“Noah …”
“I’m sure you’ve got better things to do. I know I do.”
My heart sank as he whistled for Yeti, his wolf-dog happily frolicking after a butterfly. For a moment there, I thought we were actually getting along. No coffee was spilled. No one had been stranded. Maybe, possibly, something even more than just “getting along.”
I sat there for a moment wondering what I had done wrong. Noah didn’t even look back as he slung his pack over his shoulder and headed back down the trail. Just like that, Grumpy Noah was back and grumpier than ever.
The rest of the hike stretched in silence, broken only by our footsteps and Yeti’s occasional snuffling in the underbrush. Just as eager to get back as he was, I matched Noah’s pace, despite the aches and pains. At least the descent felt easier with the sun warming my shoulders and the wind at my back.
When the Jeep finally appeared through the trees, Noah still hadn’t spoken another word to me. Clearly, I’d stepped on a landmine I hadn’t known existed in our conversational battlefield.
I headed for the passenger door handle, but Noah beat me to it, stopping me in my tracks with another glare.
“I know, I know, you’re not being a gentleman.”
“It sticks,” he grunted, throwing his shoulder into the metal. The door groaned in protest before popping open with a screech that sounded like bear claws on a chalkboard. “There.”
“Charming vehicle you’ve got here. You do know you can buy a new one of these, right?”
“New doesn’t mean better.” Noah stepped aside so I could wiggle into my seat, another feat of strength and skill that would have benefited fromcontinued Pilates lessons.
Yeti jumped into the back, and Noah slid behind the wheel, stabbing his key into the ignition like a knife. He turned it. The engine made a sad whirring sound.
“Shit.”
Another turn had the same result.
“Shit, shit, shit.”
After the third time, the whirring was followed by a loudCLICKthat seemed to echo through the forest.
Noah closed his eyes. Perhaps praying. Probably cursing.
“Come on, girl.” He tried one more time. More whirring, more clicking, then the solemn silence of mechanical betrayal.
I looked over. “That doesn’t sound good.”
Noah threw me a look that could have flash frozen a mountain river.
“When’s the last time you had this thing serviced? Or is this part of your normal client hiking experience, too?”
“Must have jarred a wire loose when we hit one of those bumps.” He popped the hood and jumped out.
While Noah checked the engine, I checked my phone. No bars again. “Great.”
Yeti leaned forward into the front half of the Jeep, tail wagging, slobber drooling, as Noah messed under the hood. He muttered words I couldn’t hear but could definitely categorize.
“Try it now!” he called.
I pushed Yeti’s face out of the way and slid over to the driver’s seat. I turned the key. Nothing.
“Again!”
Click.
Click.
Click.
