Thrown by Tabi Wollstonecraft Read Free Book Online Page B

handthere.‘Puttheclutchin,’hesayscalmly.Howcanheactsocalmly whilehe’smakingmelosemymind?
    IpressmyleftfootontheclutchandStokerpullsbacksmoothlyon thegearshift,hishandfeelingsogoodonmine.Soright.Ican’tthink aboutanythingelseandItakemyfootofftheclutch.TheVolvojack rabbitstoastop.
    ‘Whenyou’reready,startthecaragain.’Hedoesn’tremovehishand fromwhereitsitsontopofmine.
    IfeeltearsspringingfrommyeyesandIcan’tbelieveI’mdoingthis, can’tbelieveI’mgoingtobreakdowninfrontofthisboywhoIhardly evenknowandhe’sgoingtoseemecrying.AsobescapesmeandIwipe atmyfacewiththehandheisn’ttouching.
    ‘Hey,hey,it’sOK,Amy.You’redoinggreat.’
    ‘Itisn’tthat,’IsayandIhatehowmyvoiceiscracking,‘it’sthe police.Theycametothebookstoretodayandtheysaidthey’re investigating…investigating…’Ifeelasuddensadnessripthroughme andIstarttosobuncontrollably.
    Stokertakeshishandoffmineandremoveshisseatbeltthenshiftsin hisseatsohe’facingme.Heputshisarmaroundmeandpullsmetoward himsomyfaceispressedagainsthischest.Hesmellsofoilandgaswith anunderlyingmasculinescent.Igrabhisoverallsinmyfistsandcry againsthim,feelingprotectedinhisembrace.‘Theythink…shemight…
    havebeen…murdered,’Isob.MyeyesstingfromthetearsandIneedto blowmynose.IhatethatI’vebrokendownlikethisinfrontofhim.
    Whatmusthethinkofme?
    HeopensthegloveboxandfindsaboxofKleenex.Hepullsthreeout andpassesthemtome.
    ‘Thanks.’IblowmynoseasquietlyasIcanandwipemyeyes.Geta grip,Amy.Thisguyisreallygoingtothinkyou’repsycho.Isitupagain, alreadymissinghisstrongarmsaroundmebutembarrassedthathefelt theneedtocomfortmebecauseI’msuchastupidmess.‘I’msorry.’
    ‘It’sfine,’hesaysreassuringly.‘Didtheyreallysaythat?Murder?’
    ’Notthatactualwordbuthesaidfoulplay.Andtheyhaveto investigateAuntB’sdeathbecauseitwasstrangethatshe’dfallona clearsummereveningwhenshewasusedtowalkingaroundthereinall seasonsandweathers.’
    HelooksoutthroughthewindshieldbutI’mprettysureheisn’t lookingattheroadahead.Heseemslostinhisthoughts.Iguessifhe knewmyauntaswellastheevidencesuggests-likehowdidheknow therewasaboxofKleenexintheglovecompartment-thenthefactthat thepoliceareinvestigatingherdeathwillbeashocktohimasitwasto me.IwanttoaskhimhowwellheknewAuntBbutapartofmeis actuallyafraidtoheartheanswer.Idon’tknowwhyI’mbeingso ridiculousaboutthiswholesituation.Ifhewasinvolvedwithmyaunt,it reallyisn’tanyofmybusiness.Butifhewasinvolvedwithher,why didn’theturnuptoherfuneral?MaybeI’mreadingtoomuchintothis.
    TheproblemisIreallydolikehimandthat’sgettinginthewayofjust gettingtoknowhim.
    Ihavenoideawhathe’sthinking.Hestaresoutofthecar,hisstrong featuresunreadable.
    ‘Weshouldprobablygetgoing,’Isay,‘we’reinthemiddleofthe road.’
    ‘Err,yeah.Luckilythisisaquietroad.OK,startthecarwhenyou’re ready.Putherintoneutralfirst.’
    Idoashesays.‘OK,she’sinneutral.’
    ‘Nowputherintofirst.’
    Ipresstheclutchandgentlymovethestickintoposition.‘She’sin first.Ithinkshewantstomoveforward.’
    Heglancesatmesidewayswiththoseperfectgrayeyes.‘Areyou mockingme?’
    Ilookathiminnocently.‘I’msureIdon’tknowwhatyoumean.’
    ‘Callingthecar“she”likethat.’
    ‘I’mmerelyfollowingyourinstructions.You’retheinstructorsoif yousayshe’sashethenshe’sdefinitelyashe.’
    Hesmiles.‘Right.Moveherforwardandremembertochangegears gently.’
    Ilettheclutchupandwemovealongtheroad.
    StokerputshishandonmineagainandI’mnotsurewhetherit’sto makesureIgetthegearchangesrightortocomfortmeaftermy breakdownormaybeeventocomforthimself.
    Eitherway,Ilikeit.
    Ilikeitalot.
    *
    Thirtyminuteslater,we’reapproachingPenzanceonaroadthatruns bythesea.IhavetheshiftdownnowandIhaven’tstalledthecaror crunchedthegearsforatleasttenminutes.InmymindIhaveamantra thatIkeeprepeatingtomyself,Pushtheclutch,changegear,letthe clutchupslow.It’salsotenminutessinceStokertookhishandfrom whereitcoveredmineandImissitlikecrazy.
    ‘SowherearewegoingtofindtheelusiveMrTibbles?’heasksaswe