There was a loud fwwwwrp sound as Sam pressed down on the pedal of her Volkswagon Beetle GLS TDI. She cursed loudly and turned it into the shop. It had been making horrible noises the entire way to the shop, which was the closest one to the gym and her apartments.
She would be damned if this car died. It was one of the last things from Alice she had left. The car had been hers, and Sam had just inherited it after she died. Camilla, Alice’s mother, had been insistent that she take it. It had run fine for the last eight years, and then when she had driven from her hometown out to Pittsburgh, it had started making funny noises and dying on the road. She’d been lucky it hadn’t stalled out in the traffic on the way to the shop. She was almost certain that the timing belt was about to snap, and that the alternator was about to go. Those were the only things that made sense.
She had saved some money for emergencies like this, but if it really was the timing belt, it was going to cost a pretty penny to fix it. Likely half of her savings. Now that the gym was up and functional, she’d likely have a good source of income coming in soon. People had been passing by all week and asking her when it would reopen, so clearly there was a need for one in the area still. The previous owners just hadn’t been able to keep it updated or cleaned. Hopefully, with that money, she’d be able to replenish her savings as well as make enough to pay the property taxes and live comfortably.
The car died about three feet out of the parking space, and she banged her hand against the steering wheel and cursed even louder than before. She left it as it was and pushed her red curls out of her face as she unbuckled. They fell in long rivers down her back, tangled as usual because she didn’t have the patience to properly maintain them. That, coupled with the deep under-eye shadows and her concerning thinness, left her looking like some sick Victorian child who was about to pass out on the steps of the auto shop.
She slammed the door shut, not bothering to lock it– she had nothing worth stealing in the car– and she stomped with her big combat boots into the store. She used her leather-clad shoulder to open the door instead of her hands, and pushed her way past the doorway, hearing it jingle. She looked around the shop and didn’t immediately see anyone. She called out, her face polite and calm despite the fiery anger boiling in her stomach.
“Hello? Is anyone here? It’s Sam Walsh, I called earlier and was told to come in?”