Page 21 of Forever Christmas
Chapter 8: Gavin
This is the road trip from hell.
It’s a good thing I’m a mechanic, because Corabelle’s car is not really up for the challenge of driving from California to New Mexico.
I didn’t want to go in the first place, but I’m not one to say no to Corabelle, especially right now, baby and crying jags and all.
So here we are, in the brutal heat of the desert,me trying to coax a failing fuel pump to make it to the next gas station so I can fix it properly.
It’s over a hundred degrees, Corabelle’s pregnant, and I just want to punch someone in the face.
But instead I lean over the engine, attaching a fuel pressure gauge to the hose.
Zero pressure.
Great.
It’s not typical for a fuel pump to go from fine to dead in one trip, so I’m confident I canget it to start up again and run a little longer. We can limp it in. Not the last four hours to Deming. But at least the hour to Tucson. I’ll have plenty of car part options there.
“Can you start it up when I say so?” I ask Corabelle.
“Sure.” She shifts from where she’s leaning against the car, a wet T-shirt wrapped around her neck. Her long skirt whips in the wind. She’s been tapping her phone,making sure people know we’re out here in case we get stranded. It’s seriously the middle of nowhere.
I’m definitely wishing for a rolling creeper as I inch along the dry cracked earth to get under the car. But I have to bang this gas tank and convince the ailing pump to put a little pressure in the fuel line.
“Ready?” I call out.
“Ready!” Corabelle says.
“Fire it up!”
The engine cranks butdoesn’t turn over. I clang a metal wrench on the tank and tap the motor to the pump to convince the coils to turn.
Corabelle pauses as the car makes noises that probably make her wince.
“Crank it again!” I say. We’re close.
She turns it, the starter still hitching. I hear the pump hum for a second, and we should be home free.
The motor catches and the engine fires up. I wait a moment, my backfrying against the hot ground, the car rumbling uncomfortably close to my face.
But it stays running. I wiggle out from beneath it.
Corabelle gets out of the driver’s seat. “Will it keep going?” Her voice is full of concern. She about panicked when the car sputtered and died in the middle of the highway.
“I’ll pick up a new fuel pump in Tucson,” I say.
“Isn’t Phoenix closer?” She lifts herphone.
“Not much, and it’s out of our way.”
She walks around to the other side of the car, her long black hair flying in the wind.
I feel like I’ve eaten dust. I want out of this godforsaken desert.
She turns the air-conditioning vent to her face, eyes closed.
“You okay?” I ask. We were only out there maybe twenty minutes, but it’s probably a lot for her right now. When you’re already anxiousabout a pregnancy, stuff like this can tank you.
