Roadwork
August 30, 2025 by Dianna Sinovic in category Columns, Quill and Moss by Dianna Sinovic, Writing tagged as relationships, short fiction, vacations, writing
Carrie’s SUV coasted to a stop along I-78, the rest of the weekend morning traffic zooming past, hurrying on their way to Dorney Park or the Poconos farther on. The dashboard lights flashed a warning, but she already knew the problem.
“What did the mechanic say about the oil pressure?” She grabbed her phone to call for a tow truck, but first frowned at Hugh. He glanced away and shrugged.
“Maybe a leak.”
“Maybe?” She shot him a glare then spoke to the Triple A contact, who assured her someone would be there within a half hour. A semi passed the vehicle at seventy, rocking the SUV in its wake.
“And did he fix it?”
Hugh did what he usually did when confronted with an example of his failure to carry through. He turned the tables back onto the confronter.
“You could have checked it yourself.”
Five years. Their nickel anniversary. A planned weekend getaway lay two hours north and west, at a lakefront Airbnb. Which now looked like a long shot, given the dashboard oil light and a thirty-minute wait for a tow. And then probably pricey repairs.
Three of those years had been a joy. The last two, not so much. Yet, altogether a major improvement over her ex, who had kept his cheating ways so hidden, she’d felt like the ultimate stooge when she finally learned the truth.
Carrie chose a smile over the irritated sigh that threatened to burst out. “I’m looking forward to our mini-vacay, hon. It doesn’t do any good to point fingers at this point.” Her phone pinged. The tow driver. “Fifteen minutes, he says.”
In truth, she wasn’t excited about the end-of-summer weekend ahead. She’d be back in front of a classroom of seventh graders in just a few days, and had suggested the trip as a way to glue the fractures threatening to cleave their relationship. She didn’t much care for sitting at the edge of a lake, but Hugh fished, and the rental included a dock and a small boat. Her hope lay in what happened between them when he wasn’t dangling his line in the water. Or staring into his laptop.
The growl of a 500-horsepower engine edged up beside the SUV, and then the flatbed truck pulled onto the shoulder in front of them.
Carrie met the driver between the vehicles to confirm the tow details. Hugh emerged from the passenger side and hung back, hands in his shorts pockets. If he spoke, she didn’t catch it over the rush of the highway traffic only a few feet away. Exhaust fumes eddied around them.
She moved to the far edge of the shoulder, and Hugh followed, as the driver readied to position the SUV on the flatbed.
“Allentown,” Carrie said, raising her voice over the traffic noise. “It’s this next exit. There’s a service station that can take a look.” The morning sun beat down on them, waves of absorbed heat flowing up from the concrete. She pulled her sleeveless tee away from her back, damp with sweat. “We’ll be on our way by noon, maybe.”
Why did she always feel the need to be upbeat around Hugh? She was like a defective tire jack, continually boosting up the car of their relationship but never quite able to get the wheel off the ground. Maybe it was time to fold up the jack and let it go.
In the cab of the tow truck, Carrie let Hugh ride next to the driver and she took the window seat. She lowered her window to escape the stifling odor of cigarette smoke.
“Where you headed?” the driver said, putting the truck into gear.
Carrie prepared to give a brief summary of their weekend plans, but Hugh answered first, a surprise.
“We’ve rented a place on a lake,” he said, a hint of eagerness in his tone. “Good fishing. Good weather, we hope. About two hours from here.”
He reached over and squeezed her hand, a second surprise.
When had he last done that?
“Yep,” the driver said. He switched on his signal to exit the highway. “Looks like a fine couple days for you. The station’ll get you squared away. Don’t you worry.”
Carrie squeezed Hugh’s hand back.
The trip looked better already.
Dianna’s Books
The Fun of Being A Writer by Linda O. Johnston
August 6, 2022 by Linda O. Johnston in category Pets, Romance & Lots of Suspense by Linda O. Johnston tagged as Dogs!, Plotting, research, vacations, writing
What’s the fun of being a writer? Everything!
And part of that includes the fact that writing is always there. It becomes part of you. At least it has with me. Everything I do, everywhere I go, my writerness is part of it. And yes, that’s an unusual word although when I Googled it, other people have apparently used it, too.
I was on a cruise to Alaska last week with family and friends. It was lots of fun. We sailed near land going north, then south through the Inside Passage, visited several cities, took a few tours, and enjoyed the onboard food and entertainment. That entertainment sometimes included dogs, and you can imagine how much I liked that.
I particularly enjoyed the wildlife we saw, including young and adult bald eagles, other birds including those that flew over and sometimes dived into water like marbled murrelets, a few bears on the shoreline in the distance, some spouting whales, including humpbacks, and small breaching dolphins.
We got to wade in the water in the middle of a river—because, as you might surmise, that river wasn’t full of water.
We visited Victoria, British Columbia, Canada, and took a tour that included visiting a formerly private castle.
And, oh yes, I did some writing and editing . . . and came up with an idea for another mystery series.
Will I ever write it? Who knows? But plotting and researching it will definitely be enjoyable. Plotting is who I am, and my subconscious is always at work.
And yes, that’s part of the fun of being a writer.
~Linda
The Fun of Being A Writer by Linda O. Johnston
July 6, 2019 by Linda O. Johnston in category Pets, Romance & Lots of Suspense by Linda O. Johnston tagged as dogs, Plotting, research, vacations, writing
What’s the fun of being a writer? Everything!
And part of that includes the fact that writing is always there. It becomes part of you. At least it has with me. Everything I do, everywhere I go, my writerness is part of it. And yes, that’s an unusual word although when I Googled it, other people have apparently used it, too.
I was on a cruise to Alaska last week with family and friends. It was lots of fun. We sailed near land going north, then south through the Inside Passage, visited several cities, took a few tours, and enjoyed the onboard food and entertainment. That entertainment sometimes included dogs, and you can imagine how much I liked that.
I particularly enjoyed the wildlife we saw, including young and adult bald eagles, other birds including those that flew over and sometimes dived into water like marbled murrelets, a few bears on the shoreline in the distance, some spouting whales, including humpbacks, and small breaching dolphins.
We got to wade in the water in the middle of a river—because, as you might surmise, that river wasn’t full of water.
We visited Victoria, British Columbia, Canada, and took a tour that included visiting a formerly private castle.
And, oh yes, I did some writing and editing . . . and came up with an idea for another mystery series.
Will I ever write it? Who knows? But plotting and researching it will definitely be enjoyable. Plotting is who I am, and my subconscious is always at work.
And yes, that’s part of the fun of being a writer.
~Linda
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