FWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET!!!!!!!!!!
It had not taken Bree long to figure out what Nick had been talking about with Pat and her whistle. It was only 8:15 in the morning on Day One of their river adventure and Pat hadn't even finished the thirty minute life preserver training routine and she'd already blown the shiny silver whistle no less than twelve times. Bree was certain she was a demon sent straight from whistle hell.
Bree, who was not a morning sort of person at all, had on knee-high, green rubber boots and tightening the straps on her life vest the way Pat was shouting to do. Bree was strongly reminded of Miss. Soap, her gym teacher back home in Atlanta, whose shouts often had to carry over the din of several loudly chattering teenage girls. The louder Pat yelled, the more Bree was wishing she could strangle Nick with the straps on his life vest. He was entirely too happy. Bree hated it when people were happy in the morning.
FWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET!!!!!!!!!!
"Don't think just because we got history I'm gonna be easy on you, Carter!" yelled Pat, pointing Nick out across the collection of ten people that were gathered in front of her along the river banking.
"I wouldn't dream of thinking such horse shit," Nick muttered.
Bree had to admit the miserable tone to his voice made her a little bit happy. Revenge.
By the time Pat had decided they were all satisfactory on life vest application - and this took quite some time longer than it needed to in Bree's estimation - the whistle had gotten a full work out and Bree was certain she'd need migraine medication by midmorning. Pat waved her arm in the direction of a fleet of yellow boats behind her. "Man up in the boats, four to a boat..." Pat was shouting. She pointed at Nick. "You. You're riding in my boat. If I recall correctly, I need to keep my eye on you."
"Me?" Nick demanded, incredulous.
"Yes you. Over here."
Bree raised an eyebrow at Nick, whose mouth was struggling not to form a smile, "I have no freaking clue what she's referring to," he said, his voice warbling with effort to suppress amusement.
"Uh-huh," Bree nodded. "I'm sure you don't."
"No really," Nick said - but his eyes were twinkling with mischief, even as he denied the claim.
When Amanda called and confirmed that Lost Paddle River Adventures was still in existence, she'd found herself on the line with none other than Pat. "I was wondering where you were the other day," Pat said, "When the other one was in."
Amanda's breath had caught in her throat, "Nick was there?" she asked.
"Yeah," Pat confirmed, "Signed up for an excursion leaving tomorrow, actually."
Amanda paused, tried to keep her voice level, and had asked Pat to add her to the same roster. After being harassed into attending one of Pat's semi-infamous lifevest training sessions prior to push-off, she'd hung up the phone with shaking hands. She'd covered her mouth, whispered the words "oh my God" and realized she was less than 24-hours away from seeing Nick again, face-to-face, for the first time since that week-long stint in Boston. And meeting the so-called mystery woman.
That dream, however, quickly came flaming and crashing down as Amanda battled with her faux GPS system -- also known as Google Earth on her iPhone web browser -- and had taken three wrong turns before she'd gotten on the correct route to lead her to Lost Paddle River Adventure's start point. She'd only realized she was going the right direction when she'd driven over the wide bridge that afforded a view of the gorge where she'd bungee jumped with Nick.
She was running late. It was a couple minutes after nine when the grey car pulled into the lot. The years had been fair to the Lost Paddle property, and she found herself flooded with nostalgia as she looked at the yellow-painted shack that served as their main office-slash-gift shop. She threw the car into park and ran across the lot to the office, her heart pounding in her chest. "I was signed up for the 9-am rafting adventure," she gasped to the person behind the desk. "Are they still here?"
"Unfortunately, they just pushed off." The receptionist pouted.
Amanda cursed and pounded her fist on the counter, "Damn it," she groaned.
"It's okay miss, we can apply your deposit toward another adventure," the woman assured Amanda, looking perplexed. "We have one leaving at noon?"
"It had to be that one," Amanda argued, frustrated.
"I'm sorry," the woman apologized, "But you were late arriving."
After assuring the woman she wasn't interested in another trip and receiving a partial return on the deposit she'd given Pat the day before via credit card, Amanda crossed the parking lot in a frustrated huff. She leaned against the back of her car and pulled a pack of cigarettes from her purse, taking one out of the pack and lighting it. She drew a long breathful of nicotine and looked around at the looming trees that encrouched upon the parking lot's clear space. She exhaled the cloud of smoke.
She'd really given up smoking years ago but had been just stressed enough to buy a pack at the gas station when she'd filled up the little grey car that morning. She ran a hand through her hair. She was about to get into her car when she noticed something in the vehicle next to her own that caught her attention, though at first she couldn't fathom why it would.
Sitting on the passanger seat was a large orange duffle bag.
Amanda glanced around the lot to confirm that she was indeed alone and leaned closer, pressing her face against the window to look in at the duffle bag. It didn't take much staring at it for her to realize what it was about the bag. "Brian's," she whispered, staring at it. There was no doubt about it - the bag had been the same one Brian had brought with him on the road trip. She could still see him lugging it onto his shoulder and carrying it downward into the Grand Canyon on his burro. And if that mental image didn't give away the owner's identity, the Sharpie-markered LITTRELL along the zipper line did.
Amanda took a step back and stared at the car. She moved to the back end of it, her eyes sliding over the California license plate number, memorizing it quickly, and landing on a bumper sticker that boasted a picture of the Journey Frontiers album artwork. She ran her fingers over the sticker. There was no question - this car was Nick's.
She glanced at the office.
The door jingled when she opened it, and the recepitionist looked up. "Change your mind?" she asked in a too-perky voice.
Amanda shook her head, "When does the rafting adventure end?" she asked, "I'm meeting one of my friends that's on it here when it's over."
The receptionist smiled, "Let me look that up for you, ma'm," she suggested.
"Thank you," Amanda replied. "I really appreciate it."
