Day 45/366

Gen was blessed with no traffic, and she was on the outskirts of Marysville in less than twenty minutes.  Her head was pounding, so she made a stop at a gas station/mini mart with a drive through coffee bar.  She ordered a mocha latte with an extra shot, and threw in a muffin since she'd missed breakfast as well.

The cashier was chatty and friendly, obviously trying to be helpful.  Gen asked her if a mini-storage was still located down the road, and received an affirmative answer.  She took her change and stuck a five dollar bill in the tip jar, then drove off with a wave and a thank you.

Sure enough, the first mini-storage she checked out was in the address listed and the office was open.  Unfortunately this one used combination locks and not keys.  Back in her car, she marked off the listing and checked her gps for the location of the next place.  Again, disappointment: this one used numeric pads.

Frustrated and tired, Gen took a chance and asked the attendant if he knew of any that used keys for their storage units.  He thought for a moment, then replied, "Sure!  It's a bit of a drive, but there's one like that over on Garden Highway in Yuba City.  Just over the bridge, and a few miles past that."

"Thank you so much," she smiled, and headed back to her car.  She programmed the address into her phone and followed the directions to the business.  Sure enough, when she showed the key to the attendant, he nodded that it went to one of their storage units.  Turns out, the writing on the paper was the locker number and the original name of the place.

Her father had rented a storage unit not long after she was born, and he'd kept up with yearly payments ever since.  Home Storage Service was the original name of the business.  She followed the man down two aisles of units, turned toward the right and five more down.  "The unit you're looking for is midway down this row.  Can I help you with anything else?'

"No, but thanks.  You were a big help."  Gen waited until the man started moving toward the front office before she made her way to 347-B.  Several steps, and she found herself standing in front of the unit, key in hand.  Finally, some answers awaited her.  "Help me out here, Lord," she whispered, then inserted the key and turned.

All words are property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.