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rickety old hospital gurneys that looked like they were going to collapse at any moment. Five to a team, one rode the bed while the other four grabbed the bed corners and huffed it down the street, stopping here and there to set a choker, saw the end off a log, or meet any number of other logging-inspired challenges.
    In old-school Loggers Sports style, some teams dressed in their pajamas (or in their wives’ if they were so inclined), while others took their costumes to a whole new level. Hobbits, Gryffindors, zombies, and a team of men dressed in slutty nurses’ costumes were only some of the trends. There was no telling how many children would need therapy after seeing George Novak’s girth bursting out of that micro-mini white dress, never mind the way he’d stuffed his size 14 feet into a pair of white pumps and managed to run upright in them.
    Disturbing didn’t even begin to cover it.
    The best spot to watch the races was on the curb in front of T-Squared’s store, the spot always reserved for Edith Goodsen, whose husband had been one of the original organizers from way back.
    It had been seven or eight years since Jayne’s last Loggers Sports weekend, so Mrs. G might not even remember her, but that didn’t stop Jayne. She bought a bag of pink candy floss and hustled across the road to where Mrs. Goodsen sat parked in her wheelchair. Whoever brought the old girl was nowhere to be seen, but at least they’d tucked the green crocheted blanket around her legs before leaving.
    “Mrs. G.” Jayne crouched down on her haunches and opened the bag of floss. “Do you remember me?”
    “Jayne Morgan.” The woman’s wrinkles deepened, her watery blue eyes sparkled. “ ’Bout time you came home. No one else ever shares their candy floss with me.”
    She pulled a handful of floss out of the bag and stuffed it in her mouth, grinning all the while.
    “How have you been?” Jayne sat on the curb next to her fellow floss-lover and grinned. “You look great.”
    “I look old,” Mrs. G laughed.
    “Any of the grandkids racing tonight?”
    Mrs. G took another handful and grunted. “They don’t even come to watch.”
    “Really? Wow.” Gran had always said if it wasn’t for Jack Goodsen and others like him who built this town on the back of the logging industry, most of the people living here wouldn’t have a pot to piss in, and that included his own grandchildren.
    Mrs. G set her hand on Jayne’s shoulder and patted her softly. “I’m sorry about your grandmother. I know you and Tilly weren’t close but she spoke of you often.”
    Jayne snorted softly and stuffed the floss in her mouth to try and sweeten her tongue before she spoke. “I can’t imagine what she’d have to say
about
me, since she refused to speak
to
me.”
    “Be that as it may, dear,” Mrs. G said, “she was very happy that you had your own life away from here.”
    “No kidding,” Jayne muttered, then cleared her throat slowly. “Mrs. G, did you know Gran had all that stuff in the store?”
    “What stuff, dear?”
    “The store and apartment are both full of … stuff. Boxes and boxes of junk.”
    “Hmm. I haven’t been in there for so long,” she said slowly. “But Tilly always was a bit of a pack rat.”
    “This goes way beyond being a pack rat. It’s—”
    The MC’s voice boomed over the speakers, calling for the first heat, and causing the crowd to start cheering even before the teams left the starting line. Mrs. G leaned forward in her chair and giggled like she was five years old and this was her first Loggers Sports.
    The first two beds raced by, cheered on by everyone, but none as much as Mrs. G, who cheered especially loud for any team bringing up the rear. At one point, an entire team of loggers, all dressed in flannel nightshirts, caulk boots, and carrying plastic axes, abandoned their bed to stagger over and kiss Mrs. G for luck. She kissed each one in turn—on the cheek, of course—laughing all the while, then