Time to Run by John Gilstrap Page B

like any other day to me.”
    * * *
    â€œI love your car,” Nicki said. It was a Mustang GT convertible. Red. Most cool. He’d even held the door for her as she climbed inside.
    â€œIt’s a pavement-eater all right,” he agreed. He stuck a little too close to the line as he swung a turn, showing off the vehicle’s suspension.
    â€œHow long have you had it?”
    â€œIt’s new,” he said. “Well, new to me. I got it for the trip.”
    â€œThis trip?”
    Brad bounced his eyebrows and smiled. “I promised you style, didn’t I?”
    Nicki giggled and sort of hugged herself, conscious of just how long it had been since she’d heard the sound of genuine delight coming from her own throat.
    Brad laughed at the sound. “Now I understand why your screen name is Giggler.”
    She blushed. “When are you going to tell me where we’re going?”
    â€œNot very far,” he said. “I figured you’d be tired. Besides, this is where your fantasy is set.”
    Nicki laughed again. “My fantasy ? What do you know about my fantasies?”
    â€œYou said you wanted to go to a prom.”
    â€œYeah, but you didn’t know that.”
    He smirked. “I guessed a little. Okay, so tell me what you can’t do.”
    â€œExcuse me?”
    â€œThis PPH thing you’ve got. What can’t you do, other than climb Mount Everest, which fortunately is not on the agenda.”
    He was so charming. God, it was even better than she’d remembered. “I can do about anything,” she said. “I just get tired doing it. If I push too hard, then I get short of breath, but then if I relax and take my rat poison, then everything turns out fine.”
    â€œYour rat poison?”
    â€œCoumadin,” she explained. “Blood thinner. It’s the same stuff they put in mouse traps. The mice eat the Coumadin, and they bleed to death on the inside.”
    Brad was concentrating on the road as he wormed into traffic, but he shot her a quick look anyway. “Those are the humane traps, right?” He settled for the center lane. “Is bleeding to death a worry for you?” he asked. “Not that you look like a mouse, or anything.”
    Nicki laughed again. “Actually, I do have to wear this”—she waved her left hand to display her Medic-Alert bracelet—“in case I’m in an accident or something.”
    â€œSo that’s it?” Brad asked. “Shortness of breath and fatigue? Doesn’t sound all that fatal to me. You look terrific.”
    Nicki knew that second part was a lie, but she appreciated the effort. “It’s the way the disease works,” she explained. “Today’s a good day. Tomorrow might be really crappy. I never know. But I get way more crappy days than I used to get six months ago. In another six months, I’ll have way more crappy days than good ones, and six months after that, I’ll be worm food.”
    The worm-food comment drew an uncomfortable look, but Nicki smiled to show that it was okay. Along with pushing up daisies and the big dirt nap, worm food was her favorite for knocking people off balance. The one word she couldn’t bring herself to say was dead .
    â€œWell, at least we’ve got a year,” Brad said. “Just you, me, the road, and adventure.”
    God, how she loved the sound of that. Adventure. Real adventure, free from prodding fingers and meddling know-it-alls. Free to die the way God intended her to.
    â€œHow are we going to support ourselves?” Nicki asked.
    Her question sparked a guffaw from Brad. “You’re too damned practical, Nicolette,” he chided. “Do you worry about the little stuff all the time?”
    â€œEvery single moment,” she said. It was the part of her personality that bugged her the most. There were days when she wondered if her mother’s illness and then her own had