“Rheese! Be an angel and get me the small wench? I left it somewhere near Marie-Anne’s truck. God that woman is hopeless.” Dad had already slided back under the car when I started giggling. Marie-Anne was a lovely old woman and long-time customer. Our very first customer when Dad and I moved to Maurice River, too. Whenever she came by to get her old, rusty truck fixed she brought self-made pie because she knew what a hopeless case it was. Dad had tried to convince her of a new one for so long but she was as stubborn as me, he said. She loved that stupid thing, told us the story of how her husband rushed her to the hospital in it when their first child was on the way. I loved hearing about her life, and the more I knew of it, the more I ended up understanding her persistence to keep it.
