The Distance from Me to You Read Online Free Page A

though the outside thermometer read eighty-eight degrees. “I really do.”

McKenna leaned forward from the backseat, placing one hand on Courtney’s shoulder and one hand on Brendan’s. “I almost died when my dad opened the hatch. You were so smart to put your pack there! Thank you.”
    â€œYeah, well, I have a dad, too,” Courtney said.
    McKenna sat back as Brendan drove down Broad Avenue. She let out a long breath of relief. All this past week, and especially last night, she’d had trouble sleeping because she’d been so worried about her parents putting a stop to her solo trip. So she’d barely had a chance to worry about the solo hike itself. Finally on the road now, Courtney dressed convincingly in hiking boots, she could almost believe they were going together as originally planned. But then Brendan pulled into the parking lot at Flat Rock Brook, where Jay sat waiting, and McKenna had to face the reality. Courtney was staying here in Abelard.
    McKenna’s stomach did an uncomfortable roll, full of jittery air, and she reminded herself that anxiety and exhilaration were close cousins. It was up to you what you wanted to call it.
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    It took seven hours to drive from Abelard, Connecticut, to Piscataquis County, Maine. As she and Brendan made their way, McKenna kept her eyes on the woods by the highway, thinking about how long it would take to walk this same distance. By the time McKenna’s hike brought her back to Connecticut, she’d wouldn’t even be halfway done with the trail.
    As they drove along the coastal route in southern Maine, McKenna buzzed down the window so the sea air could waft in.
    â€œHey,” Brendan said. “I forgot to tell you, I booked a hotel.”
    â€œYou did?” McKenna’s hair escaped its ponytail and fluttered in her face.
    They’d never worked out what the structure of their good-bye would be. McKenna had assumed they’d spend the night together, but figured it would be in sleeping bags in the back of his mom’s van. Brendan’s dad was head of neurology at a hospital in New Haven, and he had six children from two different marriages. Lots of resources, but they were spread thin. It wasn’t like Brendan to splurge on a hotel.
    â€œI thought you’d want one more night in a bed before you hit the trail,” he said.
    â€œSounds great,” McKenna said. In the three months she and Brendan had been together, they’d never slept in the same bed, and both were still virgins, although they’d come pretty close to changing that a couple times.
    When they got to the Katahdin Inn and Suites, McKenna let Brendan hoist her pack out of the back of the van.
    â€œWow,” he said. “You’re sure you can carry this thing?”
    â€œI can,” she told him, trying not to sound defensive.
    They checked in and headed to the room. There it was, one queen-sized bed. McKenna had never spent the night with a guy.
    Brendan reached out and clasped her hand. “Hungry?” he asked.
    â€œDefinitely,” she said.
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    River Driver’s Restaurant was full of outdoorsy-looking people in various degrees of un-wash. Some still had wet hair after what might have been their first shower in days or even weeks. Others looked like they’d just come directly from the trail to the table. McKenna wondered if there were any thru hikers about to embark on the journey south. Most likely not, as thru hikers made up a small percentage of AT hikers, and most of the ones headed to Georgia would have started, wisely, at the beginning of June.
    Brendan ordered a steak and McKenna ordered the summer-vegetable pasta.
    â€œCarbo load,” Brendan noted when her plate of pasta arrived, but McKenna had ordered it mostly because it would be a while before she saw fresh vegetables again. She’d packed her stove, but she wasn’t much of a cook.