Frankie from Axelrod’s came by about noon and crawled around under the bus. After a half hour he called Alice over and stood wiping his hands on a greasy rag and glancing with distaste at the engine. It looked pitifully tiny under its little flap. Frankie listed things on his greasy fingers, way up past ten: “Rings, a main bearing, exhaust manifold, fuel pump, fan belt—looks like the oil hasn’t been changed in forty thousand miles. Just to get it back on the road, you’re looking at three hundred dollars, three-fifty; but to be honest with you, Alice?”

“Don’t be honest with me, Frankie,” said Alice.

By early afternoon it was too hot for a yard sale. They took down the signs and counted up the money—$250. “You keep it all,” said Alice. “Take the bus to Axelrod’s on Monday.”

Monday was a nightmare at the hospital. Her coworker Linda had to stay at home with a sick child, a toxemia patient had a seizure, and one of the doctors was tied up in surgery all morning. The little pregnant girl missed her appointment at nine thirty and showed up at two when Alice was busy with an emergency C-section. Alice made arrangements to see her at home after work and fought traffic to get to the other side of town where the girl lived in a beat-up trailer with ragged tuna-fish cans thrown under the steps. They looked like they had both been mangled with the same can opener.

Alice got home late, late. The bus looked different, lighter on its wheels, almost buoyed up. Good old Frankie, Alice thought. The house was empty and quiet. Only Doobie was in the living room, asleep on Crystal’s nightgown, which he had scratched up into a little wad. Crystal and Jeremy came in after midnight, Jeremy with his dreadlocks tied up with a scarlet ribbon, Crystal resplendent in a purple-and-coral caftan. They looked elegant in a sloppy way. Crystal flopped down on the sofa.

“Man, that’s a long walk!” she said, picking at a blister her flip-flops had rubbed between her toes. She deftly unhooked her bra, extricated it from the armhole of the caftan, and draped it over the lamp. Light glowed through the translucent D cup.

“But the bus,” said Alice. “I thought Axelrod—”

“Oh, baby, we got stir-crazy,” said Crystal. “I’m not used to being cooped up in a house, so we walked down to the shopping center at the 331 intersection just so I could gaze west down I-10. The highway is in my blood, baby, it’s calling me! And there was that fancy Italian restaurant! ‘No shoes, no shirt, no service,’ it said on the door, but, hey! We were wearing shoes!” She slapped her gold-lamé flip-flop against the fat sole of her foot.

“We had a great meal,” said Jeremy.

“With the yard-sale money? You spent your bus money?” said Alice.