The Intuitives(18)

“I’m so sorry,” she said, smiling apologetically. “I really am. I know clubs and things look good for college, but I just can’t. I work at the G&G after school, and I don’t have time for both.”

‘The G&G’ was the Gears and Gadgets Repair Shop, where Kaitlyn had been working for almost two years, since the day she had turned fourteen. She fixed all manner of small appliances, from blenders to television sets, just barely bringing in enough money to make ends meet. She couldn’t afford to give up the job, but she didn’t want anyone to know how desperately she needed it either.

“Perhaps you could spare us just a day or two after school? And only the occasional weekend?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hallowell. Truly. I just can’t.” She stared up at him a moment longer, her messy brown hair falling across her soulful brown eyes. She brushed it back off her face out of habit, waiting for him to relent.

“OK, then,” he said, finally admitting defeat. “But if you change your mind before September, you’ll let me know?”

“I promise,” she said, her customary grin lighting up her face. “Thanks, Mr. Hallowell. May I be excused, please? Lunch smells delicious!”

“You may,” he said, chuckling.

She flashed him a grateful smile and rushed out the door, all but skipping down the hallway, the alluring scent of hot dogs pulling her toward the cafeteria.

? ? ?

“Hey, Zack-Attack.”

“Howdy, Kit-Kat.”

“What have you got for me today?” Kaitlyn put down her backpack and slid past the counter into the G&G’s workshop. She ran one hand over the utilitarian shelving—overflowing with wires and switches, rags and rust remover, motors and metal housings. Just walking in the door was enough to make her sigh in relief. The smell of grease and old electrical parts settled her.

“Couple things came in this morning, actually.” Zack frowned. “I don’t know if you’ll be able to do anything with them though.”

“Really? Let me see!”

He laughed at the way her eyes lit up.

“I swear,” he said, “you’d think I was handing you a Christmas present.”

Kaitlyn giggled and then ‘oohed’ and ‘ahed’ as he pulled her new treasures out from under the countertop.

“This—” he said with a flourish, but she yelped and bounced up and down, interrupting him before he could utter more than the first word.

“An RCA color TV!” she exclaimed delightedly.

“Is an RCA color television, yes,” he finished, chuckling at her enthusiasm. “I think the vacuum tube is messed up in it.”

“Oh, we can find you another CRT, you adorable little thing, don’t you worry,” she said, crooning at the television and patting it reassuringly.

“Little? Really? This thing weighs a ton.”

“It’s still small, though,” she said, defending her new charge. “It’s just heavy because of the technology. They used tubes in computer monitors, too, for a long time. We can find one. If that’s what’s wrong with you.” She said this last directly to the television, staring at it in a thoughtful sort of way.

“Yes, well, before you get too caught up with that to notice me, let me show you the other thing, too.”

“Hmm?” she mumbled, already sounding distracted. “Oh! Sorry. What’s the other thing?” She giggled, knowing full well that Zack was right. Once she got her nose into a project, she tended to stop taking in her surroundings.

“Here,” he said, not even trying to introduce the item this time.

“A Model G mixer!” she exclaimed, sucking in a sharp breath. “Zack, you’re full of surprises today!”

“I do my best,” he replied, winking at her.

“Did you know Kitchen Aid started building this model on the production line as early as 1927? This is genuine vintage, Zack! What’s wrong with it?” She took the appliance from him gently and began turning it back and forth.

“I did not know that, and I have no idea what’s wrong with it,” he admitted. “I haven’t even looked at it. I wouldn’t dream of depriving you of that much fun.”

“Thanks, Zack! You’re the best!” She placed the mixer gently on the counter and leaned over to kiss his lightly grizzled cheek before cradling the mixer in her arms again and carting it farther back into her work area.

“Don’t mention it,” he replied, shaking his head. “That’s just how I roll.”

? ? ?

Kaitlyn finally climbed the short staircase in front of her home at 8:00 p.m. The modest house squatted shoulder to shoulder with the others in the row, more of them standing empty than anyone wanted to think about. May was rapidly coming to an end, and the sun wouldn’t set until 9:00, but she was exhausted, nonetheless. At least school would be out soon. There would be that many more hours in the day to work and still get home to make her grandmother some dinner.

Kaitlyn had lived with Grandma Maggie ever since she was ten years old, when both of her parents had been killed in a car wreck. Her father had fallen asleep at the wheel, they said. Kaitlyn’s grandmother, Margaret Wright, had taken the poor child in—the last line of defense between Kaitlyn and foster care.