Crushed Ice by Eric Pete

Author:Eric Pete [Pete, Eric]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: United States, Christian, Urban, Contemporary Fiction, Urban Life, African American, Genre Fiction, Literature & Fiction
Amazon: B009CEPFXW
Publisher: Urban Renaissance
Published: 2010-02-02T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 25

Collette screamed, waving her hands in the air as we drifted sideways on our descent. I gunned the accelerator, a violent but thrilling exercise as I guided the wheel to control our rollercoaster spiral down the parking garage exit ramp. With the top down, we could hear the engine revs reverberating off the walls, could smell the burnt rubber of the tires.

“You are crazy!” she shouted as she braced herself again in her seat. Try as she might to avoid it, a smile escaped.

The Audi TT, while being a roadster, was close enough to the one she dearly remembered. When she could drive. I bought this one as a reminder of those happier times. Despite transactions like this attracting unwanted attention, it was a bit of fun for me as well.

I’d become too comfortable as Chris, my answers and responses to Collette now second nature. The layers I hid behind were becoming as comfortable as a worn pair of jeans. The lovely lady at my side made me feel things I’d rarely confronted. Even had me entertaining something as silly as actually writing a novel.

At the bottom of the parking garage, I paid the attendant then exited onto Commerce Street. Like some nervous school kid, I’d brought her to The French Room at the Adolphus Hotel, hoping to impress her with my knowledge of fine dining. But Collette didn’t need such things. My company was enough for her.

“This reminds me so much of my old car,” Collette offered as we stopped at the corner of Commerce and North Griffin. Her delicate fingers traced over the hills and valleys of the dash, stopping at the Audi symbol. Her mind was in another time. Another car. Another life.

A life I’d abruptly ended.

Maybe the car was a miscalculation on my part, some sick part of me wanting to step in and assume the life, however imperfect, that she and her husband had shared. Or was it a sadistic streak? My innate need to push buttons, as if she were a test subject with which to perfect my methods? No. That couldn’t be it. I loved her.

I looked in the rearview mirror. Traffic was light. “Want to drive?” I offered.

She grimaced, turning into the sound of my voice. “That’s not even funny,” she replied.

“I mean it,” I said, putting the car in park and the emergency flashers on. “I trust you completely. I trust you with my life.”

“You are crazy, Chris. Completely off your rocker.”

“C’mon,” I prodded. “Just down the street. We’re not that far from your place. I’ll even help you steer if you want.”

I hit the button to unlock my door, but Collette stopped me before I could exit. She reached out for me, putting her hand in mine. It was trembling.

“Stop. I appreciate what you’re doing, but just take me home. Okay?”

“You’re pissed,” I remarked softly. I was trying too hard. Too much. Too soon.

“No.” She chuckled, turning away so I wouldn’t see the obvious tears or hear the tightness in her throat.

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