Mixed Signals by Diane Barnes Read Free Book Online

he dropped to one knee. Right there in the middle of the restaurant with all the other diners looking on. “Let’s make this official, Jillian. Marry me.” Remembering it now, it doesn’t seem all that romantic, but at the time, I was swept off my feet and joined him down on the carpet for a long kiss. People at nearby tables all applauded. Vincenzio brought us each a complimentary glass of champagne. How could I have known Nico would change his mind three weeks later? Should I have known?
    Surely Renee will notice that I’m not wearing my ring, so I’ll have to break the news to her and Ben as soon as I get into the office. In the shower, I rehearse what I’ll say. I don’t have to tell them the ugly truth. I work in marketing after all. I know how to spin a story. Nico and I mutually decided not to get married. We’re going to spend some time apart and see how it goes. It was an amicable split. Of course, they’re in the same profession and know BS when they hear it. No matter, they won’t call me out on it.
    Instead of jeans, I dress in a short black skirt, a fitted blue blazer, and tall boots. Looking good will make me seem less upset. I bundle up in my long coat, hat, and gloves and head out the door. As soon as I step outside, the bitterly cold air stings my exposed skin. I hurry across the porch and down the walkway to my Accord, thinking I should have started it early to give it time to warm up. I turn the key in the ignition. There’s an irritating whining noise, but the car doesn’t turn over. I try again with the same result. Perfect!
    Mr. O’Brien, back from getting his morning coffee, pulls in next to me. I turn the key one more time and hold it. Mr. O’Brien, who is now standing in the driveway in front of my car, holds his hands over his ears. Instead of his usual Red Sox baseball cap, he’s wearing a blue wool hat with a red B that’s pulled low over his forehead. I get out of my car and slam the door.
    â€œYour battery is dead,” he says. He places his cup on the roof of my Honda. “Do you have jumper cables?”
    â€œNo, but I have Triple A.” I step toward the walkway, wanting to get inside. It’s so cold that it hurts to breathe. I imagine my lungs icing over.
    â€œOn a day like today you’ll be waiting for hours. Don’t you have to get to work?” He returns to his car and lifts the hatchback to retrieve his cables. “Pop your hood,” he instructs. He does the same to his station wagon.
    I remain in my driver’s seat, shivering while waiting for him to clamp the cables onto the battery terminals or whatever it is he has to do, but he beckons me to the front of the car. “Do you know how to use these?” he asks.
    My eyes widen. I thought he knew. “I’ll call Triple A.”
    His sour expression reminds me of something my mother always said to me when I was a kid: Be careful or your face will freeze like that! The things that pop up and make me miss my parents always take me by surprise.
    â€œI know how to use them,” he says. “You should too. Pay attention.” He tells me the red clamps go on the positive terminals of my battery and his, and the black get clamped to the negative terminal of his battery and on a piece of metal somewhere under the hood. After explaining, he tells me to connect them. I’m hesitant to attach them, certain I’ll electrocute myself or blow up both vehicles. I imagine a fiery explosion. “Go on,” he urges.
    His earlobes are bright red, and I can’t feel my face. If I don’t do this soon, we’ll both end up with frostbite or worse. I take a deep breath, hook them up, and duck like I’m taking cover. Nothing explodes. “What the hell are you doing?” my landlord asks. “Get behind the wheel and try to start your car.”
    I retreat to the driver’s seat and turn the ignition. Once we get