stuff, I promise. But I put something in there for you. It's just one of the mugs I make. Jane said you kind of liked them."

"Really? What...never mind."

Ziggy unzipped the bag, and pulled out a tissue-wrapped package. Pulling the paper off, she quietly gasped when she saw it. It was beautiful, a sort of multi-colored red rose that sparkled in the light.

"I thought it would be good for work. You know, Zach is nuts about that color. He's out there like once a month, across from the diner, painting over the graffiti that our unsupervised youth like to spray when they don't think they'll get caught. He must have a 100 gallons of that stuff."

"It's beautiful, Brian. I love it."

"Well, go put it away and you can walk me out to my bike then. Your's is an Orange Mountain, isn't it? I'm kind of jealous."

"You bike too?"

"You think us Kansas hicks don't know a good bike when we see one, huh? I don't race much, but yeah, I bike."

Grabbing the bag she was very glad to have forgotten yesterday, she put it and the mug in her bedroom. Thinking for a minute, she decided to put her on her shoes while she was there.

Finding Aunt Jen in her sewing room, she let her aunt know she might be going out for a while.

"With that boy at the door? How do you know him, Ziggy?"

"His family owns the diner across from Jammed in Maize. I left my backpack there yesterday, and he was nice enough to return it."

Beaming, her Aunt gave her an unexpected hug.

"Yes, I know the place. Irma's Kitchen. Their fried chicken on Sunday is the best. And your uncle is a glutton for their apple pie."

"I met the girl, Jane, who bakes them. That's her brother, Brian, in the living room. I think I will see if he wants a little company on his ride home."

"That's great, honey. Have fun!"

Ziggy found Brian waiting patiently by the door.

"Sorry about that. I can always use an excuse for a ride, so I thought maybe I would bike a ways back with you. I was just letting my aunt know."

Walking out to the driveway, Brian didn't answer her right away. Aargh, he was just doing his sister a favor, Zig. He probably has girls hitting on him all the time. But I wasn't exactly hitting on him, was I? He's so nice, he's probably trying to think of a polite way out.

"Sorry, Brian, I didn't mean to presume. It was nice of you to bring back my bag, and thanks again for the mug."

"No, I'm sorry Ziggy. It would be great to ride with you. I was just thinking about asking you to ride over to Cheney now. It's a great park, and a bunch of us go camping there in the summer. But I have to be to work at four, so there isn't enough time today. And next week it's my turn for the day shift. So I couldn't go until at least the week after."

"That sounds nice, Brian. I'd love to see it, whenever you have time."

"Great. So how about doing something tonight instead. We close at nine, and I should be able to get out of there pretty shortly after that. I had sort of planned on going to the drive-in with that same gang of people I mentioned, but I don't even know what's playing."

"The drive-in? On bikes?"

"No, of course not. In a car. I can come pick you up when I get off work. Who knows, maybe I can even bribe Jane to close for me."

"In a car?"

Ziggy knew she sounded moronic, but now that her uncle had pointed it out, she realized she had avoided cars ever since coming to Haven. She knew it wasn't rational, and it really wasn't even a conscious choice. Time to face your fears, Zig.

"Sure, Brian, that sounds great."

"Awesome. Race you to the railroad tracks on the edge of town, if you still want to ride with me for a while."

Ziggy thought she could be happy again, riding next to this guy, whether it was on a bike or in a car.