The Me I Used To Be by Jennifer Archer

Author:Jennifer Archer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2005-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 9

We take our time the next day, and the next. Nick’s attitude shift is as sweet, soothing and welcome as cool rain on a blistering summer day. With each passing mile, he talks more, telling me stories about his friends in Seattle, school, his hockey team. I’m not sure if the change in him is spurred by nervousness over the fact we’re nearing our destination, by our recent carnival adventure, or both.

After days of indifference, now he wants to stop at every site along the way, small or large, interesting or ridiculous. We visit the Grand Canyon, Native American trading posts, a wigwam village, a rattlesnake farm. All fine with me. The truth is, I’m nervous, even if he isn’t.

Now that we’re finally starting to know each other, enjoy one another’s company, I fear what adding Sonny to the equation might do to our newfound, fragile trust. Will Nick retreat again behind his anger? Pull the tough, impenetrable shell around himself?

Long after we cross the border into New Mexico, long past Albuquerque, the Beamer starts to stutter and stall. I pull over and stare out at the flat, desolate landscape. If this isn’t the middle of nowhere, it should be.

Slapping the steering wheel, I reach for my cell phone, and sigh. “I’ll call Triple A.”

Nick opens his door. Warm, dry air sweeps into the car. “Let me take a look first.”

Though I’m fairly sure we’re wasting time, I join him under the hood where I stare into the mysterious maze of wires, pipes and tubes. “It’s okay, Nick. They’ll tow us to a garage in the little town up ahead. The last sign said we’re about thirty miles out.” I take off my sweatsuit jacket, tie the long sleeves around my waist.

Ignoring me, Nick walks to my door, reaches through the open window and pops the trunk. Then he goes back and takes out a tire tool. He returns to the maze under the hood and starts tapping the tool against something.

Parched wind whips hair into my eyes as I pace the ditch. Vehicles whiz past on the highway. After less than five minutes, Nick pokes his head around the hood and yells, “Try it now.”

Back in the car, I turn the key in the ignition. The engine purrs to life.

Nick closes the hood, wipes his hands on his jeans then puts the tire tool back in the trunk. He comes around to the passenger door and climbs in, grinning. “Am I good, or what?”

“Where’d you learn to do that?”

“My grandpa. We’ll still want to stop in the next town and have the fuel filter replaced.”

Sadness sifts through me. It should’ve been Sonny teaching Nick to work on cars. Sonny was good with his hands, at building things, repairing them. He could have taught Nick so much. I think they would’ve loved each other. I hope it’s possible they still might, that they’ll connect at first sight without the awkwardness Nick and I suffered. If only Nick doesn’t close himself off again.

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