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Authors: Alton L. Gansky
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lunch?”
“Absolutely. This should prove to you my gentlemanly nature and superior tastes.”
Despite the pall of depression that threatened to envelop her, Lisa smiled. “I am honored to have accompanied you.”
“Ah,” Nick said jovially. “You do have a sense of humor. It suits you well.”
“Thanks,” she replied. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure. Fire away.” He took another sip of soda.
“You don’t strike me as the truck-driver type,” she said. “You seem too … refined.”
Nick erupted with laughter. “Why thank you, Lisa. It’s been a long time since anyone called me refined.”
“You know what I mean,” she said defensively.
“I do. I’m not laughing at you. Your comment just caught me off guard. I thank you for the compliment.”
“See, that’s what I mean. I expect truck drivers to be rough and uneducated. You seem just the opposite.”
“Thanks again,” Nick said. “People drive trucks for different reasons. Some like the travel, some like handling a big machine, some like the freedom. I like the solitude.”
“Solitude?”
“Some people can get up each morning and drive to an office or cubicle, put in their eight hours, then go home. That’s not for me. I’m not the office type. I’d go crazy just sitting and looking at four walls. Driving lets me move from place to place, meet interesting people, and I don’t have to answer to an employer. At least in my case, I’m my own boss. I can think what I want, eat when I want, listen to whatever music I want. What could be better than that? Besides, I do more than drive a truck.”
“Oh,” Lisa said with curiosity. “Are you an artist? An impressionist, maybe?”
“I know nothing about art,” Nick said. “I own four other trucks. It’snot a big fleet by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s a start. I hire others to drive them. Especially for the long hauls. The cross-country stuff doesn’t leave me enough time for the paperwork. I suppose I could hire a secretary, and she could e-mail whatever I need to wherever I am.”
Something stirred in Lisa, an uncomfortable sense. She furrowed her brow.
“What?” Nick asked. “Did I say something wrong?”
Lisa shook her head. She had no idea how to answer. Something he said had triggered a response in her, but what? Secretary? Cross-country driving? E-mail? The thought of e-mail was disturbing.
“Talk to me, Lisa. Speaking your thoughts may help.”
“Your comments about e-mail made me feel uneasy. I don’t know why. Why would e-mail make anyone uneasy?”
“That is curious.” Nick scratched his chin in thought. “Maybe someone sent you some disturbing messages. Maybe even threats. Does that seem possible?”
“I’m so mixed up, anything and everything seems possible.”
“Okay, don’t try to force it, that will just bury the memories deeper.”
“How do you know that?” Lisa said sharply. “You’re a truck driver, not a medical doctor.”
Nick held his hands up as if surrendering. “Okay, okay. Don’t bite my head off. I just know that the harder I try to recall something, the more difficult it is for me to remember. But if I just relax and let the thoughts come, I do much better.”
“I’m sorry,” Lisa said. She felt sick about snapping at Nick. “That’s twice I’ve snapped at you. Now I’m certain the real me is not a very nice person.”
“I doubt that,” Nick said softly. “I imagine you are a wonderful person. Losing your memory doesn’t change who you are, it just changes what you can recall. And I like what I’ve seen of your personality.”
Warmth ran up her cheeks as she began to blush. “I hope you’re right.”
“I’m sure of it.” He reached forward and touched her arm. The caress was gentle, warm, and unassuming. It felt good. A second later, as if checking himself, he removed his hand. “Well, it’s time we got back on the road. We can’t spend our lives eating Mexican food.”
“I can
“Absolutely. This should prove to you my gentlemanly nature and superior tastes.”
Despite the pall of depression that threatened to envelop her, Lisa smiled. “I am honored to have accompanied you.”
“Ah,” Nick said jovially. “You do have a sense of humor. It suits you well.”
“Thanks,” she replied. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure. Fire away.” He took another sip of soda.
“You don’t strike me as the truck-driver type,” she said. “You seem too … refined.”
Nick erupted with laughter. “Why thank you, Lisa. It’s been a long time since anyone called me refined.”
“You know what I mean,” she said defensively.
“I do. I’m not laughing at you. Your comment just caught me off guard. I thank you for the compliment.”
“See, that’s what I mean. I expect truck drivers to be rough and uneducated. You seem just the opposite.”
“Thanks again,” Nick said. “People drive trucks for different reasons. Some like the travel, some like handling a big machine, some like the freedom. I like the solitude.”
“Solitude?”
“Some people can get up each morning and drive to an office or cubicle, put in their eight hours, then go home. That’s not for me. I’m not the office type. I’d go crazy just sitting and looking at four walls. Driving lets me move from place to place, meet interesting people, and I don’t have to answer to an employer. At least in my case, I’m my own boss. I can think what I want, eat when I want, listen to whatever music I want. What could be better than that? Besides, I do more than drive a truck.”
“Oh,” Lisa said with curiosity. “Are you an artist? An impressionist, maybe?”
“I know nothing about art,” Nick said. “I own four other trucks. It’snot a big fleet by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s a start. I hire others to drive them. Especially for the long hauls. The cross-country stuff doesn’t leave me enough time for the paperwork. I suppose I could hire a secretary, and she could e-mail whatever I need to wherever I am.”
Something stirred in Lisa, an uncomfortable sense. She furrowed her brow.
“What?” Nick asked. “Did I say something wrong?”
Lisa shook her head. She had no idea how to answer. Something he said had triggered a response in her, but what? Secretary? Cross-country driving? E-mail? The thought of e-mail was disturbing.
“Talk to me, Lisa. Speaking your thoughts may help.”
“Your comments about e-mail made me feel uneasy. I don’t know why. Why would e-mail make anyone uneasy?”
“That is curious.” Nick scratched his chin in thought. “Maybe someone sent you some disturbing messages. Maybe even threats. Does that seem possible?”
“I’m so mixed up, anything and everything seems possible.”
“Okay, don’t try to force it, that will just bury the memories deeper.”
“How do you know that?” Lisa said sharply. “You’re a truck driver, not a medical doctor.”
Nick held his hands up as if surrendering. “Okay, okay. Don’t bite my head off. I just know that the harder I try to recall something, the more difficult it is for me to remember. But if I just relax and let the thoughts come, I do much better.”
“I’m sorry,” Lisa said. She felt sick about snapping at Nick. “That’s twice I’ve snapped at you. Now I’m certain the real me is not a very nice person.”
“I doubt that,” Nick said softly. “I imagine you are a wonderful person. Losing your memory doesn’t change who you are, it just changes what you can recall. And I like what I’ve seen of your personality.”
Warmth ran up her cheeks as she began to blush. “I hope you’re right.”
“I’m sure of it.” He reached forward and touched her arm. The caress was gentle, warm, and unassuming. It felt good. A second later, as if checking himself, he removed his hand. “Well, it’s time we got back on the road. We can’t spend our lives eating Mexican food.”
“I can
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