My One and Only(57)
Communication was never our thing.
But today, he was happy enough. He even petted Coco, who gave him a very disdainful Chihuahua look before turning her head back to me. Nick had never been crazy about animals; one of the (many) arguments we’d had as newlyweds was over whether we could get a dog, which our lease specifically forbade. I was all in favor of breaking the rules; Nick lectured me about how hard it had been to find this place, how expensive housing was here in a “real city”—like so many New Yorkers, he viewed Boston as little more than a poorly laid-out lump populated by obsessive sports fans, which was actually pretty accurate. At any rate, no dog. I’d gotten Coco the day after Theo hired me, and we’d been best friends ever since. As if reading my mind, my little dog licked my hand, then rolled onto her back and allowed me to rub her tummy.
The scenery was much the same as yesterday’s. Flat. The sky was beautiful, towering, creamy cumulus clouds drifting over the vast blue. Every twenty or so miles, we’d see a tree. Sometimes we’d spot a few antelope at the side of the road. It was quite exciting. I looked at the map. Looked at the sky. Looked out the window. Occasionally, an eighteen-wheeler would roar past us, rocking the Mustang, as those drivers, at least, were capable of a little speed.
After three hours of driving years beneath the speed limit, I finally snapped. “So, Nick, do you think we could grab life by the horns and go faster than I can run?”
He gave me a tolerant glance with the full power of his gypsy eyes. “My trip, my car. Or, to quote a classic, ‘I’m telling you straight. It’s my way, or the highway. Anyone wants to walk, do it now.’”
“Hmm, let me guess. Would that be Hamlet or King Lear?”
“Close. Road House.”
“Ah, the classics. But if we’re going to make it to an airport before my death of natural causes at age one hundred and four, you’re going to have to step on that little pedal down there on the floor. Go ahead, try it. See car go fast. Don’t be scared, Nick.”
Flashing me a smile, he put on the turn signal, ignoring my groan of frustration. “Time for a photo op,” he said, hopping out of the car without opening the door. He reached into the backseat and pulled out his impressive-looking camera.
I clipped on Coco’s leash and took her into the field to do her business.
“Surly ex-wife and her dog, somewhere in Montana,” he said, clicking a picture of me.
“Your next Facebook entry?” I suggested. Nick came over and stood close to me, showing me the shot he’d just taken. Me, scowling, Coco pooping. Adorable.
“And here we have yesterday’s pictures…you with the penguin, don’t you look so cute…” I was scowling in that one, too.
Nick smelled good. Edible. This was getting uncomfortable. Apparently Nick felt it, too. “Okay,” he said, turning back to the car. “Whenever you and your dog are ready, we can head off to see the world’s biggest plastic model dinosaur.”
“Maybe we can swing by the Unabomber’s cabin,” I said brightly.
“Great idea.”
“Is this just a plot to spend more time with me, Nick, all these back roads and irritating stops?”
“Oh, definitely. What man alive wouldn’t want more time with you, Harpy?” He raised the camera once more and clicked. Well, that photo would showcase my middle finger.
“At least let me drive, Nick.” I grumbled, scooping up Coco and plodding back to the Mustang.
To my surprise, he opened the driver’s side door and held it for me. “Sure. Be my guest. And here.” He bent, picked something from the ground, then presented me with a little blue flower. “For you. A souvenir.”
I took it suspiciously. “Nightshade?” I guessed. Nick gave a crooked grin. The flower petals were very soft, and when I touched them, a faint vanilla smell drifted up. Hmm. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
I tucked the flower in my wallet and got into the car. “Buckle up, Nicky dear,” I said to my companion.
Oh, the thrill of sitting behind the wheel of a genuine, made-in-America muscle car! Unlike Nick, I knew what to do. Securing the hat marked with the sign of the devil (NY, that is), I buckled my seat belt and glanced over to make sure Nick was secure, as well. “Hold on to Coco, okay?” I said, and as soon as he had her, I put the ’Stang to the test. Gravel spun, there was a brief screech of tires, and Coco (or Nick) gave a surprised yip.
“Christ, Harper, slow down!” Nick said, clutching the dashboard.
“You’re such a weenie, Nick,” I said, smiling as the Mustang did what she was built to do.
“Pray, Coco. Dear St. Christopher, patron saint of travelers, please protect Coco and me from this insane Massachusetts driver. Amen.” Coco barked and wagged, then picked up her bunny and shook it. She loved speed. Of course she did! She was my dog.
At that moment, my cell phone rang. “Oh, service! How thrilling!” I said, grabbing it. “Hello?”
“You’re breaking the law,” Nick commented.
“Not in this state, I’m not,” I answered, not that I knew either way. The call was from Dennis. Well! How unexpected! “Hi Dennis!” I said brightly.
“Hey, Harp. How you doing?”
“Oh, I’m just great, Den,” I said, smiling at Nick. It occurred to me that Nick didn’t know Dennis and I were over. Hmm. I decided to keep that little nugget to myself. God knows he would run with that…divorce attorney unable to keep boyfriend. In fact, it might be nice for Nick to be a little jealous. “So, Den, you got home okay?”