The End of the Line by Jim Power Read Free Book Online Page B

skipping like a school girl,
throwing her arms in the air. “Summer reminds me of white puppy dogs and
butterflies and purple pink dolphins!”
    “Yes,”
Peter said, his eyes shifting from side to side. “I know exactly what you
mean.”
    “Are
you enjoying yourself?”
    “Tremendously.”
    “Good.
I’ve been so depressed since my boyfriend’s death. It’s nice to see that I can
still bring happiness into other people’s lives.”
    Peter
forced a smile and opened the door for her. From there it was a race to
transport her home as quickly as possible without getting stopped by the cops.
    “I’ve
always been a crybaby,” she said, talking into space. “I suppose it started
when I was six. I had this dog named Pooch and one day I opened the door for
some reason I can’t remember, maybe it was summer and it was hot, or Dad might
have been coming in the driveway. He was late a lot, you know. I never felt he
was truly there for me. He was emotionally distant. In a way, I suppose my Aunt
Mildred had a touch of that, too. At least that’s what my cousin Annie told me.
But she could stretch the truth. My word, you never knew if what she was saying
was true or some fantasy she created. I guess that’s understandable, though,
because her father drank heavily.”
    Ten
minutes later, Peter stopped in front of her apartment building and quickly
went round to open her door. “Nice meeting you,” he said, helping her out of
the truck.
    “Are
you coming in?” she asked.
    “I
can’t,” Peter replied.
    “Why?”
Jo Jo questioned with a slighted look. “Do you have an emergency?”
    “An
appointment,” he said, “with my,” his mind froze for a moment, “with my coach.”
    “Coach?”
    “Yes,
my coach,” he stammered. “We’re working on some things.”
    Jo
Jo didn’t seem interested in his athletic prowess. “Listen, Paul,” she said.
    ”Peter,”
he corrected.
    “What?”
    “My
name is Peter, not Paul.”
    “Oh,”
she responded, laughing and squeezing his arm, “how foolish of me. My boyfriend
was Paul.” She burst into tears. “His father was Paul, too, so he gave him that
name. I never liked it as well as Luke. Luke is his brother. He had a hard
life. Do you want me to tell you about it?”
    “I
have to go,” Peter insisted.
    Jo
Jo wrote her phone number on a piece of paper. “Listen, Peter, I opened my soul
for you today. I feel we’ve shared something special. I hope you’re not the
kind of guy who bleeds a woman dry of all her secrets and then disappears into
the woodwork.”
    “No,
your secrets are safe with me,” he pledged, then added, “I have to go.”
    Without
promising to call, Peter made good his retreat. During it, he thought of Heidi
and Jo Jo, but most of all he thought of Latesha.
    “What
kind of service are they running there?” he asked Dr. Phil when he got home,
picking up the phone. “I’d have a better chance by picking someone off the
sidewalk. Latesha’s experts must put pictures on a dart board and give you
whoever they hit.”
    He
called her.
    “Hi,”
Latesha said warmly. “How was your date with Jo Jo?”
    “I
was just wondering about the methods you use,” Peter said with furrowed brows.
“Nothing personal, but I think your computer and experts may need a little
overhauling.”
    “Did
something go wrong?” Latesha asked with grave concern.
    “You
could say that.”
    “No,
you say it,” she replied sharply, as if offended by his lack of regard for her
matchmaking service.
    He
was surprised by her forthright manner.
    Latesha
cleared her throat. “Listen, Peter, we try our utmost to match people, but we
can’t determine who will meet your lofty standards.”
    “I’m
not that picky,” he complained, “but the two women I’ve dated so far were
totally not right for me. I honestly don’t think you could have found worse
matches if you tried.”
    “Not
picky?” Latesha asked sarcastically. “ Hmm .”
    “Don’t
get me wrong,” Peter said,