Lou slammed her knuckles against the glass door once more, hoping that this time a light would come on inside. The small engine shop lived up to its name—it looked the size of her storage shed.
“Need something?”
Lou spun. A boy stood off to the right, keys dangling from his hand. The street lamp behind him amplified the gathering dusk, and she squinted.
“You just look like you—you know—need something.”
“Canyoufixalawnmower?” Hope jumbled her words.
He stepped out of the lamp’s glare and raised a brow. “That’s my job. But we’re closed for the night. Hence the locked door.”
“Oh no. I need it fixed now. Trust me.”
He smiled and wrinkled his forehead at the same time. “Some kind of lawn emergency? At dusk?”
“I do graveyard maintenance.” She took a deep breath when he didn’t look impressed. “My graveyard is special. I have to mow it every day before dark, or…”
“Or what?” He tilted his head.
“Let me show you.” To her utter relief, he climbed in the passenger side of her red pickup. She could feel him staring at her the five long minutes it took to race back to graveyard.
When they jerked to a halt beside the forlorn lawnmower at the far end of the graveyard, she tumbled out and and tried to start the mower one more time. The thick unmowed grass encompassed two rows of the oldest stones.
“Why don’t you mow more often?” he muttered.
She glared at him. “I mow every night. I told you, this graveyard is special. Can you fix it?” She gestured to the mower.
He crossed his arms. “Not until you tell me why you’re so worried.”
Lou signed. So much for keeping a lifelong secret. She stabbed a finger at the unmowed section of gravestones. “I’m cursed, all right? If I don’t mow it all Every. Single. Night. The bodies come out. So unless you want to help me pull the grass by hand, fix it!”
With wide eyes, he turned to the mower.
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