Matty and Bill were walking along the cobblestone road, toward the fab plant, when they heard the sound of a huge truck engine.
A black Ford F450 pickup pulled up by the side of them and stooped for a moment.
"Hey Freddy and Gertrude," Matty waved.
The horn sounded, like a foghorn in the night.
Bill tried to stare into the windows, but the dark tinting didn't allow him to see anything. The truck drove off.
"How do you know who is in that truck?"
Matty took Bill's hand, as they continued walking.
"Who else would be in it? Its Freddy's truck."
"I've been meaning to ask about that. Where did he get it? When I first came here, he was driving an old beat up something or another."
"You bought it for him," Matty informed him.
Bill stopped.
"I bought it? I don't even have a truck as nice as that."
Matty pulled on his hand.
"You have a nice truck and besides, its more or less your truck. I guess its kind of a company truck."
"And why would Freddy need a company truck. He cleans the filters at the plants and checks the readings."
"Do you want to do that? Pull dead animals and shitty toilet paper globs and ..."
"I get the point. Freddy has a shitty job. But really? That truck?"
Matty laughed.
"Yea. Freddy is no Einstein, thats for sure, but, he does more than just clean shit from the filters. He keeps those plants running like new. That man can strip down a car, tweak it, put it all back together, with pieces left over and make it run better than it did before. And he could do it blindfolded with one hand behind his back.
Frank says he is doing an amazing job at both plants. He knows those plants better than anyone.
Just don't ask him what the capitol of Canada is. Or the capitol of Newfoundland is. Or even where Canada is on a map.
But give him anything mechanical or give him the dirtiest jobs out there and he will do it. And he is fiercely loyal."
"Yea I was wondering about that."
Matty stopped and stared at Bill.
"Freddy swears there was no one in the Hood Civic hatchback, when he accidentally hit it ... 12 or 13 times."
"Yea, I was going to ask about that too. Really? Twelve or thirteen times?"
Matty smiled, as she continued to walk again.
YOU ARE READING
Tuckamore Bay
General FictionMatty Dove had 18 months to try and find a buyer for her late grandmother's lighthouse. A buyer who, she hoped, would not only buy the lighthouse, but love the village so much that they would invest time and money into saving the community. In 18 mo...
