West of Nowhere by K.G. MacGregor

missing—a coffee table, which would have taken up too much space and made it tricky to navigate in a wheelchair.
    A credenza behind the recliner held several framed photos. Her eyes were drawn immediately to one of Joy, a headshot taken in her navy uniform—a dark jacket with a white shirt and small tie, and a black-and-white cap. Her look was captivating, enough to make Amber admit she had a thing for women in uniform. Judging from Joy’s age in the photo, it was taken soon after she entered the navy over a decade ago. Her hair looked exactly the same as today, tucked behind her ears to her collar, but the thin face in the photo had filled out since then.
    Right beside it was a similar photo of a young man, its faded colors suggesting it was taken many years ago. Joy’s father, no doubt, since they had the same sharp blue eyes. Next was what looked like a relatively recent family photo, with Joy’s father and mother seated, and Joy standing behind, again looking sharp in her uniform, this time with rows of ribbons on her chest.
    “Look at this, Skippy,” she mumbled mockingly. “This is what a happy family looks like.”
    The rest appeared to be sequential school photos of a child, a beautiful mixed-race girl, obviously the goddaughter, Madison.
    Joy delivered her suitcase to the back door and Amber went to work organizing the contents in the bureau. Any other day, that might have meant stuffing things wherever they’d fit, but she found herself folding and stacking her belongings in neat piles, and arranging them perfectly straight in the drawers, afraid someone would come in and check.
    When that was done, she explored a little more, flipping through the magazine rack by the recliner in the living room. The American Legion , TV listings from two weeks ago and a book on Operation Desert Storm. On the credenza by the photos was a coffee table book on aircraft carriers. Only a military veteran would find such trivia interesting.
    The power button for the TV remote control did nothing—no picture, no sound. Why were they always so complicated? You always had to push this first then that, and only if you also had another remote for the cable or satellite dish.
    She was officially bored, and coincidentally, nearly out of cigarettes. If Joy could point her in the direction of a convenience store, she could take Skippy for a walk. That would kill an hour or so. The problem with that was she didn’t want to disturb Joy, who probably was relishing her solitude out back, or possibly even sleeping after the long drive.
    “Silly me…of course she’s not sleeping,” she told Skippy as she looked out the kitchen window to see Joy power washing the camper. “She’d never rest as long as there was a speck of dirt somewhere.”
    The truck camper was parked on a concrete pad next to the back of the house, its door only a few steps away from the back deck, which had a long ramp leading to the concrete driveway that ran all the way back to the carport.
    “You need any help with that?”
    “Nah, I’m almost done.”
    “I thought you’d be out here resting. I should have known better.”
    Joy turned off the water and coiled the hose around its caddy. “I need to go see Pop at the rehab center and let him know what we’ve got worked out.”
    Amber followed her into the house. “I was thinking about taking a walk with Skippy. You know…checking out the neighborhood. Is there a store I can walk to?”
    “Cigarettes?”
    “Dog food…and yeah, cigarettes.”
    Joy’s only response was a soft chuckle, for which Amber was relieved. The last thing she needed on top of all the stress of a new home, a new job and getting dumped by her boyfriend of three years was grief over smoking. There were only so many problems a person could deal with at the same time.
    “Here’s a key to the front door,” Joy said, scribbling directions to a market a few blocks away. Suddenly she crossed the living room and lifted the beer bottle