Lysol and Love

Lucy may be in a hazmat suit, but she still almost throws up when she finds a pair of crusty, stiff, tighty whities with clear road rash on them stuffed behind Smitty’s mini fridge. She gags, channels every ounce of training she’s had to not vomit near dead bodies, and stuffs them in the black trash bag she’s holding before she can think too hard about their owner.This is for Tim, she reminds herself.She takes a deep breath and pauses in the middle of Smitty’s RV as she recalls the absolute joy on Tim’s face when he’d told her his news. He’d been grinning, his eyes sparkling and his lips stretched wide across his face.That was worth this.That smile was worth everything.Purpose renewed, she takes a deep, cleansing breath and then kneels down to open the fridge.“What are you doing.”Lucy screams, drops the jar of moldy jelly she’s just pried off of a puddle of what seems to be cemented coffee, and spins around to find none other than Tim Bradford standing in the doorway to Smitty’s TV with a bemused expression on his face.