Distant Memory Read Online Free

identical to the one she had just surrendered to the clerk. In a fluid movement, he tossed the key to the earring-decorated employee. “Room one-eleven,” he said to the young man. “I’m ready to check out too. Do you need anything else from me?”
    “No sir,” the clerk said. “I mean, I don’t think so. Let me check.” Once again he stepped back into the adjoining office and reemerged with a receipt. “It looks like you’re all paid up and you made no phone calls. So we’re square.”
    “I made no phone calls because the phone doesn’t work,” Nick said bluntly.
    “Oh. Sorry.”
    “Where can we get some breakfast?” Nick asked.
    “There’s a McDonald’s next door. They serve breakfast. There’s also a café two blocks down.” He motioned north with his thumb.
    “Is it any good?”
    “Not even close. You won’t catch me in there.”
    “McDonald’s it is.” Turning to her again, he said, “I don’t know about you, but I really could use some coffee.”
    Did she drink coffee? It sounded good. “I’m afraid that I don’t have—”
    “My treat,” he said before she could finish. “I eat alone all the time, and I hate it. It will be nice to have some company for a change. Shall we?” He motioned to the door with a gallant gesture.
    Uncertainty welled up in her like a geyser. This was absurd. She didn’t know him. At least, she didn’t think she did. Maybe he was responsible for her condition. Maybe he wasn’t a white knight coming to her rescue. But he had arranged for her room the night before and had even come looking for her this morning. Certainly an attacker would not do that, would he?
    “I don’t bite,” he said softly. “I imagine you’re a little confused. I know I am. Let’s go somewhere where we can talk. It’s a public place. You’ll be safe.”
    Unable to think of any alternative, she nodded slightly and started for the door without a word.

    The fast-food restaurant was crowded with travelers, locals, and children. The small dining room was a cacophony of laughter and conversation. She was sitting at a cartoon yellow booth. Before her was a large cup of black coffee and an egg-and-biscuit sandwich. Blanchard sat opposite her, eating a pancake-and-egg breakfast from a thin plasticfoam platter. He ate quickly and with gusto. She raised the sandwich to her mouth and took a bite, then winced.
    Nick noticed the expression of pain. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I should have realized that your lip would be sore. Let me get something you can eat with a fork.”
    “No, that’s all right, Mr. Blanchard. I’m not really hungry.”
    “Nick,” he said. “Call me Nick. Mr. Blanchard makes me think you’re speaking to my father.”
    “You don’t like being called Mister?” she asked, hoping to direct the conversation away from her. She was still trying to make sense of - everything around her and was failing.
    “Much too formal.”
    “Okay,” she agreed. “Nick it is.”
    “Now what about you? What’s your name?”
    This was the question she feared. Perhaps blurting out the truth might be useful, but she was uncertain. Breakfast notwithstanding, Nick was still a stranger. For that matter, everyone was a stranger to her, including herself. “I didn’t tell you last night? I mean, when you arranged for the motel?” She was hoping he would fill in the blanks about how she had come to be in a motel just one room away from him.
    “No. You didn’t say much at all. In fact, the only word that came out of your mouth was
no
. I could tell that you were hurt and disoriented. I offered to take you to a hospital or the police, but you went ballistic. Threatened to jump out of the truck if I tried. I figured that was the last thing you needed. And I couldn’t leave you on the side of the road. A lot of wackos drive the 14 and the 58.”
    “Truck?” She had no memory of a truck.
    “Yeah, my tractor-trailer rig.” He took a sip of coffee. “It’s parked in