Catching Air Read Online Free PDF Page B

flip-flops. A young couple running out of gas on a shadowy, deserted road . . . wasn’t this how most horror movies started? She finished up quickly and hurried back to the car, then reclined her seat as far as it would go as Peter took his turn using nature’s facilities.
    “I hate not brushing my teeth before bed,” she said when he returned. “It feels disgusting.”
    “We’ll find someplace that has a bathroom first thing tomorrow,” he said. He popped the trunk and walked around to the back of the car. “Need anything?” he asked.
    “Did we pack a Marriott?” she said.
    “Hang on, let me see. No . . . we’ve got a Holiday Inn here, but that’s about it.” He got back into the car and handed her a sweatshirt to use as a pillow.
    “Thanks,” she said, shifting around to find a comfortable position. The night air was thick and moist, and their windows were unrolled, so the sounds of crickets chirping drifted toward her. Of course, the open windows would also make it easier for a psychopath in a hockey mask to get into the car, but it was too hot to roll them up, so she’d have to risk being hacked to death. If only it wasn’t so dark out here. She tried to focus on the crickets’ melody and not on the fact that something smelled—she had a sneaking suspicion it was her armpits—and that her back was already sore from so many hours of sitting in the car.
    “Yuck,” she whispered. This wasn’t how she’d envisioned starting a new chapter of their life together. A carefree road trip had sounded romantic and spontaneous, and those were two elements sorely missing from her life these days. She was always so tired after work that sometimes a week or two—sometimes longer—passed before she and Peter had sex. That wasn’t normal for a healthy young couple, was it?
    She doubted Rand and Alyssa ever let a week pass without having sex.
    Whoa! Where had that thought come from? She glanced over at Peter, feeling guilty, but he seemed to be asleep. His pale profile was barely discernible in the moonlight. His arms were folded across his chest, and he’d taken off his glasses and placed them on the dashboard. He always looked a decade younger without them.
    She closed her eyes and reclined again. As they’d packed for the move, she’d wondered if she would miss Florida. But today, as they’d driven past her old elementary school and the spot that once held the frozen yogurt shop where she’d worked during high school, and so many other physical locations that were emotional landmarks for her, she’d realized she was relieved to leave the state behind.
    Kira had lived in Florida for her entire life, save the years when she attended college and law school at Duke, and at least in the beginning, she’d loved it. Back then, though, her father was still around.
    As a child, Kira had always felt a deeper connection with him. Her mother was harried and snappish, but her dad flung open the front door after work, filling the quiet rooms with his loud voice. He read bedtime stories and gave princesses funny, growling voices. He pulled quarters out of her ears and flipped her over his shoulders and sang to her in his low, sweet voice, changing the lyrics to lullabies: “Hush, little baby, don’t say a word, Papa’s going to buy you an elephant . . . and if that elephant won’t dance, Papa’s going to put him in underpants . . .” She’d giggle hysterically until her mother appeared in the doorway, telling them to settle down, that Kira needed to go to sleep. Her father would turn on a flashlight and make shadow bunnies on her wall before he left, giving her the flashlight with a wink. He was larger than life; he was coated in glittering magic dust, like a character in her storybook.
    If his gait wasn’t perfectly steady as he entered the house, if he forgot to ask about her track meets, if she sometimes thought she caught a whiff of perfume that smelled as sweet as Juicy Fruit gum clinging to