“How far down that bridge.”
Rabbit erased his smile and swallowed. “Halfway.”
“Then I’d better give you two.” She fanned the single shim into a pair of coins. Rabbit didn’t resmile, but he did nod.
With a hand on his back, Mother Notion directed Rabbit to her pushcart of belongings near the wall by the lake. Rabbit immediately noticed how well the woman packed. Black nylon straps cinched down the symmetrically stowed gear under a waterproof tarpaulin like a spider would wrap its prey. A red tear-away day-pack lay within easy reach of the pusher, and fore of that a long water bag defined the spine of the load. A bright blue tube snaked from the water bag up the left-hand handle of the pushcart to the dashboard. Rabbit dared not touch any of it.
Mother Notion tecked a switch on the dash between the two handles. The pushcart rocked up on its skids like a llama standing from a kush. She swept her hand over the dash and moved back. Recognizing the invitation, Rabbit stepped into the vacated space and took the handles that came nearly to his chin. He felt foolish using an overhand grasp, so he switched to an underhand one. That made him feel like he was hanging from the cart—which was no better. [He looked around for something to help]
“There,” Mother Notion said and pointed. Rabbit crouched under the dashboard to the adjustment bar she had noted. He dropped it one notch, came back out from under to try on the size, then went back under to drop it another. That felt right.
271 words on day 838