The Art of Crash Landing Read Online Free Page B

Oklahoma, in the other and print out the directions. Queeg stands over me as I do this, watching but not saying a word. I’m sorely tempted to download some porn just to annoy Minnie. That’s probably why he’s standing there.
    He waits until I’ve grabbed the paper from the printer, and we’ve gone back outside before he asks. “You’re going to Gandy?”
    â€œYup.”
    â€œNow?”
    Min He is standing a little distance away to make it seem as if she’s giving us privacy, but I see her interest pick up when she hears us talking about me leaving.
    â€œWhy not?” I reply.
    â€œYou’re crazy.”
    He’s right, of course. I am crazy, but I need to take my crazy somewhere else. Camping out on Queeg’s sofa is going to make all of us crazy.
    â€œNah,” I reply. “Just irresponsible. Undependable. Erratic, even.”
    Min He snorts at this, and I’m pretty sure she mutters, “And stupid.”
    â€œFirst you won’t answer their calls, and now you’re driving a thousand miles without knowing what they want?”
    â€œEight hundred,” I tell him.
    He points to my car. “You’re driving eight hundred miles in that?” Now he’s getting mean.
    â€œIt’s an adventure.”
    He raises an eyebrow. “You complain about going to the grocery store.”
    â€œI complain about the shopping part, not the driving part.” I am lying. I complain about both parts.
    â€œBut it’s Sunday.”
    â€œI’ll crash at a cheap motel there tonight. That way I can be at the lawyer’s office first thing tomorrow to pick up my check.”
    â€œThat’s not how it works,” he says. “There’s going to be paperwork.”
    I wave away his concerns with my hand. I’ve stopped listening.I understand that driving to Gandy today is a dumb idea, but Nick might well be on his way over here, and that’s a confrontation I’d like to avoid. Besides, it’s a cool, breezy morning, I’m riding a glazed-doughnut sugar rush, and I’m feeling a little loose and what-the-fuckish. Getting out of here sounds so good I can’t stop myself.
    â€œI’ll be fine.”
    â€œWhat about your job?” Queeg is saying. “Don’t you have anything booked next week?”
    I think about my almost empty calendar and how easy it’s been to watch my dead mother’s business die. I didn’t kill it, or at least it wasn’t premeditated. One day I just didn’t bother to return a call about a booking, and when I realized how much I enjoyed not having to take those pictures, I ignored the next call, too. My phone doesn’t ring all that often anymore.
    â€œNope.”
    He frowns. “Your mother stayed busy when she ran the studio.”
    â€œI’m not my mother.” This is my stock answer for any comparison to her. Unfortunately, it’s not ringing as true as it once did.
    Queeg sighs and then fumbles in his pocket, pulling out his wallet. I can see that there aren’t many bills inside.
    â€œStop. I’ve got money.” I don’t mention that it isn’t much and I’ll need to put it all in my gas tank.
    He pulls out the bills and glances at them. “Fifty-eight. Here.”
    He’s holding the cash out toward me, and I’m shaking my head. “You should go shopping with that money,” I say. “You need a new cardigan. You’re starting to look like some down-and-out Mr. Rogers.” I stick my finger through the largest of the holes in his threadbare sweater. “And stop smoking before you set yourself on fire.”
    â€œDon’t lecture me,” he says. “Either take this or I’m going tothrow it away.” He points to the trash barrel and Min He frowns. She’s not going to let that money stay in the trash can.
    I take the cash. “Fine. Thank you. I’ll pay you back.” At