Page 47 of Love in Tandem
He shot her a weird look. Almost like an annoyed smile. “Yeah. Oddly enough I did.” His smile turned more genuine. “Probably because nobody slit my throat.”
“That does always make for a better night.”
After helping Zach roll up the tent and repack the trailer—with lots of grunts, groans, and “Is this what it feels like to be ninety?” exclamations, Charlotte couldn’t delay the oncoming torture any more than she could fend off a freight train barreling toward her on the tracks.
Time to get back on the horse. Or in this case, tandem. Though part of her wished it was a horse. A saddle had to be more comfortable than that.
She glared at the tiny black seat on the back of the bike, swearing it’d shrunk several inches overnight. “How far did you say we have to go today?”
“It’s about sixty miles to Tishomingo State Park. Give or take.”
After one more stretch toward her toes, her fingertips barely making it past her knees, Charlotte prayed she’d loosened her muscles enough to climb onto the seat. Prayed the seat would somehow feel like cotton balls. Prayed the next sixty miles wouldn’t be as bad as she feared.
The moment her rear end touched the seat, all hope fled.
“Zach?” Charlotte whimpered. “I don’t think I can do this.”
“You can.”
“I feel like I’m sitting on a metal bar.”
“Try shifting around.”
“It doesn’t help. It feels like everything down there is all bruised.”
“Once we get moving, it’ll get better.”
“How?”
“You’ll get used to it.”
“How?”
“By stopping thinking about it. Now come on. On three. One, two, three.”
He didn’t give her a choice but to start pedaling with him. They rode out of the parking lot, away from the bar.
“How am I supposed to stop thinking about it when it’s all I can think about?” Charlotte asked as they biked the main road out of town. “I already feel like I need a break.”
“Tell me a story.”
“What?”
“A story. Think of three stories from your childhood, ones you’ve never told anyone else, and I’ll do the same.”
Right. Because chewing the fat would distract her from wanting to cry. “I don’t know. I can’t think of anything.”
“I’ll go first then.”
They climbed a short entrance ramp, the road flattening out once they made it back onto the Trace. No hills for the moment, thank goodness. A row of trees lined each side. If Charlotte weren’t so miserable, she might feel a little more grateful for the shade.
“All right, I got one,” Zach said. “In second grade, I puked. Right in the middle of class. All down the front of me, all over the floor, everywhere. But here’s the crazy thing. I was so quiet about it, the teacher didn’t notice. She was sitting at her desk, doing whatever, and didn’t realize what’d happened. So all the students were just sitting there, staring at me, like hey, you gonna tell the teacher you puked? And I was sitting there staring at them, like hey, I need a moment to gather my thoughts.”
Charlotte waited for him to continue. When they pedaled for another minute and all she heard was the sound of her heavy breathing, she tapped his back. “Well? What happened?”
“The teacher finally noticed. She sent me to the office, and I went home sick.”
“That’s your story?” Charlotte leaned forward on her handlebars.
