Independence Day Read Online Free PDF Page B

school. He empathized with cranky, wincing at the grinding sound the car’s transmission made when he pulled out of the driveway. Not unlike the discordant, grating gears of his once well-oiled life.
    He’d stop at Tindall’s Service Center on the way to school and leave the car to be checked. John would give him a ride to work.
    His thoughts crowded, Nick scratched the back of his neck in irritation. The mosquitoes had feasted on him last night, and now the nonstop itching was driving him nuts. At least something had been hungry for his body, he thought sourly.
    Using extreme caution, he drove the short distance to the service center. As he pulled into the lot, he experienced a pang of envy for the automotive work of John Tindall, his former classmate. With machines, when something went wrong, the problem was real, physical and, for the most part, observable.
    Unlike relationships.
    As he stepped out of the car, Nick wished he could raise Chessie on a lift, hook her up to a diagnostic machine.
    “Nick.” John hailed him from the gas pumps where he was putting out pails of water and windshield cleaning squeegees. “How’s it going?”
    Nick shook his head. John didn’t really want to know. “If I leave my car here, could you look at mytransmission sometime today? I don’t like what I’m hearing.”
    “What I’m hearing,” John replied with a grin, “is that Chessie’s set to reform you.”
    Just what Nick needed as he went about the delicate business of hiring new teachers, some new to the area. What if this gossip filtered through his staff to the recruits? How would it affect his image as a professional and a leader?
    He spied Abigail, John’s wife and bookkeeper, peeking out from behind curtains in the office window, an unmistakable smile on her pretty face. Nick sighed heavily. “You know Chessie, John. Just some Fourth-of-July hijinks.”
    “If you say so.” The mechanic wiped his hands on a rag.
    “Oh, hell!” Nick ran his fingers through his hair. “Do you know what women really want?”
    John snorted. “Abigail says all she wants is a little bit more than she’s ever going to get.”
    “But what exactly is that little bit more?”
    “In Abigail’s case, money.”
    Nick shook his head. That wasn’t the case with Chessie. Or was it? She’d said she wanted to be romanced. Did that mean expensive jewelry and exotic bouquets? Those things hadn’t mattered to her in the past. But, as far as he’d been concerned, Chessie had seemed content, and look at how wrong he’d been on that score.
    “What about romance?” he asked.
    “Frankly, Abigail seems to get her kicks from a ledger in the black. But what do I know?”
    “You’re saying you haven’t a clue.”
    “Not a one.” John raised his hat, repositioned it, then set it back on his head in the age-old male gesture that begged to change the subject. “So, you want a ride to work?”
    “Yeah. I hope you’re better at figuring out transmissions than you are at figuring out women.”
    At the high school, Hattie St. Regis, his administrative assistant, met him with a fresh pot of coffee and a double-parked agenda. “Restful holiday?” she asked, her eyes betraying no sign of gossip-induced interest.
    “Yes,” he lied, trying to focus on the day planner on his desk, obscured with new paperwork.
    “Good. We have quite a schedule today.” She poured them each a cup of coffee. “I’m thinking of getting an espresso machine in this place. Regular coffee just doesn’t spark my plugs any more.”
    What did spark women’s plugs these days? He didn’t dare ask Hattie’s advice. For the past year the two of them had maintained a strictly professional relationship.
    Shuffling papers, he spotted a petition from a large section of last year’s female student body, requesting the addition of an elective course on women’s studies.
    “Hattie.” He held up the petition. “I think we’ve been vigilant in updating our curriculum. We’ve