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I climbed into the passenger seat and put on my seatbelt.
Fortunately, in the ladies' haste they left the keys in the ignition. Pulling up to the street, JT waited for traffic, then turned right.
"Um, JT, I think you need to take it?—"
The roving pickle scraped alongside a yellow pylon that protected a fire hydrant situated poorly just off the street. The pylon slid down the length of the RV, scraping against the side. Once the RV cleared it, the ear-splitting screech of metal on metal stopped. So did we. JT slammed on the brakes and I jerked against the seatbelt.
"Shit," JT muttered, undid his seatbelt and jumped out of the RV.
I went out my door. Since the damage was on my side, I saw it first. It was like the Titanic hitting the iceberg, metal torn away in parts. Other spots were only dented in and the entire right side of the RV had a new yellow stripe down it. It was a good thing Goldie wasn't here to see this.
"It's a good thing I'll be long gone when Goldie sees this," JT said, his voice grim, repeating my thoughts.
"You are such an asshat!" I shook my head and got back in the passenger seat, buckling my seatbelt with more force than necessary. The condition of the RV was completely irrelevant at this point. Goldie had dented the front quite nicely, I'd added the shape of a motorcycle to the back bumper, and now we were driving the Titanic on wheels. Something else was going to go wrong. It had to. I was just three hundred miles from getting rid of the man, and I needed to remain sane until then.
While I waited for JT to climb back in, I checked my email on my phone. I clicked on my editor's name in the inbox. He had a job for me in Brazil studying the impacts of cows on therainforest. I had to be there in a week. I felt relieved knowing I had something lined up, but the idea of heading off to the wilds of Brazil didn't have me all excited. In fact, it made me even more tired.
JT climbed back in and I put my phone away. He put the RV in gear and began driving.
"Coffee," I muttered, ignoring everything else. "If you forget the coffee I will kill you and leave you in the back bedroom to rot."
9
Crossing into Wyoming, I took over at a rest stop. The caffeine had kicked in and I felt functional once again, the hangover cured by Aunt Velma's pills. Perhaps not rested, but I could drive. We hadn't spoken other than to agree to change drivers. JT checked his phone and did some texting.
"Making plans?" I asked.
"Just telling Bob when I should be in."
"What about Sarah?"
"What about her?"
"Got a picture?"
"It wouldn't be a blind date if I had a photo."
I just turned my head and stared at him.
"Fine. No. Bob didn't send one. Why do Velma and Esther think you can do the roller derby thing?"
I glanced at JT, then back at the road. "Changing the topic?"
"Yes." He didn't even try to argue about it.
"Fine. Because I used to play hockey."
"Field hockey with those little skirts? I can see that."
"No, ice hockey. Jeez, can you stop being such a chauvinistic asshole for five minutes?"
"Wow, you said a bad word," he countered, then grinned. "Ice hockey. Tell me all about it. You have my attention for a few more hours."
I sighed. "I played at boarding school in Vermont, then got a scholarship to Minnesota to play there."
"That's it?"
I wasn't telling him about how good the team was. He wouldn't care. "Eight years of hockey compressed into one sentence, so yeah, that's it. Plus, the anger issues I seem to have. Combined, I'll probably do fine."
