Absolute Pressure by Sigmund Brouwer Read Free Book Online Page B

good-bye.”
    â€œYou’ve got plenty of cash for gas and hotels,” Uncle Gord said. “And you have my cell number in case anything goes wrong.”
    â€œYes,” I said.
    Sherri went around to the other side of the truck.
    â€œStupid shoelace,” I heard her say to herself.
    She squatted as Uncle Gord kept talking. Even the top of her head, which was all I could see, was distracting.
    â€œDon’t drive for more than four hours at a time,” he said. “Make sure you stop and stretch. Take naps too.”
    â€œYes,” I said. I wanted to be talking to Sherri. Not to him. But really, what was I going to say?
Hey, Sherri, I think you’re really cool. I wish I wasn’t so weird, then maybe you could like me too.
    â€œAnd we’ll see you next summer when business picks up again, right?” His lie.
    â€œRight.” My lie.
    Sherri was in sight again. She wandered back around the other side of the truck. All the way to the front to where I stood at the driver’s door.
    â€œSee ya,” she said. Casual. She stuck out her hand to shake my hand.
    â€œSee ya,” I said. I shook her hand. I would not have minded a hug. Like say, for about a half hour. “Hope your shoelace stays tied.”
    What a dumb thing to say.
    â€œSee ya,” she said again. She let go of my hand.
    â€œSee ya,” I said again.
    And that was it.
    I got in the truck. Started it. And drove away.

chapter twenty-one
    As I made my way along Flagler Avenue, I was the slowest driver on the road. At every traffic light, I wanted to turn around. First, I knew Uncle Gord was in trouble. Second, I didn’t want my last good-bye to Sherri to just be a handshake and two words.
    See ya.
    I knew what was going to hurt over the next few hours.
    The mile markers.
    About a hundred years earlier, a guy named Henry Flagler completed the railroad that linked Key West to Miami. Mile marker zero was at the Key West Post Office. Mile marker one was one mile closer to Miami. And so on, all the way to Florida City, where the markers ended at 127.5 miles.
    At the end of every summer, as Uncle Gord drove me to Miami for my flight to Chicago, I’d see the mile markers, knowing the higher the number, the farther away I was from Key West. It was always depressing.
    This time promised to be a lot worse.
    Hope your shoelace stays tied. See ya.
    Those were going to be my last words to her.
    My last words. Not the last words of the summer, knowing I would come back. But probably my last words. Because this wasn’t like the other times. Uncle Gord wasn’t driving me. It wasn’t the end of summer. And there wasn’t anything to come back to.
    I passed the Key West airport, telling myself I should turn around. But UncleGord had made it clear I was not welcome in Key West.
    At mile marker four, I passed the entrance to the Key West Golf Club. It made me wish that Uncle Gord did something safe like golfing, instead of looking for pirate treasure. It made me wish that my biggest worry was trying to hit a golf ball.
    As I thought about this, the truck’s ride became really bumpy.
    A little farther down the road, just before reaching the small stretch of open water to Raccoon Key, I realized the back left tire was going flat.
    Normally, this would be bad news.
    Instead I grinned.
    It was a sign: I was being told I shouldn’t leave Key West.
    I pulled over onto a side street, Key Haven Road, where there was a big parking lot next to a gas station.
    Yup. Good news. I couldn’t leave Key West. Not until the tire was fixed. How could Uncle Gord blame me for this?
    Another idea hit me.
    I stepped out of the truck into the Gulf breeze. I opened the hood and pulled a few spark plug wires loose. Then I tucked them in place so it would look like they were connected. Now I could tell Uncle Gord the engine had stopped working too. That would buy me a day or two longer in Key West. At least the