Hinda hopped in the front seat and said, "This is a plushy car." She eased her fingers over the smooth fabric.
Zadie grinned. He started the drive over the bridge to where the men worked.
Hinda had never been to the scarp yard, although she had been on the truck. Many times the family had wedged together in the small cab to go to the beach.
Just last summer she got her first ride on the running board on the right side of the truck next to her father. Her father had circled his left arm around her waist to protect her, while maneuvering the wheel with only his right hand. Boy, was that a lot of fun!
Soon Zadie veered to the left down a bumpy road. Zadie parked beside a tall fence on the opposite side of the street.
"Is this it? The yard?" Hinda asked Zadie.
Without answering, he ushered her inside the gate. Only the beams from the October moon helped her follow. Her eyes blinked from the glare of a light bulb attached to a telephone pole. It focused on a line of men. Indistinguishable in their dusty, grease-stained uniforms, they looked like spotted workhorses.
Hinda stopped short. She caught sight of her father's lanky body bobbing back and forth with impatience.
He must have recognized her at the same time, for seeming surprised, he smiled and started to move toward her. Then he changed. His face got white. His jaw tightened. He looked unhappy. He shuffled his feet. He stepped back and returned to his place.
Funny, her father looked less tall than usual in the line.
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