The shirt was beloved. Tova needs to make it right.
“Yes, that’s it.” She watches as Janice clicks through several other photos of the shirt, front and back, laid out on a wooden dining table.
“I’m not familiar with this particular auction site,” Janice says, squinting at the screen. “But it’s securely encrypted, so I guess it’s probably legit?”
“Right.” Tova nods. Mercifully, Janice has asked few questions of Tova about why she’s trying to acquire a souvenir T-shirt from a Grateful Dead concert in 1995. It seems like the remaining Knit-Wits have been walking on eggshells around her ever since she announced her intention to move to Charter Village.
“Okay, so here’s where you put in your credit card number.” Janice clicks over to another screen. Her brows furrow as the new page loads. “No, this can’t be right.”
“What is it?”
“It says this shirt costs two thousand dollars.”
Rolo yips, apparently sharing Janice’s shock.
“I see.” Tova swallows a gasp before continuing matter-of-factly, “Yes, well. It’s a rare specimen.”
Janice’s eyes narrow. “Since when do you collect concert memorabilia? What are you up to, Tova?”
“It’s nothing.” Tova waves her off. “I’m just making something right.” She reaches into her pocketbook and flips through her wallet until she finds her lone credit card, which she uses only when paying cash isn’t an option.
“For the fellow selling this, you’re about to make his day right, that’s for sure,” Janice mutters, taking Tova’s card and punching the numbers in. Before she hits the green BUY NOW button, she casts one last skeptical look at Tova. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Do it.” Tova isn’t sure why her heart is beating so quickly. It’s only a replacement for an item she ruined, and two thousand dollars is hardly a dent in her bank account.
A little circle on the center of the laptop’s screen spins for a few seconds, and then Janice says, “Okay, there we go,” as a thank-you screen appears. “I’ll print the receipt when it hits my email. Looks like it’ll ship within two to three weeks.”
“Three weeks!” Tova shakes her head. “No, I can’t wait three weeks.”
“You can’t wait three weeks? For this dirty old shirt?”
“No.” Tova sets her jaw. Yet another reason why this internet shopping craze is foolish. Who wants to wait three weeks for something they’ve purchased?
“Well, it says you can pick it up.” Words and graphics whiz up the screen as Janice scrolls. She peers at Tova doubtfully. “Their warehouse is in Tukwila.”
Tukwila is south of Seattle, near the airport. It will take three hours to drive down there from Sowell Bay, at least. Maybe more with downtown Seattle traffic.
“I’d rather do that. Can you change it?”
Janice’s mouth drops open. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” Tova parrots.
“Okey-dokey.” Looking skeptical, Janice clicks a few more buttons. Moments later, her printer whirs to life, and a page emerges. She deposits Rolo on the floor before going to fetch the page and handing it to Tova. It’s a small, grainy map with an address in Tukwila.
“Very good. Thank you for your help,” says Tova with a firm nod, folding the page and tucking it into her pocketbook.
“You’re going to drive all the way down there?”
“I suppose I am.”
“When was the last time you drove through Seattle? And on the freeway, Tova?”
Tova doesn’t answer, but it was when Will was going through one of his last rounds of treatment. He saw a specialist at the University of Washington. The experimental drug didn’t help Will much, unfortunately, but of course they had to try.
“I’ll go with you,” Janice says. “I’ll get Peter to come, too. He can drive. Let me look at my calendar, we’ll pick a day, and—”
“No thank you,” Tova cuts in. “I can go on my own. I’d like to get it done today.”
Janice crosses her arms. “Well, I’m sure you know what you’re doing. Be careful. Take your cell phone.”
STOPPED CARS ARE packed on the interstate like herring in a tin. Brake lights glitter red and pink through the wet windshield as the wipers clear away the drizzle, somewhat unusual for summer, when it’s typically hot and dry. Naturally, it would start raining during Tova’s first drive on the freeway in two years.