Have You Met Beth?

The building itself intimidated her as Ann parked her red car in the parking lot of NorCal Gym. The tall two-story building spanned half a block. As they walked to the entrance, Beth cringed. The treadmills taunted her.
Her mother led her in and waited at the front desk.
A bubbly young woman behind the counter greeted them. “Hi! Welcome to NorCal Gym. What can I do for you today?”
“I’d like to sign my daughter and me up for membership.”
 Beth groaned inwardly at her mother’s enthusiasm.
 “Would you like a personal trainer too?”
“Yes!”
“No!” Beth shouted, hoping the lady would hear her.
Her mother glanced at Beth. “You’ll be okay, Beth. He can help you get in shape.”
“We have a two-for-one deal. The regular price for a one-year membership is ninety-nine dollars.”
Beth’s skin tingled in shock. “Ninety-nine?” She expected far less. “That’s too much, mom!”
“Nonsense. Do you accept checks?”
 Her ears and eyes felt hot. Oh God! This can’t be happening! She shoved her hands into her shorts pocket. “Mom.”

​Leaving Willmar Times, Marge felt the familiar panic rise up again as she limped out into the cold, dark night. Last night, a silver sedan had sent chills up her spine when the driver slowed just inches from where she waited for the bus—then he or she had sped away. Would that same driver come back? And her leg added to her panic.
Darkness greeted her, and a blast of cold air pelted her face as she limped out.  The snow-covered bus stop was five blocks away, but streetlights aided her. Marge winced as every step sent a sharp pain down her crippled leg. Each step felt like a million miles. Each step reminded her how much she needed her car. She also needed a pain killer, but she didn’t have time to stop and search her purse. Each block was like a mile. Would she arrive on time? If only she had her car, she would be enjoying a hot cup of peppermint tea by now.     
Reaching the shelter, she pulled out her cell phone. Five thirty-nine. The bus should arrive soon. While she waited, Marge speed dialed the mechanic’s number. Two nights ago, her blue Honda died. She had driven her Honda for eight years until that happened. Surely they had enough time to replace her engine. Was it the battery?
“Ace Auto Repairs. Roberto speaking.” His cheery voice grated on her nerves. She hadn’t saved up money to buy a new car. Living in an apartment and other needed expenses soaked up her income. What if the mechanic couldn’t repair her car? Would she ever get it back?
“Hello. This is Marge Willet. I brought my blue Honda in Tuesday night for repairs. Is it ready?”
Bright lights blinded her as a car swooshed into a parking lot behind the shelter. Her heart raced as the car door opened. Was it a silver sedan? She hoped not. Hushed voices emerged from the car then a door slammed.