Page 9 of Jack
Her mother let her hand go. “Say hi to Grover and Emily for me. And of course, Brontë. I can’t believe she’s marrying a celebrity.”
“She goes by Boo now, and she is a celebrity herself, Mom.”
Her mother had gone back to the paint trough, grabbing some rubber gloves. “Oh, please. She’s a reality television persona. That’s vastly different than using your talents, like Oaken Fox. And even he only got there because of his dead sister’s reputation.”
Oh boy. “Okay, Mom. Yes, text me.” She walked over, leaned in, gave her mother a whisper of a kiss, then managed a smile and escaped.
Or maybe . . .escapewasn’t the right word.
She could do this.
She just had to stop wishing for happy endings.
TWO
Maybe fate had decidedto warn him off, because fifty miles out of Duck Lake and a hundred miles over the Iowa border, steam poured through the hood of good old Aggie, like her entire engine might be on fire.
The white smoke curled out in the brisk, pale-blue sky. It dissipated quickly, the frigid air gobbling it into the ether.
Just another sign that this trip home was a no good, very bad idea.
Jack grabbed a wool hat and his gloves as he opened the door and climbed out onto the shoulder.
Not a soul in sight on this lonely stretch of country road. The sun cast a few shadows over the scarred and rumpled cornfields, blanketed with a fresh layer of white after an early-January blizzard.
Maybe this was punishment for missing Christmas. And the Christmas before. In fact, he had a lot of making up to do.
He blew out a breath as his feet crunched against the shoulder snow and ice. He reached in to unlatch the hood and then wrenched it up.
The radiator cap bubbled, hot and angry, the steam pouring forth like Vesuvius.
He reached out a gloved hand to unscrew the top, then yanked it back, the heat seeping through the leather.
Perfect.
He grabbed his hat for padding, added it to his grip, and managed to pry off the top.
Water spurted out like a geyser. He stepped back, away from the steam and boil.
Way to go, Jack. This was what happened when a guy lived in Florida and fed his radiator hose with water instead of coolant.
So much for his brilliant idea to stop over at West and Nat’s place. Apparently, the frigid Iowa temps had done a doozy on his hose.
Which meant he’d either have to hitch the rest of the way and ask for a tow or . . .
Well, he could wait until his engine cooled and turn around, head south.
They probably wouldn’t even miss him at tonight’s prewedding soiree.
Aw.Then his father would really murder him.
No, he’d wait for the boil to die, fill ’er up, and limp the rest of the way to Duck Lake.
Twenty minutes later, after scrolling through the Crime Stoppers board on his phone, he found a water bottle and went back out to his now cold engine. The water had stopped bubbling, the smoke dissipated.
Here went nothing. He poured the water into his radiator and capped it.
Got back into his schoolie. “C’mon, Aggie, give me some love.” Then he closed his eyes and started up the bus. It rumbled to life, the 1995 GMC Vandura 3500HD shaking a little, like she might be tired. Exhausted, actually.