Sunny Too
Copyright© 2017 by Old Man with a Pen
Chapter 17
We loaded up in the Defender. Not that we packed ... no ... we three loaded up in the car and headed over the mountain via Bells line of road. The state called it B59 ... the locals call it Bells.
Ramone’s Service supplied our wants and needs quickly and we were off again.
Odd ... the girls aren’t speaking to me. It’s a wonder ... but the silence is good; I needed to concentrate on the curves. Just before Kurmond the road became one lane.
“Accident up ahead, Sir. Car over sped the corner. It’s bad. You ladies might want to avert your eyes. This is nothing for the junior set.”
So ... naturally ... when it was our turn ... they looked. It was Milford’s car but the mangled bloody mess that was getting bagged didn’t look like Milford.
“He TOLD you not to look,” I said. “You’re cleaning that up ... and I’m not helping.”
“You didn’t have to stop!” Abby said.
“You were craning your neck hard enough to break it. I was just helping out.” I had to look out the window and bite my cheek to keep from laughing.
Across the Hawkesbury River Bridge, the Bells took a jog and joined the A2. A little way along and the A2 became the A40 and the A40 meandered past the Olympic Park and the cop on the street said two streets and right when I asked the way to the A3. Before I got away he had told me what I already know ... I’m not from here.
Yes, yes, I know. Real men never ask directions. Real men get impossibly lost every day. I’ve been directed to turn around and go back 70k ... or more ... and turn south more than once before I learned the value of local knowledge. Even if it comes from a woman in the petrol at the counter.
Strange ... grandfather looked like the last one ... younger ... but similar.
“I expected you last night,” he croaked.
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