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“Nope, scout’s honor. I will add the caveat that it’s a nickname generally deliveredbehindmy back and always with a heaping dose of sarcasm.”
I study his profile.
“It’s one of the nicer epithets I catch wind of. There’s also Grim Reaper, Angel of Death, Atilla.”
Hard to believe on this humorless night, but a snicker makes its way past my lips.
John bump-bumps his elbow against mine. “Made you laugh.”
“You’re making this stuff up.”
He turns fully. We’re passing an brightly lit exit somewhere around Abilene, so his expression is visible.Oh.He’snotjoking.
“This surprises you?” There’s a curve around his mouth. Around his eyes, there’s a shadow of pain.
I add pressure to our locked grip. “Then they don’t know you.”
His smile misses his eyes. “They know me.”
Quiet settles as we leave the more populated area behind. Tiny red lights seem to float on the clouds, blinking in tandem. In the daylight, towering white windmills would be attached.
John yawns, his palms thrumming the wheel, probably an effort to stay awake. He’s an early riser. It’s nearly midnight now. He has to be exhausted.
Angling closer to the windshield, he continues the hand-drumming. “So. Tell me about school.”
“School?”
“Yeah. I saw college textbooks at your house. And a withdrawal slip. Why’d you drop out?”
In his employees’ defense, he does tend to be abrupt. Goes for the nut of the very things others would prefer to avoid. I, however, have been privileged to learn his intention isn’t cruelty.
But yes, I am a dropout. “I started some classes this semester, then had to withdraw.”
“Why?”
Of course it can’t be that easy. “I needed the tuition money back. The start of school is an expensive time with kids. And senior year brings extra expenses.”
Fingers linked, resting atop the wheel, his thumbs pound out a beat. “Don’t tell me you shortchanged your education so your son could rent a limo or do something stupid for homecoming?”
My heel begins bouncing against the floorboard. “No. There was a special-edition yearbook on sale, for seniors only, available to order for one week only.”
Okay, I should have kept my mouth shut. Making anxwith my arms, I watch the taillights of an RV towing a car and refuse to wither under John’s poignant silence. His thumbs are making a racket now.
We pass the RV and two semis before he continues his assault—um, line of questioning, that is. “What about before this semester? Have you taken other classes?”
“Yes.”
“How many hours have you completed?”
I uncross my legs and shift higher. This seat is not as soft as it looks. “Eighteen.” Still a lousy freshman.Please, can we not discuss this?
“You’re going to try again, though, right?
My fingernails dig into my arms. “Probably not.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s pointless.”
